Monday, September 17, 2007
Shoot Out at the Black & Decker Corral
Many of you have asked, and I'm happy to report that my iron has indeed made its way back home. Not without a little muscle, though, I must tell you.
It was almost like High Noon. I strode down my long long hallway at noon (well, noon-45, but pretty close), my Silver BCBG Wedge heels glinting like spurs. There, at the end of the hall, stood the ringleader of the notorious Small Appliance Robbers. Quicker than lightening I drew my accusational finger and fired it at her.
"Hey! Didn't you borrow my iron?" I shot.
"Oh, that was you?" she sputtered, clutching her stomach. "Yes, I did."
"Can I get that back? It's been almost three weeks."
Visibly cowering (I'm not exaggerating that satisfying detail) she fumbled for her keys to get me my iron right that very minute. Clearly she could tell that I meant business. And she was right. I did mean business! Hijacking my small appliances is very serious business.
But right then the elevator (that she had called) arrived, and I needed to go get my church on. No time to babysit her while she returned my iron, and I certainly wasn't going to waste MY OWN time taking it back to my apartment myself. So I told her to trot it on down the hall and leave it where my flyer had clearly indicated she should.
Despite her failure to be trustworthy before, I didn't worry about her not following through. This time, I knew where she lived, and if my iron wasn't on my doorstep when I returned, no amount of holy post-church glow would keep me from getting some whoop-ass all up in there.