|Dangerspouse Rides Again|
Garage - Track
Oct. 16, 2004 - 4:44 p.m.
Dangerspouse Fleas Canada
"But I wasn't...AAAAAAAUGH!!!"
I leapt out of bed and bolted for the bathroom. I desperately needed a towel to staunch the flow of blood.
Two steps from the bathroom door I was hit again, mid-stride. BLAM! The force of it spun me sideways, pitching me right through the doorway as I fell. Through instinct I shot an arm out, grabbing wildly for anything to break my fall, and as luck would have it managaed to grasp the steel ring towel holder next to the sink. Now, steel ring towel holders are pretty strong - they're made of steel after all, and can withstand the weight of a sopping wet hand towel.
Unfortunately, what ANCHORS the strong steel ring towel holders to hotel walls is only two 3/8" Phillip's head screws.
I know this because both of them left an imprint in my back. 220 pounds of Italian free-falling at 40 mph catapulted those puppies out at bullet speed, as the entire rack tore free from the wall, crashing down along with me into the vanity. Then, with a rending craaaack, the marble top split diagonally from the near corner right to the sink!
I lay where I hit, stunned and convinced I was dead. Above me, little motel bars of soap and bottles of conditioner were catapulted out of their basket and now pelted me as I sprawled next to the toilet.
This finally got a reaction from NewWifey(tm).
"What the HELL are you doing??!" she screamed as she came running towards the bathroom.
"Honey...honey..." I groaned from the floor. "You've gotta help me - I've been shot. I don't think I'm gonna make it...."
She just stared ar me with her mouth open.
"You are SUCH a bullshitter. Will you get up off...you - broke - the vanity!" She actually gasped when she saw that. "Get up! YOU BROKE THE FUCKING VANITY! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"
"I told you - someone shot me!"
She knelt down.
"Shot you? SHOT you? WHERE??"
"The right side of my face. A couple of times. Right in my ear."
"....Shouldn't you be...dead then?"
"I guess the bullets hit at an angle or something. Listen, I've gotta stop the blood and get to a hospital. Gimme a towel or a maxi-pad or something already, willya?"
NewWifey(tm) looked at me closely, her eyes scanning all around my face.
"There's no blood."
"Waddaya mean there's no blood. I've just been shot! FOUR TIMES! There has to be blood!"
She bent down until her eyes were just millimeters from my right ear. She peered...and peered closer. I could smell the Jameson's.
"You...have a flea in your ear!"
I felt around the side of my face, really feeling this time. Free from hysteria now, I could tell that indeed I was not bleeding, and there were no gaping holes in my skull. The flea must have been jumping right on my eardrum, making it sound like explosions were reverberating through my head. And kept from making a clean leap to freedom by all the wax that had built up in the two months since I'd last swabbed!
I got off the floor, looked around at the marble carnage, and asked NewWifey(tm) to bring me a Q-Tip and her compact mirror. Tongue protruding, brow furrowed in concentration, I sat on the edge of the bed working the cotton swab around with one hand while tilting the compact's mirror trying to get the at least a partial view. NewWifey(tm) knew to keep well away from this little dance.
Finally...success! I heard a slight "click!" as the chitinous little body was pinned between cotton batting and skin. I pulled the swab out and there he was. The little bastard. Stuck to the end of the Q-Tip, he looked helpless and tiny.
I decided to kill him slowly.
If you're good, you can trap a flea between the tips of your two thumbnails and with a quick downward twist snap their little bodies in half in an eyeblink. If you're not good, or are particularly vengeful, you can trap the critter between one nail and the meat of a finger. By pressing steadily and firmly, you gradually compress its exoskeleton until his tiny alimentary tract is forced out of his tiny anus. Then you return to the salad bar for seconds.
I opted for the second method.
Carefully...carefully...I positioned the Condemned up against my left thumbnail and began sliding him off the swab with my right forefinger. If I did it right, he should slide free just as he was trapped between the two.
I didn't do it right.
I mean, I was SOCLOSE. Just a fraction of a second gap, where my finger freed him from his waxy prison and before being pressed to the nail, was all it took for him to find his footing, and -
I saw the tiny black speck arc up over my shoulder and land on a pillow.
