Treacherous
Four/Ten
Looking back, it's easy to pinpoint where my life began to change, but as I was living it, everything felt fine-at first. Ellie's birthday party was little more than a deviation from my normal routine. Sometimes, I find myself wondering if I would have thrown on the brakes, or even run in the other direction as quickly as possible, if I'd known what was coming, but a large part of me thought not.
I arrived home safely, bemused by my encounter, Murray waiting for me at the door.
I feed him and am actually able to catch a little of David Tutera's show before passing out.
My troubles began the very next morning, as soon as I walked out of the safety of my cozy little home, to find that my car had been keyed.
My car.
Keyed.
In my own driveway.
Well, shit damn hell.
I was going to spend most of my afternoon on the phone arguing with insurance agents.
Talk about a Monday. And, believe it or not, my day only went downhill from there-our customer base began dropping like flies. All throughout the day, in-between haggling about a new paint job with what sounded like Flo from the Progressive commercials via phone, I was fielding calls left and right, all from people who wanted to cancel orders from upcoming jobs.
I say I did this because after the second rude flaky customer Cindy had to deal with in an hour she broke down into tears and I sent her sensitive-ass home. Oy.
Tuesday wasn't much better as I watched our walk-in business deteriorate before my very eyes, not that it was hard to tell why. Bikers. Huge, gross-looking bikers, loitering around my store, not that David Hale, the dolt, would do anything about it. This was Main street, and as soon as he'd arrive, they'd just dart into the cigar shop anyway. And then what was I going to do? Complain that they were taking up parking? All of this would have been at least acceptable had the bikers seemed like the ones from Sunday's party, but these guys were more like the lean-out-of-a-window and yell at a lady type. They were outside jeering when I left, and I did my best to ignore them.
I wasn't even sure what they were on about-hanging out with a rival MC?
Cutting into their coke cartel?
I didn't even know what the hell any of that meant. Did cartel's even exist outside of Columbia?
All of this because I didn't want a little girls birthday to suck. What a world we live in.
I went home, drank a Seagrams (or three) and cried myself to sleep.
If I had known what Wednesday had in store, I would have stayed in bed indefinitely.
This is not something that I'm proud of, but it's the truth.
My bakery was toast, and I mean that quite literally.
I actually sat in my car, staring dumbfounded for a solid ten minutes, afraid to move, afraid to get out of my car for a closer look.
Even then, I was unsteady on my feet, shaking.
How had something like this happened on Main Street? In Charming? The store window, I noted as the sun rose, had been broken through with bricks and apparently the front room had been burned pretty thoroughly. There were still embers and small patches where the flames had yet to burn themselves out. Adding insult to injury, over my pretty little 'Bakery On Main' baby pink candy striped, hand-painted awning, someone had spray-painted slur words that I didn't even want to repeat.
That awning had cost a fortune. I was pissed, and yeah, okay, crying as a bike roared up behind me, making me realize that I was standing on a very deserted street very early in the morning. Unthinkingly, I held my keys in my fist, as he slowed down, whistling to get my attention, like he didn't have it already.
"Nice place ya got there, Princess." The Biker sneered.
"You can thank your friends at Teller-Morrow Automotive for the...redecorating."
"Teller-Morrow?" I sputtered. "What the fuck?"
The animal laughed, blowing me a kiss before speeding off, and I saw red.
My first thought was to go to the Police Station, and file a report, which killed a few hours.
Thankfully Chief Unser was on duty, so I had at least one sympathetic ear.
After that, I sat in the parking lot, feeling relatively safe, and dialed my insurance agent. Again.
My former insurance agent, Flo informed me. I had been dropped from my policy for 'the amount of damage incurred in a limited time'. I didn't know what to even say to that, so I hung up feeling murderous. Everything I had worked for, saved for, scraped every penny for, was gone, all in one fell swoop. I knew nothing at the time about Teller-Morrow Automotive, other than it was a garage just inside the city limits. I did know, however, exactly where it was located, and roared my car to life heading that direction, stupidly looking for answers.
I arrived home safely, bemused by my encounter, Murray waiting for me at the door.
I feed him and am actually able to catch a little of David Tutera's show before passing out.
My troubles began the very next morning, as soon as I walked out of the safety of my cozy little home, to find that my car had been keyed.
My car.
Keyed.
In my own driveway.
Well, shit damn hell.
I was going to spend most of my afternoon on the phone arguing with insurance agents.
Talk about a Monday. And, believe it or not, my day only went downhill from there-our customer base began dropping like flies. All throughout the day, in-between haggling about a new paint job with what sounded like Flo from the Progressive commercials via phone, I was fielding calls left and right, all from people who wanted to cancel orders from upcoming jobs.
I say I did this because after the second rude flaky customer Cindy had to deal with in an hour she broke down into tears and I sent her sensitive-ass home. Oy.
Tuesday wasn't much better as I watched our walk-in business deteriorate before my very eyes, not that it was hard to tell why. Bikers. Huge, gross-looking bikers, loitering around my store, not that David Hale, the dolt, would do anything about it. This was Main street, and as soon as he'd arrive, they'd just dart into the cigar shop anyway. And then what was I going to do? Complain that they were taking up parking? All of this would have been at least acceptable had the bikers seemed like the ones from Sunday's party, but these guys were more like the lean-out-of-a-window and yell at a lady type. They were outside jeering when I left, and I did my best to ignore them.
I wasn't even sure what they were on about-hanging out with a rival MC?
Cutting into their coke cartel?
I didn't even know what the hell any of that meant. Did cartel's even exist outside of Columbia?
All of this because I didn't want a little girls birthday to suck. What a world we live in.
I went home, drank a Seagrams (or three) and cried myself to sleep.
If I had known what Wednesday had in store, I would have stayed in bed indefinitely.
This is not something that I'm proud of, but it's the truth.
My bakery was toast, and I mean that quite literally.
I actually sat in my car, staring dumbfounded for a solid ten minutes, afraid to move, afraid to get out of my car for a closer look.
Even then, I was unsteady on my feet, shaking.
How had something like this happened on Main Street? In Charming? The store window, I noted as the sun rose, had been broken through with bricks and apparently the front room had been burned pretty thoroughly. There were still embers and small patches where the flames had yet to burn themselves out. Adding insult to injury, over my pretty little 'Bakery On Main' baby pink candy striped, hand-painted awning, someone had spray-painted slur words that I didn't even want to repeat.
That awning had cost a fortune. I was pissed, and yeah, okay, crying as a bike roared up behind me, making me realize that I was standing on a very deserted street very early in the morning. Unthinkingly, I held my keys in my fist, as he slowed down, whistling to get my attention, like he didn't have it already.
"Nice place ya got there, Princess." The Biker sneered.
"You can thank your friends at Teller-Morrow Automotive for the...redecorating."
"Teller-Morrow?" I sputtered. "What the fuck?"
The animal laughed, blowing me a kiss before speeding off, and I saw red.
My first thought was to go to the Police Station, and file a report, which killed a few hours.
Thankfully Chief Unser was on duty, so I had at least one sympathetic ear.
After that, I sat in the parking lot, feeling relatively safe, and dialed my insurance agent. Again.
My former insurance agent, Flo informed me. I had been dropped from my policy for 'the amount of damage incurred in a limited time'. I didn't know what to even say to that, so I hung up feeling murderous. Everything I had worked for, saved for, scraped every penny for, was gone, all in one fell swoop. I knew nothing at the time about Teller-Morrow Automotive, other than it was a garage just inside the city limits. I did know, however, exactly where it was located, and roared my car to life heading that direction, stupidly looking for answers.