Remotely Controlled
by Otaru_grower
So, this is me. That skinny gay boy dancing in the mirror lip synching to Erasure. Approaching 30. Light brown hair. Average, except for unrelenting wit. Name is Garrett. And this is my story.
“Oh my God. What are you doing?”
And this would be my faithful and husky voiced companion, Samantha. She serves as best friend and confidante. One day we’re going to move to Miami with a sassy Southerner and dimwitted widow. But until that day, we are trapped in our dreary lives. Well, not for much longer. But sorry, on with the story.
I got off my bed and smoothed my shirt. “I was…reading.”
“You looked like you were having a seizure in mid air.”
“They’re called Erasure, not seizure. They were a wonderkund band!”
“Because I’ve never heard of Erasure. Do you know where the hell I left my purse?”
“I put it in the closet, on top of the drawer on the left.”
“I can’t even see it. I just put it on the couch.”
“Yes, but nothing should stay on the couch because what if company comes over?”
Sam took my face in her hands. “You are a weird, neurotic alien gay man from the planet Neatfreak. Learn the language of Earth.”
“Sorry. It’s just that there are certain ways I like my apartment to…be.”
Sam sighed loudly. She had been using my shower but was now of course dressed. She crumpled a pillow over her face and screamed in agitation.
“So, how’s it going living with sister?”
“She’s so insane, she’s driving me CRAZY!”
“Mm hmm.” I plopped on the bed.
“Today we made cookies in the shape of Noah’s Ark. Then she told me how funny Evan Almighty was. Then we watched it. Then we watched a tape explaining how evolution couldn’t be real because THE ARK made everything happen. Which by the way means all animals are retard inbreds.”
“It sounds like you’re tired of Arks.”
“I AM TIRED OF ARKS! Oh my God, I can’t stand this anymore. Please let me move in with you. Pretty please? With maple syrup on top?”
“Oh…I don’t know,” I said, making a face.
“I don’t care if you bring tricks over. I don’t care! I’ll provide mood music! I’ll play the fucking violin myself.”
“Violin? What are you, high?”
“Pleeeeeease. She’s making me go to a dance next week. She wants to introduce me to her friend Roger. The youth pastor.”
“Oooooh, forbidden fruit! You must.”
“I hate you.”
“Oh come on, it can’t be that bad.”
“Number one, Roger wears pastel vests. I can’t watch movies that are PG 13, I can’t walk into the bathroom without seeing Bible verses IN CROCHET and to make matters worse she had an intervention the other day.”
I laughed out loud.
“I’m serious. She thinks I’m in cohorts with Satan.”
“You mean you aren’t? Did you get it on film? Can I watch? Please say yes!”
“She says that I hang out with too many homosexual perverts and that it’s destroying my moral fabrics.”
I paused. “Okay I don’t think you should live with her anymore.”
“Thank you!!!” She latched onto me, me the life preserver on an ocean of lilac bedspread, her long dark brown hair clogging my face. Yes, my bedspread is lilac, shut up.
“I didn’t say that you were going to move in with me.”
“Sure you did!” She happily got up. “I’m going to make breakfast. What do you want?”
“Luke Wilson serving me eggs on his chest.”
“I’ll make you some curry eggs!”
I will say this about Sam, she is great at cooking. Her job at the local eatery with wacky alligator heads and ships wheels on the wall does not do her justice. I walked out into the living room to go through my email and in no time the wafting scents from a Bangkok market filled the apartment air. Sam had come prepared to entice me, I thought. Somewhere a bunch of demons were well fed and pampered, if her sister could be trusted at all.
“You know this isn’t permanent!”
“It never is,” she said, her head hanging down into view from the kitchen doorway. She smiled her darling winsome smile. “You won’t even know I’m here!” I winced, remembering the purse. Okay, I’m insane. I know that now, so just stop your comments, Mr. Commentator. As she chopped vegetables I scanned ads on craigslist.
“Hey, do you want to go to a garage sale?”
“Ooh, where?”
“Just on Delacross St. We can take the greenway. You brought your bicycle over, so it’s perfect.”
“Cool, I’m looking for a new wardrobe anyway. I need to find something good for interviews.”
“What about the church donation bin?”
“My sister would claw my eyes out and tell me I’m not unfortunate enough,” she said, chopping vegetables and then pausing just long enough to roll her eyes.
“I was really afraid of this, you know. Now I feel bad.”