I couldn't let him escape! Grabbing the first thing to come to hand - the hotel alarm clock - I yanked it free and threw myself onto the bed, smashing the clock down on that pillow with all I had. I had to kill that damned flea! With the first jolt the clock's radio switched on at full volume and wouldn't turn off. I didn't even hear it.
Well, they apparently make hotel beds out of the same material as their towel racks. I dropped onto the mattress from a height of about 3 feet, punching straight down as I landed. And as soon as I hit I heard a somewhat muffled woooomf....crack! as all four of the legs gave way, sending the box spring, mattress, comforter, me, and the flea, another two feet to the floor. I didn't even notice - I was pumping that alarm clock up and down against the pillow for all I was worth in a murderous rage.
That's when the door opened and the hotel manager and a constable walked in.
There I was, naked, kneeling on a broken king sized bed, repeatedly slamming a blaring alarm clock into a pillow. NewWifey(tm) was cowering in a corner. The light from the bathroom perfectly lit the now two-piece vanity and selection of toiletries strewn around the floor.
"What is going on here?" the manager bellowed.
I stopped, the alarm clock poised above my head.
"Um...I was...attacked. By...uh...a flea. See, it got in my ear and I was trying to kill it because I thought it might bore into my brain and...."
The constable broke in, "We had reports of a woman screaming from other guests, and crashing sounds." He looked at NewWifey(tm). "Did he hit you, ma'am?"
I know NewWifey(tm), and could tell what she was thinking. This was her big chance! I could see the internal debate - her desire to really stick it to me for being a ridiculous asshole for once, versus her Midwestern sense of wifely duty to always stand by her man.
I wouldn't have laid money on either outcome right then.
She sighed. "No, he didn't hit me. He just had...an accident."
The manager looked around at the splintered bedframe, the towel ring and hardware on the floor, the shattered vanity.
"An 'accident'? Just one?"
The manager then said, "Mr. Spouse, put your clothes on and gather your things. The constable will escort you and your wife from the premises. You are being evicted from this hotel, and we will be billing your credit card for the damages as soon as that ammount is determined."
And with that he left the room. The constable stayed behind waiting for us.
That's when we were very grateful we ended up renting the Hummer. With all the other hotels in town booked, the only lodging we were able to find was...its back seat. What seemed initially like an insanely cavernous cargo space was now appreciated for being snug sleeping quarters. And, the $450 rental fee was less than the cost of the hotel (um...although we were not refunded our remaining pre-paid ammount by the manager. And yes, I had the balls to ask.) We decided to skip looking for room vacancies the rest of our stay, just sleep in the Hummer and wash up at gas stations (since we had to fill the tank every two hours anyway). It ended up working out not bad at all, really. Room service suffered, but otherwise.....
The flight home was uneventful, save for one thing. About an hour after takeoff, shortly before the steward made the first of several rounds distributing stale mini-pretzel packs, I felt a tickle on my arm.
Yeah, it was the flea. THE flea.
At that point I knew better than to jump up and try to smash it to death with the drop-down oxygen mask. I really didn't want a confrontation with the Air Marshals who were no doubt on every international flight entering the US now, and on the lookout for that sort of behavior. I'm sure they would have, like the hotel manager, evicted me. At 30,000 feet.
So I kept my natural impulses under control, instead just raising my forearm to eye level and leaned it against the headrest of the seat in front of me. A slight prod with the plug of my Mp3's earpiece and...sproing! Right into the beehive hairdo of the old lady reading a copy of Lamp Finials Quarterly. She started discreetly scratching her scalp when we were somewhere over Pittsburgh.
We haven't recieved word from the credit card company as to how much we'll be charged for my insect vendetta yet. But if it comes to anything near the Collateral Hold that was put on the Hummer ($10,000), you may be seeing John Walsh profile me on "Canada's Most Wanted" soon. Just to be sure, I used another credit card to pay off the one I put the hotel tab on, then cancelled THAT card so they couldn't dun me. I'm also thinking of having facial reconstructive surgery, just in case. Couldn't hurt regardless, according to NewWifey(tm).
Anyone know if the US has an extradition treaty with the Canuks?
Oh well, gotta go. I'm itching to get to bed.