Squirrels: Chapter 8: Part 03: Sandwich Negotiation

Please enjoy the next post in Murdertrout, Chapter 8 of Attack of the Lesbian Activist Squirrels. Comments are welcome. Tips via the PayPal link to the right are also welcome but always optional.

Merry Christmas and happy reading.

Happy to be alive, Brett dove out of the van before Cindy could initiate any further automotive feats. The parking lot was empty save a single farm truck. It was old but well equipped and unreasonably large. (Did no one drive a normally scaled vehicle anymore?)

“We’re in a van, down by the river!” Cindy hammed with her best Chris Farley impression.

This made no sense to Brett, who assumed the T fellow lived near a river. Vans, he concluded, either caused or were associated with madness. No wonder they stopped making them.

By now Cindy was in the back rummaging around in “the equipment”. She tossed aside a huge shoulder-mounted camera that looked pretty expensive. Rummaging through a box full of wires, she retrieved a soda can sized camera she’d obviously soldered together out of junk. Brett looked dubiously at her handmade toy and the beefy professional looking thing she’d ignored.

“It’s VHS, total shit.” Cindy waved dismissively at the impressive camera. She mounted her little device on a tripod that looked like she’d welded some pipes together. “I welded pipes together.” She explained, as if that was a good thing. “You could beat a bear to death with this tripod.” She thumped it to show how solid it was. Brett was, theoretically at least, a riparian ecologist. He’d spent hours and hours near and along streams. Despite the hubbub about Grizzlies he’d rarely seen one and they’d never been an issue. He’d never beaten a bear to death with anything. What was Cindy planning for their nature documentary?

Near the opposite side of the river, a thoroughly disreputable fellow was lounging on a flat rock. He had a fishing pole, a floppy hat with lures “stored” on the brim, and a small backpack. Imagine a trendy fly fisherman who’d been attacked by hyenas and you’ll still have envisioned someone far more presentable than this particular riparian bum. It was less like a normal person going fishing than a homeless man who’d found a gift certificate for LL Bean and bought a fly rod.

This man was The Curmudgeon.

Cindy and Brett planned out a wonderful opening shot. The river would be a glorious backdrop. Unfortunately, the guy on the rock ruined the view. As they adjusted their camera, the weirdo took a pinecone from his pocket and lobbed it into the water. Brett wondered if bums were allowed to take up fly fishing. Wasn’t fly fishing for millionaires?

“Hey, over there.” Brett shouted across the water. “You have to move. We’re trying to film a documentary.”

The Curmudgeon focused on Brett; an evil grin spread across his face. Brett knew he’d made some sort of faux pas. “That guy looks like he could own a van.” Cindy whispered.

“Upon careful consideration,” The Curmudgeon announced, “I regretfully inform you I ain’t moving; for you or anyone else.”

“Please?” Cindy tried to defuse the situation. Maybe two X chromosomes could fix this before the hillbilly tossed Brett into the river.

“Let me think,” The Curmudgeon fixed on a distant point and scratched his chin, as if the computational bandwidth under his battered hat was limited. “Nope, having re-examined your argument I am still in agreement with my earlier analysis. Y’all can kiss my ass.” It should be noted that The Curmudgeon had plans to move anyway but took offense at being ordered to do so. Thus, he was trapped in a conundrum of stubbornness. He actually wanted to move but couldn’t. This was all Brett’s fault. Contrarian to the core, once someone ordered him to move, The Curmudgeon was honor bound to stay put… forever. It was damn inconvenient but a man has to have principles.

“I’ve got an uncle like that.” Cindy told Brett. “He’ll stay there all day. He’ll build a cabin and live there; just because you pissed him off. We need to negotiate. Darn it, I knew we should have candy in the van!”

Cindy went back into the van and started rummaging for something to offer. Brett feared she’d give away that big camera that was probably still considered very valuable according to the University’s property list. The Curmudgeon tossed another pinecone and watched it carefully.