“Oh no, don’t! I mean, I understand you being reluctant. I know I stayed with you before a few times, but it’s been three years. That’s a good track record, right?”
First course: miso soup in a small bowl with swimming scallions, lemongrass and tofu, with sides being tiny portions of kimchee, sweet black beans, and cold spinach with sesame seeds, and some vinegared bean sprouts.
“How the hell did you make this so fast?”
“It’s a secret. Manga!”
“You want me to be anime?”
“I can take it back and give to the homeless woman I saw outside.”
“Yes, mother,” I said.
After the eggs came we started to talk serious logistics of her moving in and for how long. She would look for another place, possibly in my own building. I promised to ask the manager if anything was available. In the meantime, we would spend our lovely Sunday morning totally not in church and instead of praising the heavens, Samantha would get a real reprieve and escape with a little help with some divine intervention. And what’s more holy than rummaging through a perfect stranger’s crap? Nothing, that’s what.
So, while Sam called her sister and explained to a perturbed Annie that she would not be attending services at today’s Big Brother rally, I listened to my Ipod play the Strokes as we walked our bikes out. The great thing about the greenbelt is that it’s one big stretch and you can see real clearly. So no cars are going to jump out at you since it’s just a big sandbar that cuts around the lake. Which is great because I can listen to music and check out guys asses simultaneously.
When we arrived, we were up against some serious granny sifters. The thing was huge. Huge house, huge amount of crap on an extensive lawn with a huge tree sheltering the crowds from the quite bright autumn sun. I walked and paroused some 70’s board games that might fetch a good price at the antiques shops. See, as a sideline to being a shleb in an accounting department at the bank, I also double as an amateur antiques dealer. It’s how I make extra money. What I really want to do is quit so I can get a job dealing antiques, but so far I’ve hit a bit of a dead end there. I would make way less money as just doing retail, so what I needed was enough dough to buy my way in as a partner or partial owner and then continue to make my own finds and deals and keep more of the money on the things I find. I know how to spot. It’s just that finding the real valuables isn’t that easy. You have to find people who don’t know what they have. Today was Jackpot Day.
The owner it turns out, had died. I talked with the daughter who had just inherited everything. She waved from a lawn chair while resting her middle aged flip flop wearing feet. “Everything’s cheap, honey. I just want to get this crap out. We have lots of furniture, lots of clothes, lots of, well, I’ll let you navigate. You won’t beat this sale.”
“So if you don’t mind me asking, this is a lot of stuff. You’re sure you don’t want to keep any of it?”
“I’m sure, oh I’m sure. My father and I weren’t that close. I was his only child. There’s a lot of bitterness. I don’t want to look at any of this. But the house is wonderful, so I’m keeping it.”
“Yeah. I have to admit I was excited to come to a garage sale in this neighborhood.” Because, did I mention Jackpot Day? By the way, at this very moment a woman with a manicured poodle walked by and sniffed in disgust. “Bitch. I mean, you have a nice bitch,” I said, as she turned.
“My husband is a lawyer,” she said, and I turned around, rather mystified and wondering where the hell I’d landed. And what spaceship I needed to move in myself.
“Hey Garrett, look what I found. It’s like the perfect pair of shoes. I think this guy had a fetish or something.”
“Well, that’s completely sordid! I’m calling Stuart.”
“Why? It’s still noon.”
“Because he can bring his truck. I’m going to be a spendin’ today, Loocy!”
“But Rickeeeeeeeeee, I want to be the star of the Garage Sale!” she said, doing her best impression. “Okay, yeah, I’m gonna browse some more.”
“Hello? What is it?”
“It’s me Stuart, it’s Garrett.”
“Why are you calling me, oh my God, it’s still noon.”
Ah, Stuart. My other best comrade in arms. Imagine a curly haired and much gayer version of Archie from the Archie comics, with a lisp visible from space.
“Stuart you need to bring your truck. I’m at a garage sale. We can make a shitload of money.”
“Oh my God, why? I don’t want to get up, oh my god.”
“Pleeeeeease? Stuart, I found you some great shit here. It’s on Delacross St.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Martha, really. Your healthy living is right around the corner. Get your truck over and I’ll pay for dinner tonight.”
“Oh my god, fine.”
“Don’t go back to sleep!”
“Oh my god I wasn’t. Okay I was. Fine, I’m on my way.”
I gave him the address and promised him to hold on to any techno albums if I found any. Surprisingly, I did. Whoever owned this house may have been someone’s dad, but he knew his trance music.
