Gladys and the Killer

"I like dem French Fries, um-huh"
Larry answered the ad in the paper. He was a heavy equipment operator and there was anything he couldn’t operate. Gladys read his application and thanked him for coming. The final decision wasn’t hers to make and she let him know this. He politely thanked her and walked out. She had made a few notes on his application walked down the hall then handed it to the General Manager. “So does he seem okay with the pay” Kenneth asked. Gladys smiled and said “yeah, I called his references and they all said he showed up for work on time and that he did a good job. He was laid off due to reduction of work force. He said he will run whatever we need him to.” Kenneth wrote a couple of notes and said “Ok, then I’ll give him a call.”
Larry came to work for the small contracting company and by all appearances was the perfect employee. He had worked there for about nine months and then one day he didn’t show up. Kenneth was upset but decided to give Larry the benefit of the doubt and called him at home. I mean maybe the guy was too sick to get to a phone and call in or perhaps he had fallen down the stairs and was lying in a crumpled heap, although if either of those things had happened he still wouldn’t be able to answer the phone. Kenneth didn’t think about that when he called. He dialed the number but it just rang.

Kenneth talked a big tough game but I could tell he was concerned about Larry. You see the whole company had all come to like him. He was amiable and helpful. He was always willing to go out on any call and spent his spare time not like many of the operators slacking off; but he would wash the equipment or repair rigging. He did whatever it took to get the job done and keep things rolling. Kenneth went to the front office and said “I’m going to check on Larry. This just isn’t like him.” Gladys watched as Kenneth walked out the front door then picked up the newspaper she had been perusing.



There on the front page was an article about the police digging up a truck with two people in it. The article went on to say that it had been buried several years before and that they were moving a concrete plant and happened to dig up the pick-up. Gladys read on a little intrigued and a lot horrified. Then she spotted it in the list of survivors of the victims was Larry. She determined this must be the reason for Larry’s absence. It made sense. He had been notified that his ex brother-in-law and his girlfriend had been found buried he probably was with his ex-wife’s family.



Kenneth returned a little later and said that he had driven past Larry’s house but the place had police tape all over it and that there were several patrol cars out front. He was upset and explained “they wouldn’t tell me nothing. I asked them what was wrong and they just told me that I needed to move along.” Gladys showed him the article she had read about the murders and Kenneth turned white as a ghost. “You don’t think he had nothing to do with this do you” he asked Gladys. She shrugged her shoulders and said “I’m sure it was all just routine. I mean he is the ex-husband of her sister and who knows what his ex-wife may have said.” Kenneth was mollified and they finished out their day.



Early the next morning as Gladys was making coffee with the crew of operators standing around waiting they discussed the possibility of Larry committing murder. “Oh I don’t he would” said Dewy “he is such a nice guy. Why last week he helped me build a barbeque.” Harold piped up and said “he came over and helped me pitch hay last weekend.” The conversation went on in the same vein with the general consensus being Larry was a really nice guy. Gladys who liked to play the devil’s advocate said “yeah but that is what they said about Richard Ramirez and John Gayce and even Jeffery Dalmer. That is what they always say when they interview the neighbors of a serial killer.” The guys got their coffee and argued there was no way that it could be Larry. Those things happened on the news, not in their work place.



Then the group got quiet as Larry brought his cup to the pot. “Hey y’all. Sorry I let you down yesterday. I was at the police station all day and figured I had better use my one phone call for my lawyer.” The guys all stood mouths open and eyes wide staring at Larry. “Hey Larry are they accusing you of burying those people” Kenneth questioned. “Yeah, I guess so. Them cops don’t really scare me though. They ain’t got no proof” Larry answered then he walked out the door munching on a donut and drinking his coffee.
Larry unfortunately was found guilty and sentenced. It just goes to show you it usually is the nice guy next door.

Replay Sunday...Powdering My Nose

The French call it toilette, the German is die Toilette, Greek it is τουαλέτα, Italian is bagno, the British call it the loo but the ones I’ve seen lately I just call foul!

First let me warn you this may be graphic or gross but it is something I’ve been wondering for awhile now. So if you are squeamish or easily offended then I suggest you step back on the platform because this train is leaving the station.

