I think there’s a woman named Peg living in my garage. The more I think about this, the more entirely possible it becomes. She comes home every night after I come home, and she leaves every morning before I wake up. Some mornings she sleeps in, which is kinda risky and that gets her heart rate up, which is bad for her blood pressure, but she’s gotten to know my schedule well enough to know when I’ll be sleeping in, too. Good for her. She sleeps on the green couch that used to belong to the Barbers (but now is housed in my garage for the remainder of time), which is good for her because even though the couch is mostly made of cushions, it folds out, and it’s quite sturdy and she feels safe there. In her spare time she plays ping-pong and goes through the dozens of boxes of my childhood, it’s her form of treasure hunting, which is really alright with me because (1) there’s not much of actual value for her to cart off with, only stuff of sentiment (for which I’ve forgotten), and (2) I have this feeling that she’s the kind of lady who would leave the world a little bit better off than how she found it; thereby, she’s probably sorting and labeling all the nick knacks and tiddlywinks she’s coming across so that in ten years when I have a wife and maybe a kid or two and have some use for these things, I’ll have an easier time finding what I need. She’s made friends with the mice that live in the garage and eat Angela’s things. She’s named them, and she made little outfits to dress them in, and they sing with her and make her beautiful gowns. It’s really too bad that I found out about her hideaway. Her first slip up was when she got a land-line telephone from Windstream and the bill was delivered to my address. I thought it was strange, but didn’t do anything about it until the second bill arrived, at which point I opened it to see charges in the amount of $2 . . . and some odd cents. Barely $3. What kind of service does Windstream provide for that? Maybe Peg has some special deal. I called Windstream and told them that Peg didn’t live here, that this address doesn’t even receive services from Windstream (as far as I’m aware, that is). After twenty minutes on hold and two conversations with a mostly unhelpful woman, the problem was as unsolved and mysterious as before. The woman said she didn’t know how this was possible, and she asked me to send them the bill back. So I did. Then the next month, the bill arrived again. So I shrugged my shoulders and wrote “Undeliverable” across the envelope and shoved it back in the mailbox. And now every month it’s been the same. Until this month, that is. This month I got Peg’s summons from the Jury Commissioner. Bad News Bears. Because the way the Jury Commissioner tracks down people is through driver’s license registration and voter registration. It seems Peg is intent on settling in my garage for the long run. Maybe she’s a bear getting ready to hibernate for the winter. A Bad News Bear. It’s hard to say, folks. It’s hard to say.
My New House-Mate, Ish