“This is so voyeuristic. I mean, garage sales usually are, but this takes the cake. Look, this guy has every physics book known to man but also couldn’t get enough collectible Willie Nelson shirts. And oh look, this one comes with rhinestones.”
“Eww, that is just wrong. There is no way that this ALL belonged to the same guy, Garrett.”
“Maybe he had multiple personalities. Or maybe he liked to listen to Willie as he tried out new pumps.”
“VISUAL! I don’t need.”
“Is that Willie Nelson?” asked a blue haired woman a foot shorter than Samantha, hobbling up behind her. “I always liked him. I didn’t know the professor liked Willie. Do you like Willie Nelson?”
“Um, actually I’ve never heard of him,” said Sam. Oh, Sam, I thought. Whenever Sam doesn’t want to talk to someone she lies just for the benefit of interesting conversation. I choose to view it as amusing so long as it doesn’t land me in jail or beat up. I run away before those things happen.
“Oh, he’s a big celebrity! The professor knew that. Boy I got an umbrella stand with Willie at home, and look you can get a plate with Willie’s face on it!” The old woman was in heaven.
“Wow, you can eat right off his face! Imagine how happy THAT made the professor!” I blurted out.
“Boy howdy, I know. The professor sure had some interesting stuff. I never took a visit to him when he was alive. I feel bad about that, but my back ain’t what it used ta be. I mainly just have my grandson drive me but I live right across the street.”
“So you knew this guy?” I asked. “What was he like?” I sorted through some weather vanes with interest that looked pretty old, maybe almost a century old.
“Oh, real nice. Eccentric. Didn’t have a lot of people over. Had a lightning storm at his house every other Tuesday. Sometimes we’d watch with lawn chairs. Hell a lot of the neighbor kids loved him, too, til he closed off the back fence so they couldn’t see.”
“Wow. Lightning. That’s…um…”
“Course nothing beat the time the UFO came round. He had all sorts of projects. He was a scientist. Had a whole bunch of underground contacts with the Illuminati. Of course I’m not supposed to tell you that, but I’m old and they won’t bother me. Do you want that?” she finished, pointing to a Frisbee with the Olsen twins on it.
“It’s yours, honey.”
“Thanks, you’re a sweetie. My name’s Alice.”
“I’m Garrett. I’m uh…gonna go shop more.”
I caught up with Sam just as she was digging through a GIANT pile of bras.
“Jesus, Garrett, you would not believe some of the burlesque stuff this guy owned. He must have been a major drag queen. Look, this is vintage.”
“You’re right. 100% genuine call girl 40’s seedy hotel room wear. For all your call girl needs as you’re creating a need for public service messages for our troops. Look, see, this is a vintage uniform girls who sang for the troops in WWII would wear. Whoever originally owned these definitely got around.”
“Garrett, look!”
“Oh my God. Is that a Tesla Coil???” It had been hiding behind a really tall bookcase. We ran up to it. No one else could have known what it was. “A Tesla coil is basically capable of creating lightning patterns of harmless electrical charge, with plasma filaments. And it looks fucking rad!”
“Wow. I never knew you could have such a geekgasm,” Sam said thoughtfully.
I touched the surface of it. It was maybe ten feet high. “I guess the old lady was right, he did have lightning shows. Can you imagine how cool this would look in my apartment? We could shock your sister with it.”
“Would it hurt her?”
“No but we could convince her that you’re a witch. She’d probably raise a lynch mob, though.”
“What we need is a Tesla coil that can send her to Mars.”
“I would never do that. Think of the poor Martians.”
In the following hour, I set aside some really cool Victorian era furniture pieces. Some watches that were WAY more valuable than the asking price, quite a few antique books, even some of the science ones just out of mere curiosity. Antique toys, a goldmine in any book, some artifacts that could even be archaeological finds. Rich Victorians liked to collect crap from all over the world as they were pillaging it. Today most of that crap has made its way into museums. I’m talking Egyptian, Chinese, Greek, Roman, possibly African and Tibetan, South Pacific figures. Carvings, idols, inlaid boxes, a few small busts, vases, clothing from Civil War military history, medals, hats, all stretching back centuries and I was pretty sure in a few cases, millennia.
My eyes were swimming. I took Samantha aside.
“Do you have…ANY idea how much money I’m going to make from this?” Her eyes widened.
“Really?”
“Yes! Holy shit, this woman has no idea what she has. None!”
“Alice seems to. She found a whole series of William Shatner collectible mugs!”
