The Cleaning Lady

Gargy the gargoyle (this is what his virtual girlfriend calls him now. Ugh), for those of you who were wondering, is feeling better and we're back at full production levels. Gargoyle Flu seems to pass after ten days of slime spewing, so we've advanced the knowledge of the world's reptile epidemiologists.

Unfortunately, the tarps didn't hold and my hardwood floors now have a lovely layer of caked-on gunk. Given that I'm not the type of guy who enjoys vacuuming, dusting, mopping, scrubbing or, really, cleaning activities of any type, I decided to use some of our rope revenues on a professional.

My friend Chantal, a Chartered Accountant with whom I spent many a platonic study session back in my MBA days (yes, platonic. One wishes Plato had been an intercoursing mute instead of casting three millenia's worth of men into the pits of "friendship" with attractive bean-counters. Dammit), recommended her cleaning lady, whom I met yesterday.

Those of you who remember my attempted tryst from a couple months ago may be asking whether it is wise to have a human female come into a living space shared by a sexually ravenous Gargy. I had the same thought, I assure you. His cage seems to be structurally sound, we've upgraded his chains in the kitchen (half-inch thick U-bolts drilled into reinforced beams) and I've given him a pachyderm-grade shock collar (which immobilises him if he were to get away. When I tested it on him however, he kind of enjoyed the "tickling" so I have to keep the remote out of his reach for his own good). My main concern now is how the Lady will react to being home alone with a violently messy rope-making varmint.

She came by for the interview and was 20 minutes late. This bothered me on a couple of levels. Firstly, I'm a pathologically punctual person who has difficulty bearing others' disregard for my precious time (if I had a life, and therefore something productive to do with myself, I'm guessing this trait would be even worse). Secondly, I had shocked the little bastard five minutes ahead of her ETA in order to render him a little woozy (it takes him roughly five minutes to regain consciousness you see), and therefore less intimidating. By the time she arrived however, he was happily bouncing off the walls hoping to goad me into zapping him again (my herpetology-specialised veterinarian told me that I should be sparing in my use of elephant-dosed amperage on a sixty-pound beast. Though he said this through clenched teeth, as he had just been chomped by said beast and knew that he would be heading to the hospital immediately after our consultation to have a temporary colostomy bag installed in order to lower the risk of infection while his injuries healed).

The Cleaning Lady finally arrived, dragging an empty wheeled cart and she seemed to be lost in her own mind. Chantal had explained to her that I was "a little strange", but my strangeness was lost on her (as was the flightless winged child-like green fatherless creature who was mimicking electrocution spasms and laughing heartily just five feet away from her). I helped her take off her coat while she blathered on about the detergents I needed to purchase and her preferred decontamination implements. I apparently had found the idiot-savant of house cleaning, as she expertly examined the crusty floors and walls while ignoring the foot-long string of mucus that was escaping from her own right nostril.

In any case, I now have someone who wishes to illegally supplement her welfare income with meagre wages by scouring gargoyle waste. She even does windows. I'll have to buy Chantal breakfast to thank her (and, well, subtly stare at her chest, but that's a given).