Men pee standing up (yeah I know I’m Captain Obvious) and you expect them to pee on the floor now and then. I mean they are standing there holding their prize possession in their hand and they get a little creative. Hummm let see if I can make my initials in the blue water…ooops or I’ve had a few to many Bud’s and I’m seeing two bowls. You expect that it doesn’t mean you don’t make them clean it up but hey they are guys they think with that thing in their hands.

Women sit when they pee (Again I know I’m being C.O. but I’m going somewhere with this). Then why is it women’s public restrooms have pee all over the seats, the floor and the walls? It is gross! It is disgusting and confusing. What do these women do? Prop themselves up on the seat then aim? How? Oh…but it gets worse. It seems like a disturbing number of public restrooms, I mean in nice restaurants and nice shops have excrement on the walls of the stalls. Yes I’m talking shit on the walls of the women’s restrooms. I told you to step off the train if you didn’t want to be grossed out.

WHO DOES THIS? I can’t imagine why or who would do such an abominable thing? How does one spew fetid feces out the anal orifice of one’s body and have it splatter on the wall in a pattern that makes the beholder not quite sure what it is. Then it boggles my mind that it is a woman. I don’t imagine women being so crass or crude to spray feces and urine all over a public restroom facility. Do they sit around and plan this? What do they say “Hey, Gertrude, how bout we go down to the Panache’ Grill and spray some sheit on the wall. Buuuurrrrrrpppp, plthtttthhhh, hehe, that was a good-un wudn’t it?” I just don’t see it. It offends my feminine sensibilities. Heck it offends my masculine sensibilities. Oh wait is there such a thing? Hum I’ll have to study on that one.
This phenomenon may explain why women go to the bathroom in multiples. Maybe they have to go two by twos so they can hold each other up and aim like a poospewing machine gun. Ok Hazel it’s my turn now. I want to shoot that wall over there. YeeHaw this is more fun than tipping cows!

It’s not that these restrooms aren’t cleaned on a regular basis so it means this happens more than any of us want to think about. They do clean their restrooms don’t they? What? You think the workers do this? No! “Hey Hazel, I know a way to get back at the dickhead boss Billy Joe Bob, we’ll just saunter into the ladies and spray our sheit on the walls. That’ll show him for scheduling me on double Bud night at the bowling alley”. See that makes no sense because Hazel and Gertrude would be the ones having to scrub it up. Because Billy Joe Bob isn’t going to clean the ladies room, heck he doesn’t clean the Men’s room, that there is wimmin’s work.

I can’t speak for the men’s rooms, since I try not to visit them on purpose, but I’m thoroughly disgusted with women’s use and abuse of the restroom. I try not to use public restrooms but like they say, when you have to go, well, you know the rest. So when I do visit the powder room (not that women use much powder anymore) I am scrutinizing everyone in there to see if they might be the spewing culprit.

That is my pet peeve and my rant for the day. I’m going to go get a skinny vanilla extra hot double cupped latte but I will not be using the loo.

Porky THE Pig

Several years ago I was working as a facilitator for a company that had a Grambling University as a client. I had the opportunity to visit this particular school and one of its maintenance people. He was a mountain of a man with a truly southern gentleman’s deportment. He took me to meet with the budget committee and then we walked the campus. It was a lovely campus with your usual fare of young faces eager to get out of school and into the real world. My story isn’t about them though, it’s about me. I mean after all this isn’t called fresh faced college kid blog. It is called Gladys Tells All.

I am allergic to pork and pork products. ALL pork products. That means no bacon, no ham, no lard, no pork chops, no sausage, no ribs and no pork roast. It also means that I have to read all labels just in case they have used animal fat which usually implies ‘pig fat’. Pork in any way shape or form will trigger an instant and fierce migraine. It will drop me like Ali dropped Foreman. So I tend to stay far far away from anything piggy.

Back to my story. So me and Buddy, the maintenance guy, toured the facility, we spoke to the number crunchers and it was getting close to lunch time. My stomach was growling and Buddy heard it. “Miss Gladys, may I buy you some lunch” Buddy queried. I was thankful and agreed as he steered me toward the school’s cafeteria. The smells coming from those double doors were pure heaven. I was raised on good southern cooking and you could tell this was good just from the aroma wafting forth. It was so wonderful my knees were weak and I was wiping drool from my chin.