“Oh you are so fucking funny. Look! It’s Stuart!” I did a mad prance across the yard and stopped in front of the Garage Sale Queen as she wore a straw hat and sunglasses, fanning herself with an issue of People. “Hi there! Um, all of that area over there is the stuff I’m getting.”
“Okay honey, no rush now. It’ll be there. I can watch it. I’m just here watching my soaps.” She was determinedly paying attention to the portable TV as she turned to her blonde milf friend. “And what’s with all this shaky cam shit on All My Children? Jesus fucking Christ. This ain’t ER, just tell me if he gets over the god-damn amnesia!”
“Guard my stuff,” I told Sam.
So after welcoming Stuart warmly I prompted him to come over and assess the situation. We figured we’d have to do two loads, so I began my haggling with the Garage Sale Queen. Floppy hat and sunglasses looked at all that I’d picked out. I began to sweat. Oh, please don’t change your mind. You have a house that has columns for fuck sake. You could welcome the general home after he conquers Eurasia, just let me have your shit!
“You sure know how to pick em’ doncha! You gay guys, I swear to God you have the best taste. So I figure, let’s see, the furniture…” She rounded up an estimate on her notepad. “So I know it’s steep but this is some good stuff. My husband looked a lot of this stuff up on the computer and well, a thousand bucks seems pretty fair to me.”
“Wow. That is a lot of money. But you know us gays, we love to decorate! I think we have a deal.”
We shook on it. I paid her all the cash I had up front and would take the first shipment, then I’d come back for the second part along with ATM cash and then everything would be Even Steven.
By the time we were a couple of blocks away I began to titter.
“Oh my God! I cannot believe this! Do you realize what this means? I can quit my job and probably open my own store with what I can make with all this!”
“Oh my god, that is so great. I’m happy for you,” said Stuart, driving. “You’re like, totally one of the smartest guys that I know.”
“Aww, thank you. I even got, are you ready for this, a fucking Faberge egg? She thinks it’s a replica! HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“Wow, is that like Cadbury?”
“Oh Stuart, I love you. I’m even going to forget you said that.”
“Oh my god, speaking of eggs, I’m so hungry. I’m gonna stop at Jack in the Box.”
“I just made a fortune and all you can think of is fast food?”
“Actually I am totally starving,” said Sam. “Jack in the Box, ho!”
I know what you’re thinking and yes, it is weird. Sam is a chef but she will go for fast food. I guess there’s no accounting for taste. So by the time the orders came through the window I had to do some moving around. Sam was in the backseat with vases, Japanese wooden bureaus, globes, and various 50’s memorabilia, and I had to adjust so that the movie posters of King Kong and Metropolis wouldn’t get any Southwest salad sauce on them. I was too excited to eat. So even though to me it took a lifetime, we made it home, took everything inside, Stuart ate his burger and fries, which I had paid for, and then we went back to repeat.
Stopping at the ATM I ran into someone who you will get to know much better later. His name is Brent. Brent is your average homophobic, former quarterback asshole who now goes to seminars on how to improve yourself so you can launch on people like the pitbull of a man you are, rape them of all of their worldly belongings, and then come home for a nice iced chai. He was a firm believer in that corporate warrior within jargon and used phrases like “indicator” and “maximum advantage” way too much to look smart. If it were up to him, he’d probably walk around with a giant club with spikes at the same time as wearing his $2,000 suits and ties made by blind Italian women from the hair of miniature cat sized goats. And yes, he is one of my bosses, however did you guess?
“Well, look who it is. Garrett the Ferret!”
Yes, this is what he calls me every day. Read on, poor reader, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.
“Hey! How’s it going, Brent?”
“Oh, not bad, not bad. The wife and I are gonna do some mountain climbing. You know, get some real maximum action this weekend. Kids are with my mom, and we’re gonna have a romantic night at the lodge. If you know what I mean. How bout you, any big plans?”
“Um, no. Just antique shopping with my friends.”
“Antiques, huh? That’s right, you’re into that stuff. So is my wife. Hey, I got a couple of things my grandad left me. Some old football things from the 40’s. Bunch of old Navy junk, too. Do you think it’s worth anything?”
“Uh, hard to tell from that description, I’d have to take a look at it.”
“Well, I’m gonna take you up on that offer, boyo! I will expect you to come over to me casa next weekend so we can hang.”
Oh God. No no no. What have I done?
“Sure! Okay, well, see ya later then.”
