Two things were clear by the end of dinner Wednesday night: We'd both forgotten our own anniversary, and neither one of us had paid the rent. Regrettably, there was little to be done about the first, but the second was going to have to be dealt with tout de suite.
So yesterday morning I needed to swing by the property management office to drop off a check before work. It's in a dodgy part of town, nowhere you'd want to find yourself after dark. Makes sense, in a way; although our apartment is nice, in a respectable neighborhood, the bulk of their properties appear to be section 8 housing in "that" part of town. Every time I've had to go by the office it's looked like a welfare office waiting room.
I arrived around 8:20, thinking they opened at 8:00, only to discover they actually opened at 8:30. I figured I'd just hang at the door to be first in line in case anyone else showed up. I was minding my own business staring off into space when suddenly I hear a low menacing voice behind me.
"That's a mighty fine watch you've got..."
It startled me and I spun around to see Mike Tyson standing behind me. Or rather, Mike Tyson's evil Bakersfield twin. Built like a linebacker and decked up head to toe in gangbanger finery was a frightening looking thug. His arms were covered with tattoos and tattoos snaked up his neck. And he was staring at my watch.
"That is one F I N E watch you got on my man..."
And then he flashed me a smile of gold teeth.
"I really like all the diamonds."
I was wearing my Movado, the one with the diamond bezel, the one that had been a Christmas gift from the boyfriend in better times. It was one of the few remnants of our past life, a reminder that at one time we had been prosperous. I had come close to pawning it several times when things had gotten particularly dire, but I always held off because it meant so much to me. Now it looked like it meant a lot to someone else too.
"What's a watch like that cost?" he asked.
I don't know, I said, it was a gift. That isn't entirely true. Yes it was a gift, but I knew exactly what it cost. I wasn't about to share that info with him and sign my own death warrant.
I could feel all the blood draining out of my face. I was about to be jacked. Jacked in Bakersfield. Only then did I notice he was holding a cashier's check. He was here to pay his rent. That didn't make him any less threatening, but still it put me a tiny bit at ease. But now he was staring at my chest.
"So I see you work at XXXXXX..."
God damn work shirt! I knew nothing good was going to come from this. Fine, he wouldn't jack me here, of course not. There would be witnesses. He'd stalk me at my office down by the rail yards in the middle of nowhere. He'd bide his time, now that he knew where I work. Fucking shirt. Well, at least the authorities will know who to call when my lifeless body is found floating in an irrigation canal.
As delightful as the conversation had been, I turned my attention to the office window, desperately looking for anyone. It was 8:26, four minutes to go.
*tick, tock, tick, tock*
"That watch is really amazing..."
*tick, tock, tick, tock*
'I looove how all the diamonds sparkle in the sun..."
Suddenly I saw the office manager through the window. I've dealt with her before, and she's dumb as a bag of bricks, but now if only she'd look at me and see the fear in my eyes, I'd take back all the nasty things I've thought about her in the past. She sauntered to the door and unlocked it. I anxiously jumped to the front desk and handed her my check. As she slowly, deliberately started writing out my receipt I realized the thug behind me would have to go through the same process. I would have several minutes to make my escape. Although he knew where I worked, he didn't know what I drove and, thank God, he didn't know where I lived.
Just then the office manager held up my check...
"SO YOU LIVE AT 1234 MAIN STREET*, RIGHT?"
You have got to be fucking kidding me. She just announced to an obvious hoodlum where I lived! And where he could find the lovely diamond watch he so coveted. I glanced over my shoulder, and the thug was all ears. I was sure he'd be by later that night to pick it up. In the middle of the night. While we were sleeping.
Of course it didn't happen, not last night at any rate.
But I'm sure it's just a matter of time.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
*not our real address
