literature

Those damn accountants

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As she sat in the bath, watching her hands slowly turn into prunes, she found her attention wandering to the shampoo. She was struck by the odd color and fragrance she found drifting from the open bottle at her right, and for the life of her she couldn’t figure out why she hadn’t noticed before. It was the sickly sweet aroma of jasmine and coconut, and quite frankly it was a blend that made her feel somewhat nauseous, not to mention slightly toothachy. Why has she bought this shampoo if the smell repulsed her so? As a matter of fact, now that she came to think about it, had she bough this shampoo? She couldn’t remember doing so- when it came down to that, she couldn’t actually remember opening the bottle or lathering the stuff all over her head, either. It wasn’t like her to be so forgetful. No, wait. Was it? Was she a forgetful person?
“Oh no.” She sighed and sank back down into the water, leaving just her nose peaking out. Not again. She had gone through so much trouble the last time this had happened. Her brain had been switched for the second time in as many months. Those damn accountants. So she hadn’t been able to pay her subscription fees again this month- did that mean they had to shanghai her brain in lieu each time? What with all the recovery fees and overnight storing charges, it ended up costing her more than even the excessive interest she had to pay each month. At this rate, it was almost not worth it to keep the subscription up, but she knew that no matter how much scrounging it took it was still a necessity.
As she got out of the bath and wrapped a towel around herself, she noticed that her toenails needed cutting. In fact, only half of them needed cutting, the other half appeared to be sheared to an acceptable length. Huh. Did she just do that? She looked towards the bath, and saw the nail clipper lying next to a yellow soap bar. When had her brain been taken? It couldn’t have been too long ago, if she had stopped cutting her toenails halfway through. She thought about it all the way to the room, and the whole time she was dressing. If things were going to continue like this, she would have to devise a system that would alert her the minute those cursed accountants had collected. God knows they weren’t about to do her any favors, despite all those complaints she had lodged. She would also have to make a note to let their bosses know that they seemed to have made a habit of sneaking up on her while she was in the bath. She might be slightly in arrears on her account, but there had to be some boundaries. Not to mention the fact that last time they had been here they had polished the last of her popcorn, and that was not something she took lightly to.
As she picked up the phone to call the hotline and officially file a request to get her brain back, she noticed that her TV was on. She sat herself down in front of it while she listened to synthesized muzac on her handset, wondering how best to word the conversation that was about to follow. This might only have been the second time this month, but the people over at the firm were getting slightly peed off with her repetitive debtful habits- when the secretary at the debt collector’s agency knows your name, it’s time to start looking for a better job. While she waited, she reached for a piece of hair to chew on, but was quite surprised to come up short. She felt her scalp, and realized that she was in fact able to feel her scalp. Where she had expected to feel long, wet locks, there was instead a head covered in short, sharp bristles.
This was not good. She would have assumed that something had happened to her right before the accountants had come, but she felt pretty sure that if that were the case, she would not have had time to cut her toenails. She desperately launched a search for any prison tattoos, but came up short. To the sounds of Elton John songs being played by electric keyboard over the phone, she panicked. She felt sure something like this had happened the last time, but of course- as was the risk involved in a situation like this- there was no real way for her to remember. She couldn’t even remember her own name, never mind what kind of military service she might have signed up for that would have left her sporting a Sinead O’Connor look. She threw her eyes around the room, looking desperately for a mirror, but found herself coming up short again. There was a small pile of hygiene products- no, make that a small shithouse full of hygiene products- lying on a desk in the corner of the room, but no cosmetics, and no mirror. How silly was that? Was she one of those girls who can get away without makeup, but cleans their face with 10 different washes every day? She was starting to get slightly irritated with herself. What kind of a person lives like this?
Very quickly she shoved her feet into a pair of slippers sitting by the bed and shuffled out of the room into the hallway. She was halfway down it when she realized that she was wearing nothing more than a navy-blue towel and was still holding the phone to her ear, but it would have to do. She stopped at the first door, poised to knock, when she stopped. How would this look? She had no idea what to expect from her neighbors, and no idea what kind of reaction to expect. What did she even plan on saying? “Excuse me, my brain has been repossessed, and I know I probably bother you with this every month, but I’m starting to suspect that I’m somewhat of a moron, and don’t have a mirror anywhere in the house. Mind if I borrow yours?”
She headed back into her apartment, feeling despondent. There was no real use panicking over the hair. Whatever it was, it was obviously not new. She just wished she could remember. Of course, this was why brain repossession was such an incentive for paying your bills. She plonked down on her bed, kicking her slippers off. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling still wrapped in her towel. She peeked at her chest. Wow. She was amazingly flat-chested. Not a terribly girly-girl, then. Pity, she could really have gotten into the whole pink frilly thing. She was still busy twiddling her thumbs and striking a blank wondering what to do, when suddenly she heard a click from next to her. The phone! Someone had actually picked up on the other end.
“Hello?” She croaked into the handset. She had to see about fixing this; the situation was starting to become a very major pain in the ass.
“Hello, PBM Corp, can I help you?” Said the slightly andronic voice on the other end of the line. This was a voice that was speaking through a 7-hour shift at the end of a long day, and was not about to take any shit.
“Hi there, I’m currently experiencing a bit of a problem with a repossession that was carried out by your company this evening. Frankly, I’m surprised. I didn’t know your accountants worked this late. Quite the work ethic.”
“Oh, it’s you again. Didn’t we go through this last month? Shouldn’t you start considering the weekly payment option?” Sarcasm dripped from every word.
“And go through this every week? I don’t think so.”
“Actually, when you fail to make a payment on a weekly payment, they don’t repossess your brain, they just confiscate your individuality and all correlating personal characteristics.”
“It sounds like you make this speech often. You’re well rehearsed.”
“That’s what’s so terrible. I have pitched this before a few times, but only to you. I really think you should start writing things down.”
“I’m going to ignore that and assume that you’ve missed your last few weekly payments. Now all hostility aside, is there anything we can do to at least temporarily rectify the situation? Don’t I have anything else listed as collateral that we can substitute? And, um… Is there a job I should be showing up to tomorrow?”
“Your unemployed status would be one of the reasons why we go through this every month. I would hope that you do, however, have a few job interviews to show up to tomorrow. I suppose it’s not going to help much if you can’t remember what your qualifications and past work experience is.”
“See, that’s why they pay you the big bucks- to draw such stunning and intellectually challenging conclusions. I’m also thinking that since you’re on a roll here, you’d already have figured out that if I can’t even remember my name, there’s no way I’m going to be getting a job any time soon- and thusly, no way I’m going to be able to pay you in the near future.”
“Well, Mr. Marquez, I’m sure that we can come to some kind of agreement, just like we did last month.”
“MISTER Marquez??”
“Yes, sir. Mr. Jason Marquez, is this not something you’ve figured out on your own yet?” So that’s what that thing in the bath water was. And that was why she… he appeared to have been so desperately in need of a boob job and some hair extensions. Jason Marquez sat back against the wall, smiling slightly.
He decided that tomorrow, he’d make enquiries at the local gay bar for any available job positions. Preferably as Liza Minelli or Dolly Parton.
a little bit of silliness
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