“See you Monday, mi amigo. Check ya on the flip side!” Brent made a gun out of his fingers and shot a cool guy pose. Before we go any further I would like to point out that Brent has absolutely no idea that I’m gay. Everyone else knows. Hell, the janitors that don’t speak English know. The houseplants know. But Brent is under the impression that I am straight and that I just don’t like to talk about my problem finding a girlfriend. This is right after conversations in the break room that go something along the lines of this:
“So, I was reading about all those gay protesters trying to get marriage licenses. Dude, what is UP with THAT? I mean, it’s not like they can have kids or anything. Hey, what do you think it’s like being married to a dude? Ya think that one of them’s the wife? Hey Harry, don’t forget to iron the clothes. Oh, okay Hank sweetie, and I made you some brownies, too!”
“I like brownies,” I said, cheerfully.
“Me too, Garrett. Me too. But we both know that some brownies are better when they are cut plunk, right down the middle. You know. Straight.”
“So, straight brownies taste better.”
“Exactly! You and I think so alike Garrett. That is why I like you.”
This flashback gives you an idea of my daily routine. Of course I could tell him but that would just be awkward and besides which he’s never really been mean to me. I have no reason to be catty back. Okay I do, but I don’t. Really, it’s much more fun this way. I need to amuse myself somehow. It’s not like I couldn’t get another job, actually I have been looking. I’ve only worked there a half a year but I’ve already become indispensable and without any negative scenarios I really haven’t been able to justify getting worked up yet. Offended, horrified, and unbelievably nauseous…yes.
“So is that your boss?” Stuart asked me after I came back to the truck. “He is really hot,” he popped a bubble with his gum.
“Yes, he’s a dreamboat. Let’s get out of here!”
“So yay!” Sam said. “You can ditch your job with fuckface!”
“Oh, he’s not that bad. He likes you, you know. If he weren’t married...”
“Oh no, did he actually say that?”
“Repeatedly!”
“Ugh. I’m going to barf.”
“Okay but pop a window. I just cleaned in here,” said Stuart.
"If you think that's good, get a load of this. He wants to sell his dead grandfather's personal military stuff."
"EW! What a skeezball! I hope someone carjacks him."
“So you guys. We need to plan. I really will need help when I open my own business.”
“Oh, we’ll totally be there for you. Won’t we, Stuart?”
“I guess,” Stuart said non-committedly. “I’m not really that good at lifting stuff, though.”
“I’ll depend on you to be my Rose.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m not Rose. I’m Blanche. Get it right.”
“Sorry,” I said, laughing.
“Shut up! I am not Rose! I’m way more slutty.”
“Awww, honey,” said Sam, lounging in the backseat. “We believe you.”
As the sale was meeting its end, I gladly came back to my treasures. A bunch more crap had been loaded onto my territory. Garage Sale Queen walked up.
“Well, hi there. I went ahead and threw some other stuff in, wasn’t sure if you wanted it but I don’t think anybody else does. And Lord knows I don’t want to spend another weekend doing this shit. Everything else is going to goodwill. And that thing,” she said pointing to the Tesla coil. “Well hell if I know what to do with it.”
“You really should keep it,” I said. “Or donate it to the local community college. I’m sure they’d love to have one.”
“Ohhhh, that’s a great idea. This one, always a thinker. Okay, well, this outta cover it. You can decide what you want but any of this extra stuff is yours for the taking. Thank you, honey.”
“Thank you! You’re really lovely.”
“Aw, sure thing.” The Queen walked back to her friend, who had a poodle barking madly at nothing.
“God, does everyone around here have a poodle?” I asked.
Amongst the new items were a lot of plastic Mardi Gras beads, assorted kitchenware of all shapes and sizes, silverware, lamps, modern stuff mostly. I agreed to let Sam have all the cooking stuff. As we were making trips to the truck, Sam noticed a bowl with remote controls in it.
“Hey look, I wonder what this is for.”
“I’m sure it goes to something.”
“Meh,” Sam said, and chucked it in a box.
The rest of the evening was spent getting home, cleaned up, and then I treated my friends to a seafood restaurant with all the trimmings. There’s this great Italian seafood place that makes calamari rings that melt in your fucking mouth. If there’s a heaven, George Atlas pumps iron while nubile bodybuilders walk around serving whole plateloads of those things.
Dinner was fun, and I realized that I really was a lucky bastard to have such good friends. Friends who would stick with me, however harrowing or strange things got.
But brother, they were about to get a whole lot stranger.