Lola the Exterminator

            by Jessie Moritz

 

“Now make a left hand turn, okay?  No, the other left.  That’s go—watch the curb!  No, you’re doing fine.  Just stay relaxed and we’ll just, just coast through this bit, eh?  Very nice, um, except that was a stop sign.  Okay, now let’s try—no, stay on the right side of the road.  Let’s try to merge with that next lane, hm?  What do you do first?”

            There was a brief, terrified glance from the driver’s seat.

            “Check your mirrors…” prompted the examiner.

            The girl checked her right mirror, swerved into the next lane, and back out as a soccer mom braked to avoid her.

            “Always check your blind spot before merging,” added the examiner helpfully.

            He watched as the girl nodded determinedly, checked her mirror, checked her blind spot, merged into the next lane successfully, and ran a red light.  She shrieked and dodged several elderly pedestrians who brandished their walkers at her in fury, until she finally came to a screaming stop in the middle of the intersection.  A large coca-cola truck waiting the cross the light blasted its horn.  In response, the girl burst into tears.

            “I failed!” she cried miserably.

            “Oh, don’t cry!” said the examiner fretfully, “you did excellently until…well, there’s always next time.”

             “I’m such a…a…failure.”

            “No, you’re not,” said the examiner awkwardly.  He looked sadly down at his clipboard, and then back up at the girl.

 

*                                                          *                                                          *         

 

            “You let her pass?” cried Roland, snatching his breakfast—a greasy croissant and a banana—out of Archie’s hands.

            “She wasn’t that bad, really,” said a flustered Archie, “just nervous, probably.”

            “Probably,” said Roland sarcastically.  His long and pointed nose peered up at Archie as he slouched in his chair and his hair didn’t seem to have decided which direction to grow.  He had a perpetual squint, which he thought made him look rather charming.  He was, in a ruffled sort of way, handsome, but the effect was usually spoiled by his saying something.  His most prominent trait, however, was the incredible level of filth he lived in.  His desk was covered with papers and wrappers—there were skittles wedged under the computer from Halloween six years ago—and the carpet, which was originally beige, had turned a sinister black color.  Even the cockroaches avoided it.  Roland had worn the same shabby black suit for as long as anyone could remember.  Archie remembered it having stripes originally, but Roland tended to smear whatever he was eating on his suit creating large marks that blurred into the next mark. 

            Archie looked immaculately groomed in comparison, but was balding and had wispy hair that flapped in the breeze from the air conditioner and a wide, stunned expression.  He was very proud of his beard, which was probably the most normal part of his character.  It was a vague sort of beard—all hair and no shape—but Archie brushed it daily with joy until if fluffed up like a lamb.  DMV policy stated that his mouth and neck must be visible, but even shortened, the beard gave Archie the appearance of a biker gang leader, except more cuddly.

            “You’re pathetic, you know that,” said Roland.  “Just because she’s snotting all over the steering wheel…”

            Archie, however, was distracted by a public notice on the wall next to him.

            “Hey, Roland, look!” he said excitedly.

            “Have they finally put out a reward for your head on a stick?” snapped Roland, searching around for a coffee mug.  He found one deep inside an empty packet of Cheetos.  Something scuttled out of the wrapper as he pulled the mug out.  “Come on!” he continued, “I want coffee!”

            “Look,” repeated Archie, tapping the notice impatiently, “we’re going to be cleaned.  Mr. Harris is calling in exterminators.”

            “What are you yapping about?” said Roland, wiping out the inside of the mug with a gritty hand, “get me a coffee, will you?”

            “Notice to employees,” read Archie, “On Tuesday, April 15^th, the DMV will be exterminated.  Ensure all your belongings are secure and do not turn up for work on that day.  Oh!  We get a holiday!”

            “Coffeee,” moaned Roland.

            “I haven’t had a holiday in two years,” said Archie, “I think I’ll go to the beach.”

            “I hate holidays,” muttered Roland, “I hate the beach.”

            “Well, you are not invited,” said Archie, “although you could use a swim if you refuse to take a bath.”

            Roland swiveled his chair to his computer in disgust and turned it on.

            “And a book!” said Archie, “I’m going to read Bill Clinton’s new biography.  My mom said it was quite a lark.”

            “Oh,” said Roland, his face spreading into an evil leer as he stared at his computer screen, “no you’re not.”

            “Yes, I am,” said Archie, frowning.

            “Dear Mr. Roland Jerkey and Archibald Mugget,” read Roland, “due to the high concentration of filth in your cubicle areas, you will be returning to work on Tuesday, April 15^th and assisting the exterminators around the office.  I expect your cubicles tidy by Tuesday morning.  Ahahah!”

            “This isn’t fair,” said Archie, “I’m not the filthy one.”

            “And I’m not Hitler,” barked Roland, “life isn’t fair.  I want coffee, damn it!”

            “Get it yourself,” said Archie crossly, “I’m going to clean up my cubicle and tell Mr. Harris this is just a mistake.”

            “Fine,” said Roland, “don’t forget to say hello to Mr. Whiskers.”

            “Mr…Whiskers?” said Archie, his eye twitching curiously.

            “Mr. Harris’ new pet rat,” smirked Roland, “a long, hairy fellow with a wriggling pink tail.”

            “Stop it,” said Archie, cupping his hands over his ears.

            “Fast too.  Squirmed right up Mrs. Prune’s skirt the other day.”

            “Okay!” cried Archie, “I’m not going, happy?”

            “Coffee!” Roland growled, banging the mug on the table.  Archie snatched the mug from him and stomped off the kitchen.

