Mr. Windham

The smell of licorice assaulted me as I entered the presumed office of Mr. Windham. Before I could even get my eyes situated around the room another pleasant voice greeted me, I was beginning to get suspicious. “Hi there how can I help you?” A prim and properly dress dark haired older woman smiled at me as she spoke.

As I prepared to answer her, the first thought that came to mind was please lady don’t have a marble eye, hideous mole, or huge boobs. [See previous blog] Before I could even answer Donna did it for me like I was the kid who got called into the office for biting. While Donna was conversing I couldn’t help but notice this lady had decent cans! I know gross, what’s wrong with me?!

Luckily I noticed when the sweet decent canned woman was addressing me. “Nice to meet you Mr. Schmagegee, I’m Mrs. Thundertop, the administrative assistant for Mr. Windham.” Okay this is the last fake name I use that refers to a person’s body parts I promise! “I’ll let Mr. Windham know you are here please have a seat.” As I sat down on the couch I began to wonder how many juvenile delinquents sat on this very same couch leaving behind their mucus, boogers, saliva, urine, and fecal matter. I sunk right into the blue cloth material it was so cozy I could have laid down and taken a nap.

Behind Mrs. Thundertop’s desk across from where I was sitting were all kinds of things on the wall: diplomas, pictures, and letters serving as a shrine I’m sure to Mr. Windham. Then right on a cue a heavy set man dressed in a grey suit came out into the room. He had a distinguished educated look to him with his neatly shined bald head and combed hair around the side of his head. He gave me a soft smile and greeted me, “Hi Mr._.” The pause indicated he had no fucking idea who I was, I went for the juggernaut. The Doug Flutie Hail Mary play right off the bat. “Hi sir, Arthur Schmagegee I believe you know my father Douglass Schmagegee.” There it was my shameless plug, now work your magic!

His eyebrows pressed down in uncertainty, “Douglass..oh yes, yes! I played golf with your Dad a couple months back!” “Bingo!” I thought. Mr. Windham went on, “Well I actually didn’t play with him we were at a charity tournament together. We chatted a little, in fact I took a picture with him and the Congressman it should be up on the…” His words evaporated as he transferred his attention to his wall of fame. “Felicia that picture of Mr. Schmagaegee and the Congressman where is it?” He asked Mrs. Thundertop and she responded with a puzzled look. He returned his attention to me, “I’m sure it’s around here somewhere. In any case what can I do for you Mr. Schmagegee?” I was shocked by the respect this man was paying a dipshit like me, but hell if I won’t take it.

“Oh please Mr. Windham call me Arthur.” That will probably be the first and last time I’ll ever get to say that to someone. “Mr. Windham I am here interviewing for the teaching position.” His eyes sunk even lower in his face almost piercing his eye lids. He had no fucking clue what I was talking about. Mrs. Thundertop aided him, “I believe he is here for the P.E. position sir.” Mr.Windham stared in a moment of bewilderment, “Oh yes, yes! Arthur follow me please.” As Mr. Windham led me to his office I suddenly got the jitters and apparently the runs as my stomach started bubbling. The worse thing that could happen for me now would be to have gastro-explosions turning this man’s office into a flatulent sauna! I took a deep breath as the door to the office opened.

Arriving at my Interview

My brother actually wished me good luck as I shoveled down my Pop Tart and headed out for my interview. The school was fairly closed to where I lived and the drive only took me 25 minutes, not too bad of a commute.

I arrived to a chain of buildings that looked like a castle right out of Lord of the Rings off the major road where the school sat. The sign that hung over the gothic iron gates of the main entrance spoke pretentiously of the school’s history and prestige, “75 years of academic excellence and innovation.” It reminded me of my dad giving a dinner speech about how my siblings and I needed to keep the family business running and how many years the Schmagegee business had been the premier academic supplier. It left a bad taste in my mouth as I drove into the parking lot that you would have thought belonged to Costco.

I walked into the main office and caught three ladies laughing in the midst of a joke. “Can I help you?” A cute red head with librarian thick black rimmed glasses asked me. I answered her in my polite my parents raised me right voice, “Yes ma’am I am here to see Mr. Windham.” She replied in a sweet, friendly, fake, and high pitched tone, “Of course let me walk you down to his office!”

