Remotely Controlled 3

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I had woken up with a great, refreshed feeling. Sauntering into the kitchen, I saw the expression on Stuart and Sam’s faces turn and look at me as if I had something on my face. So, I checked, just to make sure. No, nothing unusual.

“What? What is it, you guys?”

“Um… Garrett, I think you better look in a mirror,” Samantha said with her jaw dropping, as Stuart laughed uncontrollably. “You did this to him! Stuart!”

Wondering what was up, I walked into my bathroom. There I was, full beard, mid 40’s, gut out. A good fifty pounds overweight, easily, same as always. I scratched my belly hair and wondered what was up that was so funny. Sam came up from behind me with the remote.

“What? What’s going on?” A flash of blue hit me and I suddenly became aware that I was supposed to be 30, thin as a rail and hairless. Stuart hopped up and down and pointed.

“It’s only fair, you did it to me last night.”

Another flash of blue and suddenly I was myself again.

“I’m gonna kill you!”

“No, don’t you guys!” But I ignored Sam’s pleas and chased Stuart around my apartment in a madcap frenzy. I was my usual dapper self again, looking more like a well manicured, professional white collar worker again (with stunning light brown/dark blonde hair, as opposed to the trucker mullet I’d just been given) who had lost his shirt and his mind. Stuart made his way towards the couch and we began to dance around it, faking each other out.

“You think that’s funny? Stuart? Huh? Because it’s my house, you know. And you are not. To touch. That remote!” Suddenly I pulled a Braveheart, and with one step catapulted over the couch, and landed on Stuart’s leg. WHUMP!

“Ow!”

“You little creep!”

“Hey, get off me! If you want to do that it’ll cost extra.” Stuart and I started to hit each other, which was really more of a series of incredibly gay handslaps. Sam walked over with a frying pan and mallet and used it as a gong.

“Fight’s over, you two. Jeeez.” Sam trudged back.

After we’d settled down some (okay after I’d settled down some) we had a serious discussion about using the remote control. From now on we were barred from using on each other for purposes of humor. The results could be disturbing to say the least. We all had busy days ahead of us so we opted to put the remote in the small safe I kept underneath my bed. For the time being this was the absolute best place for it.

 

SAMANTHA’S DAY

Sam had several bags of recyclables that she was bringing downstairs before heading to Flanannigans. A young boy opened his door and she recognized him as Steven, the neighbor boy.

“Hi, Sam. Uh, do you need some help with those?”

“Why, thank you! What a nice young man you are!” Sam said, handing him a bag of bottles.

“Steven! Where the hell are you!” A large, brutish man in a wife beater came out and apparaised Sam. “Who the fuck are you? That homo’s girlfriend?”

“Excuse me-“

“NO. And you don’t even belong in this building. What are you, living here now? And you’re getting my boy to do your chores for you?”

“No. I can assure you that that isn’t the case at all, he was just being nice.”

“Got my kid to do plenty of things already. Steven, get to the goddamn bus for school. I’m gonna go back to sleep. And don’t get smart, how would you like it if I told the owner about you freeloading?” Steven’s father scratched a swarthy pec.

“She already knows, actually-“ SLAM! Steven blushed profusely.

“Sorry about my dad. He just has a really bad temper.”

“Oh, that’s okay sweetie. Neanderthals just have a lot more pressure up here on their foreheads, it creates migraines and sometimes loss of blood flow.” Steven dutifully followed Sam, helping her lug her bags. Just as they were putting away everything in the bin, Steven heard the sound of the school bus and watched it disappear around the corner.

“Aw, man.”

“Oh, no! Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Dad’s gonna kill me if I’m late for school.”

“No, he won’t. I carry mace. Oh, but I’ll help you out. I was gonna take the citibus anyway, I’ll pay your fare. It leaves in a few minutes, come on. Where’s your school, is it the one just a mile down the road?”

“Yeah! Middle Junior High. It’s right next to the high school.”

“That’s an original name.” Sam got Steven to the bus right on time. “Now that is what we like to call karma,” she said, dropping the change in.

“Wow. Cool. Hey, thanks a lot. I mean it. This is really nice of you. No one ever does stuff like this for me.”

“Well, they should. What about your relatives?” Sam asked out of concern.

“Dad is all I have. He works late and well, you know.”

“He doesn’t hurt you, does he?” she whispered.

“Nah! I mean, he yells at me a lot. Sometimes I get punished but it’s my fault for not, like, doing stuff when I’m supposed to. It’s just normal. You know, he woops my ass here and there but not for a while.”