 

            Archie was brushing his beard with a little mirror he kept in his desk when Roland slouched in Tuesday morning.

            “Good morning, Bo Peep,” said Roland.

            “What?” said Archie, fingering his beard reverently.

            “Ah! Good to see you!” boomed Mr. Harris, striding up to the pair.  “Mr…er,” he stopped and glanced briefly at a manila folder he was clutching, “Archibald Mugget and Roland Jerkey.”

            Archie froze, his gaze fixed on a little gray, whiskery nose peeking out of Mr. Harris’ breast pocket.

            “Oh, Mr. Whiskers!” said Roland, “sure it’s safe for him today, Mr. Harris?”

            “That’s why he’s in my pocket,” chortled Mr. Harris, petting the rat fondly, “I’m leaving now anyway.  Just wanted to check you two got my memo and were here to let the exterminators in.  Should be here any moment now.”

            He stopped suddenly as he caught sight of Roland’s cubicle, still layered with several years worth junk.

            “Mr. Archibald Mugget,” he said in a low, dark voice, “didn’t I tell you two to clean up your work areas?”

            “But I did,” said Archie, confused as Roland smirked behind him.  “That’s not my…”

            Too late, Archie realized that Roland had switched the name plates on the cubicles.

            “Does it not say ‘Archibald Mugget’ on this wall, here?” said Mr. Harris, smacking the manila folder on the cubicle divider.  Mr. Whiskers dug deeper into his pocket.

            “Yes, but-“

            “Are you trying to tell me that wall lie, Mr. Mugget?” Harris said dangerously.

            “Er,” said Archie.

            “Interesting,” said Harris, “rest assured that this little insubordination of yours will go down in a memo, which will go into your file, which will seriously affect your chances for employee of the month!”

            “Er,” said Archie, still staring at the writhing lump that was Mr. Whiskers.

            Mr. Harris opened his mouth again, but was interrupted by a sharp knock on the front doors.  “That must be the Rodent Hunters,” said Mr. Harris, gritting his teeth, “we’ll continue this conversation later, Mr. Mugget.”

            “Goodbye, Mr. Whiskers,” Roland called cheerfully as Harris left.

            “You’re horrible,” said Archie, turning to Roland.  “What’d I ever do to you?”

            Roland ignored him and busied himself with slurping down his coffee, spilling at least a third of the cup down his chin and on his suit.  It sunk in and disappeared instantly.

            “That’s a neat trick,” purred a voice behind the pair.  Archie squealed and spun around, and Roland threw his coffee up in the air.  It landed upside down on his computer monitor, which started hissing and sputtering in protest.

            “Aww, don’t get ya knickas in a twist, mate,” came a stronger voice, with a thick Australian accent, “she’s only a little sheilah.”

            Archie was vaguely aware of a

            Lola was tall

 

            “But when will I see you again?” blurted Roland.

            “Next time you got rats,” said Lola, “I’m almost always on duty ‘cause this ‘ere Bruce keeps getting bitten.”

            “Nahsty liddle chompas they ‘ave,” agreed Bruce, “it’s the ohnly way to get the bloody suckas though, and I ain’t gonna let ‘em get away.”

            “Oh, no,” said Lola, “that would be catastrophic.”

            “But we don’t have any more rats!” said Roland, “the kangaroo-man ate them all!”

            “Then I guess I won’t be back,” said Lola, shrugging.

            “Here’s your coffee,” said Archie, placing mugs and placemats reverently on little desk.

            “Oh, that’s alright Archie,” smiled Lola, “we were just leaving.”

 

                        Archie was brushing his beard with a little mirror he kept in his desk when Roland slouched in the next morning. 

            “Good morning, Bo Peep,” said Roland

 

           

 

 

Roland sends Archie away so he can talk to Lola..?

            “This is terrible coffee,” said Roland, peering angrily down at his mug.

            “Sorry,” said Archie.

            “Absolutely awful,” continued Roland meaningfully, “positively disgusting.”

            Archie cottoned on.  “Should I make a new one?” he asked.

            “Oh, not if it’s too much trouble,” said Roland politely, grinding his teeth.

            “I don’t think there was any coffee left

           

Roland is incredibly filthy, but when inspectors come, he switches his name plate with Archie’s and Archie tries to clean it up in time, but usually fails.  Inspector notices paper with “roland is number one.  Woot!” written on it, and Roland attributes this to Archie being obsessed with him.

           

            “It’s a good thing we have people like you to ensure

 

 

glossary:

 

ridgy-didge: the truth, or the genuine article

ripper: something absolutely delightful or admirable

the royal order (or the order of the boot): a sacking or rejection

rough end of the pineapple: unfair treatment

shit-kicker: a person who does humble or degrading work

skerrick, not a: nothing, or none at all “not a skerrick of food in the house”

snag short of a Barbie (to have a few kangaroos loose in the top paddock) : not quite sane, or not very bright.

Spear the beaded clam: to have sex with a woman

Mud map: rough or sketchy map

Narked or narky: irritable

Sambo: sandwich

Shit a brick: exclamation of irritation or exasperation

Decko: a look

Dip one’s lid: tip hat to express respect

Don’t come the raw prawn!: don’t try to fool me

Drain the dragon (also, siphon the python): to pee

Doover: thingummybob or whatsit

Halfback flanker: wanker

Up a gumtree: confused (“No you’re up the gumtree now”)

Ziff: beard

Hot to trot, iffy, squizz, stickybeak, stinker (weather), sunnies, pull a swifty, crack a tinny,