“I’ll trade a sandwich for the view.” Cindy had returned with a Tupperware box.

“Hey, that’s my lunch!” Brett complained.

“The fish are going to start biting soon.” The Curmudgeon countered. “I’ve waited two hours and it’s almost time.”

“It’s pastrami.” Cindy added.

“What kind of bread?”

“Rye.”

“Mustard?”

Cindy checked and nodded. The Curmudgeon tossed another pinecone and swore under his breath. Then assented. “OK, fine.”

Without a second’s hesitation, he strode into the water and began wading across the current. Brett sighed, his mother had made that sandwich.

The Curmudgeon stopped twice in midstream; each time retrieving a pinecone from a pocket and tossing it into the current. He’d watch carefully, but apparently nothing was happening.

Soon he was on shore, well out of camera range, and completely engrossed in the sandwich. Meanwhile Cindy was standing in front of the camera, reading the script Brett had written. He was holding up an iPad to serve as their makeshift teleprompter.

“Hello, I’m Cindy Leachman and I’m delighted to welcome you to Untamed Monarchy, a documentary series about America’s most interesting animals. First, a word from our sponsor ‘Incremental Insurance’”.

“Are you a dumbass who keeps wrecking your car? Incremental Insurance is happy to monetize your bad driving. For a low rate paid every month we will protect you from the fruits of your own behavior. When you have yet another crash, just call us. We’ll give you as much as half of what you’ve accumulated in payments to us. After a small matter of three estimates and getting raked over the coals by the world’s meanest claims adjusters, you will get a check to pay for repairs on the vehicle you just trashed. Remember, Incremental Insurance is why your bad driving is a hassle for everyone else, but painless for you!”

“Nice!” Brett announced. “Now lets record the opening for episode one.”

“For today’s episode we’re going to try to capture video, for the first time anywhere, of one of America’s rarest…”

Cindy paused.

“Brett! What the hell?”

Brett tried to defend himself. “No, it’s real, I’ve been tracking this one for months. It’s in my Thesis…”

It was no good. Cindy stormed off, having decided a van was a good place to pout. There were no limits to the uses of a van.

“Haw haw haw.” The Curmudgeon roared in laughter. “She’s Marlin Perkins and you’re Jim. Gonna’ find an anaconda in the Northern Rockies?”

“I had to pitch it that way to get funding. But I’ve got a real discovery on my hands and if this works we’ll make some serious bucks.” Brett whined.

Just then Cindy returned. Ignoring the Curmudgeon, she lit into Brett. “You’ve been in college too long. It’s sunk into your head and now you’re as stupid as the rest of them. I can’t believe I went into business with you only to discover you’re an egghead.” She paused. “And why isn’t there any candy in the van?”

Brett shrugged his shoulders, unsure what to say. The Curmudgeon reached into a pocket, retrieved a Halloween fun sized bag of M&Ms and tossed it to Cindy.

“Thanks.” She replied sheepishly. “I’m so sick of University bullshit. You know I got docked on a computer engineering project because I designated two hard drives as ‘master’ and ‘slave’? That’s the goddamn terminology, but some shithead who gets excited because her iPhone can paste kitten ears on photos got triggered. I had to spend two weeks in ‘sensitivity training’.” She downed the candy like a drunk swigging from a paper bag.

“Did you tell them the plug on the end of a cord is called ‘male’ and receptacle is called ‘female’?” The Curmudgeon joked.

“Yes, I had to have that discussion too.” Cindy shouted. “And don’t forget the racist coloring of neutral versus positive wires! It’s a shitshow. The way University runs we’re all going to wind up living in mud huts.”

“I think you mean ‘carbon neutral structures made of locally sourced materials’.” The Curmudgeon chuckled, then, seeing the color of Cindy’s face turning angry red, he tossed over another bag of candy, which may have saved his life and definitely saved Brett’s.