“Well… you’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s nothing like that. I’m not a Ricki Lake guest. I promise.”

“Well good, because as a chef I don’t like to see people shoot up to 300 pounds.” She smiled and Steven laughed.

“Oh, hey, my school,” he said when they got there. “Hey I got here just on time. Thanks, Sam!” Steven waved and ran up the steps. It seemed like he came from a fairly normal straight asshole, so unfortunately she couldn’t do anything about that.

She smiled evilly. Or could she? She could, theoretically, make his father a bit more malleable. Perhaps even a flaming queen with a giant housewife impression going on. Tony the late night security guard could become Toni the Cockette. But no, she couldn’t fuck with people that way. That was wrong. And she was a good girl. A nice girl. Suddenly she felt a presence near her. An unshaven man was inches away from her face and breathed hot alcohol breath all over her.

“HEY. WANNA TAKE IT OFF FOR ME.”

Involuntarily, Sam knocked him down on the floor with a punch in the chest and an elbow backswing in the face. The man fell down cursing, not really caring to get up from the floor. The bus driver stopped.

“Honey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I just had something on my shoulder.” Sam waved it off.

“Daaaaamn. You knocked him out. Good girl!”

The bus driver continued on to her next destination. Thanking God for female bus drivers, Sam smiled. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

Scenes from Flanannigans that day:

“Samantha!!”

“Yes, Mr. Mooney?”

“I don’t pay you to stand around looking like some cheap slut. If I did I might not be so miserable. Get in the back, Stella and Joanne need ya.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam said, through homicidally clenched teeth. Luckily for her boss, no one had been within earshot, but she was polishing the tables due to the restaurant being severely understaffed.

“Samantha!!! What have I told you about leaving the floor with too much water on it after you mop!?”

“Mr. Mooney, I put up a sign.”

“You kids have no work ethic these days. In my day, poof poof, wipe wipe, woulda been done by now. Get over there with some paper towels. Then get right back on those orders!”

“YES SIR.” Sam’s smile was about to crack. Her teeth were about to shatter.

“SAMANTHA!!!”

“Yes! What??”

“Hussle it up. The bigwigs from Flanannigans headquarters are out here.”

“It’s only been five minutes.”

“What am I, a watchmaker?” He burped. “And you know, you’re lucky I’m such a nice guy, you could have it way worse.”

“I know, I could be in a gulag.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s like Disneyland. They have really weird rules there.”

“Oh.” Burp. “I need bourbon!” Mr. Mooney stumbled off.

“Man, honey, I’m sorry, he is really ridin’ your tail today.”

“I know,.thanks Joanne. I just wanna go home and then come back here with…”

“With what?”

“A Bible and some holy water.”

“STELLAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

“What?” Stella yelled back, putting her hands on her hips.

“Just… nothin’.” Mr. Mooney bumped into the side of the door again and made his way eventually out of the doorframe, which he was looking at with some confusion.

“He doesn’t really push you around.”

“He can’t. I’m bigger than he is. You don’t fret now, I’ll go out and take orders and then I’ll be right back to help.”

 

STUART’S DAY

Stuart skipped in to the shop just as his manager, Irene, who looked like a steel cold mountain cat in a designer navy business suit, regarded him with unforgiving eyes.

“You’re LATE. Stuart.”

“No, I’m not. See? I’m right on time.” Stuart pointed to his watch.

“Right on time? You usually need at least ten minutes before your shift starts to go to the bathroom and fluff up or whatever it is you do and to get out here so I can go over the tasks for the day. Or have you forgotten?”

“Sorry!”

Stuart’s day consisted mostly of helping old women try on dresses and finding coordinating designer clothes for them. He was the best employee by far but his boss was sometimes less than appreciative.

Scenes from Stuart’s day:

“Stuart, get over here. I need you to organize these tags and put them out on the floor. I don’t know where they go so you’ll have to use the binder. Then I want you to make sure everything has a security plastic key attached.”

“Kay. But oh my god, I just did that yesterday.”

“Do you listen to me? Do you even listen to a thing I say? Do you listen?”

“I listen to you.”

“I don’t think you listen to me.”

“Okay, I think this blouse would look really pretty on you.”

“Stuart! I told you to get on the phone if it’s ringing.”

“Oh. Um. Okay, I thought since you were right there…” Stuart said, fumbling to get the phone.

“I’m sorry about that, he’s just not very with it today.” Stuart glared a look of hurt.