As she stepped from behind her desk I caught a glimpse of her disproportional body. I have a bit of a staring problem, my mind tells me not to look but my eyes are lured like a mouse to cheese loaded mouse trap. Why is it so hard for me?! I can hear the voice in my head tell me, “Arthur don’t stare at those lady’s boobs even though they’re huge. Or, “You can’t keep fixating on that man’s marble eye (Even though he probably can’t see you doing it!).” Finally my favorite, “Art for the love of God please stop looking at hideous mole that eerily resembles Bill Murray from CaddyShack.”

This time was nothing different, my eyes locked on like a heat sinking missile to her thick thighs decorated by a tight spandex-like black dress pants that would of had any black man salivating. It felt like everyone in the room caught me staring as my eyes shot back up towards her face, which was met with her blushing smile. Can you blame me though? It was an enigma how this woman was not made up of two totally different women at the waist. She reminded me of one of those mythical creatures you know the half man half horse…Centaur! As I pretend not to be up on my nerd knowledge.

As we walked down the hall she introduced herself to me, “I’m Donna PEARing by the way.” Okay that is not her real name but it’s fitting right? We came to an office and she escorted me in. It was from my experiences from that exact moment on is why I decided to create this blog.

My Wealthy Homeless Roomate

Whitney’s “job” did not come without its disadvantages. Other bums in the area caught wind of Whitney’s growing popularity where he was bumming, and they weren’t going to take it lying down. Apparently there is some sort of code or fraternity among bums and Whitney evidently was not playing ethically. Whitney was threatened by bums all the time, but the funny thing is they would threaten to find wherever he was sleeping and take him down. Word on the street was a gang of bums were scavenging the area for Whitney’s homeless abode. It would be silly to think that he was living under a roof with air conditioning and cable right?

One time he actually thought he was in some serious danger when he somehow got cornered by a few vagrants and jumped him…but in slow motion. I mean these guys moved like turtles they were so drunk, lethargic, and malnourished that all Whitney had to do to get out of the situation was walk away, but at a fast pace. I'm sure it went down like a choreographed fight scene from the West Side Story if the actors were to reenact it today!

Whitney was always doing silly shit like this and it was only a matter of time before he went on to his next adventure. I was actually surprised how long this one had been lasting, but as long as he brought home dinner I wasn’t complaining. I know again some of you reading this might think how immoral this is or even criminal, well let’s look at it as a social experiment. It also shows that they are still good trustworthy people out their willing to give to the needy and wealthy disguised as the needy. I guess it goes to say that in Whitney’s case the rich get richer and the poor get richer.

Whitney looked at my brother and announced he was going to work. Earl looked real confused about this looking at me puzzled by my roommate’s remarks regarding any kind of employment. I nodded at him as if to say don’t ask. Whitney walked towards the door and before he existed turned to Earl, “Hey Earl you’ve been working out, huh? You look extremely round today.” Whitney left before he could hear Earl’s instinctive reaction, “Fuck you!”

Whitney's Fucked up Plan

Several months back Whitney thought it would be an interesting experiment to pose as a panhandler. He started by studying the ones he would see at major road intersections or conveniently placed at 495 exits. He watched their limps, wardrobes, signs they carried around, and how other people responded to them. You would of thought he was Robert DeNiro preparing for his next role. Then came the hard part at least for me, Whitney let himself go he stopped showering, shaving, wiping his ass, anything involving basic human hygiene he was not doing. He even thought of picking up a heroin addiction to really look the part.

Then he hit the streets armed with a beat down demeanor, and pungent odors. Whitney thought that panhandling was very similar to the real estate market, it was all about location, location, location. Whitney mapped out a strategy posting up at what he believed to be prime real estate. Whitney also made himself into a unique product, he was not your ordinary bum (for more than obvious reasons).

Instead of a gimpy walk or a mangled roast beef looking appendage holding your typical pity me signs, Whitney did something different. He was out there on the streets informing people. Whitney was a walking billboard of information, he armed himself draped with poster board of the weather forecast– “Wear a sweater it’s going to be a chilly one!” Local news and events – “Only 4 more days to file your taxes.” He also had sport scores and even financial tips. Can you imagine taking stock tips from a bum?! But believe it or not it worked one guy even came up to him dropped $40 in his hand thanking him for the solid stock tips he gave last week. Whitney even thought of franchising this venture BumNews and posting other vagrants in the DC area with these billboards.

Some days Whitney would come home with a full dinner in hand for the both of us. He would tell me stories about how some mother would buy him a meal from McDonalds or drop off a blanket; and the money not too shabby! I’ll put it this way he wasn’t doing badly for a bum.