Bubba led me into the cafeteria full of young people joking and laughing but every one of them was relishing the food before them. I looked up at Buddy and said “that smells wonderful. I have never smelled anything so heavenly before.” He smiled and said “yes ma’am. These women and men in here prepare some scrumptious food. It’s kinda like eating at my grandma’s house. They’ve always got some good filling food.” We took our trays and started sliding them down the metal rails.

I searched the prepared salad’s and saw every type of salad you can imagine only every one of them except the jello salads had bacon or ham. I picked a congealed salad and went to the most important part of the meal, meat. I had a choice of pork chops, ham or pork ribs. I looked at the white haired smiling woman behind the sneeze guard and asked “do you have any chicken or beef?” She smiled back at me and said “no baby, we ain’t got no chicken today, but these ribs will fall right off the bone.” I stood there staring at the choices and reluctantly told her “no thank you.” We then slid down to the vegetables. Surely there would be something there and I didn’t mind eating vegetarian for the day. I spotted my favorite, creamed spinach. I looked imploringly at a young man who was serving up the sides and said “does that have bacon or ham in it?” as I point at the spinach. He shook his head and said “no ma’am. That doesn’t have either. It has pork rind in it.” I sighed heavily and moved to the next serving dish “how about the black eyed peas?” He took a spoon and stirred the peas and said “they have ham bone in them.” I looked over the other choices and to each one he answered an affirmative to pork. Then I spotted it. Homemade macaroni and cheese with all it’s cheesy goodness. I pointed excitedly at the golden mass and said “what about that?” He shook his head and said “bacon bits.”

Dejected I moved down the line and spotted a container of corn bread. I just knew I could eat the cornbread. I mean what is it? I make mine with butter, cornmeal and buttermilk. It should be safe. I asked the matronly woman tending to the bread “that doesn’t have any pork in it does it?” She said “lawd no. We make it with a little lard and some buttermilk.” I was getting depressed by this time and said “um, no thank you, lard is pig fat.” I was at the end of the line. The only thing left was desert. They had a piece of chocolate cake that was a foot high and dripping in chocolate goodness. I looked at Buddy and said “don’t tell me they use lard in their cakes too don’t they.” He smiled and said “Oh, that’s Miss Misha’s chocolate cake. She claims that she puts bacon fat and coffee in it to give it that rich flavor.”

I was done. That was all. I took my congealed lime jello salad sat at a table and watched as everyone around me pigged out. I was safe from a migraine but I might starve to death in the south.

Random Thoughts by Gladys - May Day

It's Friday Fragments over at Half Past Kissing Time and I thought I would throw down some of mine.

Anne Again and Again is having another Virtual Girls Night Out.

She asks if you ever made a dish for a pot luck that well was more pot than luck? Well since I have been known to cook and odd dish or two yes this happened.
#1 FAIL - I made a Vietnamese Fish Stew. It had fish heads in it.
#2 FAIL - I made a salad that I loved. Pink grapefruit, Vadilla onions sliced thin, and Avacado.

Now for my Random Ramblings....

May Day, May Day, May Day. No I’m not in trouble it’s just May Day. The first of May.

• 
  
  Not that kind of May Day.
  • 
    Why when people are joking do they say “I’m just Joshing”? Who is Josh and is he really funny?
  Why is it when the electricity goes out do we go and flip on the light switch expecting there to be light? There is no electricity.
  I wrote a story called

Divorce Court last summer and posted it here on this blog last fall. Last Thursday night I was watching the new NBC show Southland http://www.nbc.com/southland/about/recaps.shtml#cat=1&mea=102&ima=64239 and guess what? Yeah they totally stole my story. I am sure they took it from me. I mean no one else knew that story. I sat last night watching intently to see if they had a scene where a suspect ran out the back door to be hit in the head by a 2 X 4 then I was going to call my attorney over at Stealum, Robem and Screwum.

It is almost beach season. I’m contemplating having a tattoo that reads “I am NOT a Whale. DO NOT PULL ME INTO THE WATER” You know just in case. Me and Kirsti Alley

Why is it when you are trying to read the instructions or directions on how to put something together does a crowd gather? They don’t just gather they stand around tell you how to do it even though they have never done it before either.