“Yes, I’m sorry about that sir, it won’t happen again. I gave that task to my underling STUART and it looks like he bumbled it! Yes, yes, but it’s understandable. That’s why I’m in charge. All right. Okay. The inventory sheets won’t be mismarked again. Buh bye.”

“But…” Stuart said, confused. “I never did that.”

“Stuart, as long as you’re concerned, you did. IF you enjoy working here as much as you say you do. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” Stuart looked at the ground sadly.

 

GARRETT’S DAY

Whistling a tune as I walked down the cubicles handing out memos on how to be sunnily nice (a task that fits me perfectly) for a corporate environment, life at the bank was boring as a block of plain tofu when Preston waved at me. Preston was immaculately groomed with short black hair, and sported a tie today that was purple with little pink flowers on it. He also was wearing one a kerchief around his neck in that little Jackie O style I could never get down myself. He could be Mr. Gay Office Worker (actually he did win that title at one of the bars last year). He treated life as if it was a catwalk.

“Garrett!!!” he squealed. “I am so excited. The Spice Girls concert is only two days away! I have an extra ticket because my roommate had to have her stomach pumped. Food poisoning. She thinks it was a bad hot dog but I was all is there any such thing as bad hot dog?”

“Oh, gee, I have plans that night,” I said. “But you could always ask the boss.” Who was coming right at us at 12 o’ clock.

“Oh, yeah, very funny,” Preston mumbled.

“Garrett the Ferrett! And Preston. You boys got a minute? Need to talk to you.” Brent straightened his tie. Looming over both of us, he was an obvious ex athlete still in his prime. Same age, definitely in shape. As in the shape of a truck in an expensive suit. He sort of looked like he could be a newscaster with his all American looks and patriotic speech giving abilities. A newscaster with no gaydar.

“Hey, boss.”

“Hey, are those baseball tickets?”

“No, I’m going to see the uh, Spice Girls.”

“Oh, nice. That one redhead is a regular firecrotch. Bet you’d like to get some of that.” Brent said to Preston.

“Well, yeah, but she’s taken, I think.” I butted in.

“Boys, as the only other uh… guys in the office I just wanted to point out it’s pivotal to make a good impression on the team coming in next week. Just make it known to them that you would never, you know, do anything inappropriate with the women in the office.”

Preston let out a half choke half laugh. “Scuse me.”

“Anyway, I know what you’re thinking, most of these chicks would make a house of pancakes look not flat in comparison but there are just enough younger gals to warrant suspicions. So, just be good little Boy Scouts and act the part. I know you’re a tiger, Garrett”

Preston made the same choke-laugh.

“But it’s important to keep up appearances and play the nice young boy next door. You too, Preston.” Preston saluted.

“No problem, here! What about you, tiger?” he asked me.

“Oh, I think I can control my impulse to climb on top of Stephanie the receptionist.”

“Well,” Brent said laughing “that makes one of us. Only kidding, my wife would kill me, unless I uh… Garrett walk with me alone here, you can go now Preston. Oh, and uh, take care of that stack of Garrett’s paperwork while you’re at it.”

“But… um… okay.” Preston got a distraught look on his face and sauntered away with angry gay fists clenched and I was helpless whisked to Brent’s office.

“Garrett, can you keep a secret?”

“Well-“

“I really have a bit of a pickle, see… Stephanie and I have had a bit of a thing and uh, you know, I’m married. So uh, if she says anything well, there could be trouble. Now I’ve already talked with her and I’m pretty sure she’s cool but if she spills the beans I need you to persuade them that she’s a lying whore.”

“I… um…”

“And I figure, maybe that you dumped her and she was bitter and jealous because we’re good buddies, you know.”

“Okay, well, why would she do that? Out of curiosity?”

“I… might have told her I’d leave my wife if we slept together. You know, regular stuff. Now, onto other business. I still would like to get your opinion on my grandfather’s old war stuff.”

“Brent, are you sure you want to sell those? I mean they’re family heirlooms.”

“Garrett, I didn’t get where I am by being someone that thinks twice. I never knew my grandfather but my wife wants a new SUV. Maybe new patio furniture. Or a tennis court. We really haven’t decided but one of those is gonna happen. If selling my grandfather’s old swords will make Pam happy, who I am to stand in the way?”

I sat there slightly horrified. Brent was a callous, mean, undeserving jerk. Bad thoughts were starting to form in my head. Bad, bad thoughts.

