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“I asked for a large and the dumb shit behind the register didn’t know what I was talking about,” I finally speak in a low voice that quickly gets louder with each word I say. “Venti-grande-horseshit nonsense. I just wanted a motherfucking LARGE CUP OF GODDAMN BLACK COFFEE!”
That’s it. I’ve officially lost it and I give zero fucks. You cause one little scene at Starbucks and knock over three stacked towers of empty cups with a karate chop and suddenly you’re an animal that requires not one, but four sheriff’s deputies to handle you.
“Sweetie, it’s okay. I’m sure it’s a mistake. They can’t just take your house without giving you some kind of notice,” Cindy states, trying to calm me down.
“They’ve been calling her repeatedly for the last three months,” Sheriff Louis pipes up.
“Ah-ha!” I shout, pointing at the smug little asshole across from me. “Now who looks like an idiot? I don’t use my phone for that. NO ONE USES THEIR PHONE FOR PHONE CALLS! WE USE THEM TO TEXT PEOPLE, TO GOOGLE RANDOM SHIT LIKE IF YOU CAN DIE FROM A RUNNY NOSE, AND TO FIND A FUNNY MEME ABOUT HERPES!”
“Oh, Jesus,” Cindy mutters, tightening her hold around my waist.
“Please, don’t be difficult, ma’am,” the older deputy says with a sigh.
“Piss off. I’m not difficult. I’m a fucking delight,” I mutter in annoyance.
I hear Eric chuckle off to the side and resist the urge to reach around Belle and punch him in the stomach. Barely.
“Just because the bank claims they called me doesn’t mean you can just kick me out of my house, right, PJ? Tell them they can’t kick me out of my house.”
“Hon, you’re six months behind in your mortgage. And it says here they’ve not only called you, they’ve sent you emails and letters that have all gone unanswered. I’m sorry, but this is legit and it’s happening,” PJ replies quietly.
There’s no way I’m that far behind. It has to be a mistake. Sure, I missed a few payments here and there, but I’ve been trying to get caught up. They have to at least give me points for trying. I cannot be the only person in the world who ignores her problems in the hopes that they’ll just magically disappear. I’m sure there’s a lot of us. Maybe even a union.
“We want to make this as quick and painless as possible,” grandpa sheriff states. “We know it’s difficult, but we’ll need to escort you through the house so you can grab whatever personal items you need, such as your purse, legal documents, and things of that nature. Other than that, everything has to stay with the house and is now bank property.”
It’s fine. I’m fine.
“Everything? Like, everything everything?” I whisper.
There’s no way they actually expect me to leave behind all my antiques. No. Fucking. Way.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but everything inside the house now belongs to the bank. Eviction proceedings started thirty days ago. The judge issued the eviction five days ago and the notice was taped to your front door. Now we’re required to issue a lockout and change the locks immediately.”
All four deputies move around us and start heading up towards my house as Cindy and Belle take turns reading over the documents PJ is still holding.
“Sweetie, did you not see the eviction notice five days ago?” Cindy asks softly.
“I mean, there was a big, bright orange letter taped to my door sometime last week, but I thought it was the stupid homeowner’s association bitching at me about trimming my hedges again so I ripped it off and threw it away without looking at it. Fucking homeowner’s association and their fucking colorful printouts. This is their fault!” I shout.
“It’s gonna be okay, Ariel. We’ll fix this,” Cindy promises.
“In 2015 an estimated two-point-seven million Americans faced eviction. It’s a growing epidemic,” Belle adds, patting me gently on the back. “Are you going to freak out?”
I look back over my shoulder and watch two of the deputies disappear into my house while the other two stand at my open front door, changing my locks.
“Freak out? Why would I freak out? There’s no reason to freak out. This is all just one big misunderstanding. It will be fine. I’m going to be fine. Everything is fine. Fine, fine, fine,” I singsong with a hysterical bubble of laughter.
Everyone turns around to look back at the house when Deputy Louis sticks his head out the front door.
“You want us to help you out and start dumping all these fish tanks in your kitchen?”
I’d like to say I continue remaining fine, but it all goes downhill pretty quickly after that.
Chapter 3: Gattaca!
“Fuck you and fuck your mother! I will burn all your houses down. Burn them down to the ground, you spineless, soulless, dickless—”
Cindy quickly smacks her hand over my mouth, cutting off the rest of my tirade after one of the deputies suggested dumping my fish tanks.