“Um, kay.”

“My house this Sunday. We’ll watch the game. No need to bring beer.”

But maybe I would bring something else, I decided.

“Oh and uh, did you see how I handled twinkle toes out there?”

“Preston? Yeah, look Brent…”

“I mean, I am pretty darn sure that he’s gay now. I mean, he does like the Spice Girls but that’s not enough to make him straight.”

“Um… wow.”

“Yeah. I mean, just between you and me the bigwigs will probably find him cute and all, but fluffing his butterfly wings like he does won’t exactly get him promoted.”

“Because, he wouldn’t be management material.”

“Bingo. Can’t have a boss you don’t take seriously. Garrett, this is why you are my right hand man. I trust you. Now you get out there and do me proud.” Brent said shaking my hand, in a very manly way.

“Oh, believe me, I’m going to do things you won’t even see coming.”

“Thaddaboy.”

Later, after work I stopped by Stuart’s to pick him up. He had his own apartment of course but the weird events going on had meant he was at my place more than usual. I needed people around me right now to keep me grounded. Besides, he was my best friend and I wanted his opinion. I got there just in time to see him being chewed out by a woman who looked like Hell’s specialty women’s store was missing someone.

“Stuart, in the future, do not talk over me. You are this close. Now get over there and help that woman. And wait. I wanted to tell you another thing. I’m tired of all these excuses. Stop talking back to me and just do what I tell you for once. You are so lucky to be here after all of your screwing up all the time. Well? What are you waiting for?”

“I’m sorry. But… I… I’m supposed to be off now.”

“Did I say you could leave? What are you, the boss now? Get over there. Help her. Then you can leave.”

“Okay. Sorry.” Queen Bitch left to get her broomstick and Stuart looked like he was going to cry.

“Stuart,” I said, following him through rows of pink sweaters. “What was that? Why didn’t you say something?”

“I can’t, Garrett. You don’t understand. I can’t ever do anything that’s enough. But she’s not here for all my shifts. Sometimes the other manager is here and she’s way nicer. But that’s only two days. I can’t talk about this now. I’ll meet you outside. Soon. Promise.”

I stood outside, plotting and plotting. I decided that my plan, forming rather abruptly was going to be very good in the long run. It had to be. I came up with it.

That night, Sam, Stuart, and I were all flipping through TV channels.

“Next, did Gay Marriage start the California Wildfires? Next, on FOX News!”

“Oh God, change it!” Sam said groaning.

“There. Desperate Housewives.” Two contented sighs followed.

“So Garrett, I was thinking… about the remote.”

“Uh… huh.”

“Remember how we said that we would only use it for good?”

“Yeah…”

“Can I borrow it? For doing something… good?” Sam batted her eyes.

“What are you gonna do with it?” I sounded as suspicious as possible.

“Make my workplace a little bit happier?”

“Why don’t you just wait until you find a new job?”

“I CAN’T! I’M GOING TO SNAP! SNAP I TELL YOU!”

“Uh… do you want a Cheez It?”

“Yes,” Sam said desperately as she assumed housewife position on the couch. “It’s just, I get treated like crap and my boss is very… self involved. So I was thinking maybe he should be a little more friendly.”

“No.”

“What.”

“It’s too risky. We don’t want a bunch of people catching onto this.”

“Fine. Okay. Forget I said anything.”

“You won’t change him too much, will you?”

“Thank you! Thank you, sweetie, now I don’t have to guilt trip you!” Sam said, smooshing my cheeks.

“Nho pob’em”

“Yay. I’m happy now.”

So, the night went on and Sam fell asleep and I turned off the TV. I ran to get the remote out of my safe. As Stuart was helping himself to another snack I froze him.

I made him an inch taller.

I made him ten pounds heavier, muscle only.

I unfroze him.

“So buddy, you want to crash here tonight?”

“Okay. Oh my god, I really appreciate it. And thanks for not like, saying anything about earlier. I kind of want to forget about it.”

“It’s okay, buddy. Just get a good night’s rest. I think you’ll feel much better in the morning.”

“Really? Yeah, I am pretty groggy. But I feel… I dunno. Like I’m a little sore all over. It’s weird.”

I fingered the remote that was in my pocket. I hugged Stuart goodnight and he went to bed on Sam’s guest bed. I slunk back to my room, nearly giddy.

This was only the beginning, I thought. I have every right to do what I’m about to do, and it’s not like there’s anyone who could stop me.

Or, at least, that’s what I thought.

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