The American and The Brit: Unsolicited Advice Page 8

  I don't know where this newly found confidence had come from but my exuberance was growing by the second. I took the pastry and had a huge bite. Raining pastry flakes as I spoke I mumbled around my mouthful, "Let's do this, Batman." And we got to work.

  The rest of the day we wore our serious hats for the most part and did our best to answer a few letters. We still couldn't believe that these were real people with real problems. Who in their right mind would do some of these things? We didn't go long periods before bursting into laughter, feeling a little guilty that we found these poor people’s misfortunes hilarious. I can say though, hand on heart, that we were never evil. We sympathized with those who had serious problems and decided that we weren't qualified to answer those types of letters. We'd stick to the profoundly ridiculous ones and concentrate our efforts on those. Believe me, there were plenty.

  We headed home feeling accomplished and proud of our achievements. We could see the light at the end of the tunnel. That was the moment we truly believed we were— and finally became—The American and The Brit.

  American and Brit

  Dear American and Brit,

  I’m at my wits’ end. This is the fifth day I’ve gone without more than a few hours sleep. I’m convinced that my girlfriend is possessed. She sleeps in the nude, see, and has this gruesome tattoo of a clown skeleton face on her back and it follows me with its eyes. Yesterday I asked her to have it colored over and I swear to you last night the freaky clown was giving me the evil eye. It’s going to kill me, I just know it. I can’t take it! Am I losing my mind?

  Crazy Clown Hater from the US

  Dear Crazy Clown Hater,

  The American and I usually answer these together but I feel I must reach out on my own with this one. You have a sixth sense same as me. Clowns are evil! Pack your bags and run away! She’s lost but you still can be saved!

  Best of luck,

  The Brit

  P.S. Please don’t mention my name…

  Phoebe

  Enter Hairy Mary

  “Listen to this one, Liz!” I shouted to Lizbeth who was refilling our glasses in the kitchen as I lounged on the sofa. We’d taken our laptops home to get a head start on tomorrow’s work. The amazing thing about all of this is that it didn’t feel like a job at all. We were totally in our element. The questions and my advice had me in stiches.

  “I’m all ears.” Liz grinned as she opened another Coke and poured it over ice.

  “Dear American and Brit, My boyfriend and I have been together for five years. He is an amazing guy and I’ve never caught him in a lie. He has been coming home late every night for the past two weeks. The other day when I was doing the laundry, I discovered a stain and fluid on his underwear. It smelled a little off as well. Do you think he’s cheating? — Concerned and Angry.”

  “Oh. My God!” She’s sniffing his knickers?” Liz howled with laughter as she brought the two glasses of Coke over and sat down on the couch and began reading over my shoulder at my reply.

  Dear Concerned and Angry,

  Unfortunately the evidence isn’t exactly ironclad, so we can’t discern whether your boyfriend is cheating or not. Some investigating definitely needs to take place. We’d advise you to go out immediately and buy a wig and some dark sunglasses. Follow him everywhere. Also, do an underwear sniff test daily. You'll get to the bottom of this soon enough, we have faith in you.

  Keep us posted,

  The American and The Brit

  “You are not submitting that!” Liz began laughing, “Wouldn’t that be hilarious if she took that advice?”

  The idea that the woman would actually follow our advice was absurdly hysterical. “It would, and that’s why I am submitting it or something close to it. What would you submit?”

  She confiscated the laptop and began typing away. After picking up my glass and taking a huge swig of Coke I leaned over to read.

  Dear Concerned and Angry,

  What on earth were you thinking, smelling his undercrackers? We have no idea if he is cheating, but you, my dear, have problems!

  Sincerely,

  The American and The Brit

  “No!” I giggled. “That’s way worse than mine.”

  “True.” We put it aside and planned to revisit that one later. “I’m starving—we’ve been working for hours. Why don’t we order Chinese?” Liz closed the laptop and went for the menu we’d stuck to the fridge. “Want the usual?”

  “Sure, sounds great. Oh, do you want egg rolls?” The grumblings in my stomach became audible.

  “Does a bear shit in the woods?” she answered.

  “Throw me a bag of chips while you’re in there.” After catching the bag of baked original chips she sent my way I heard a knock at the door. After I hopped up from the sofa I opened the bag and began devouring the crunchy goodness. Checking through the peephole, I spied a swarthy middle-aged woman with sideburns in baggy sweats standing uncomfortably close to the door. Then she peered into the hole from her side, her giant eye pressed against the door. “Ollo!” she shouted through the heavy door.

  “What the hell?” I stumbled backward as she began pounding on the door.

  “Who’s out there?” Liz hurried to my side.

  “See for yourself.” I motioned to the door and watched as she leaned in to have a look. “Good God! I think she has a mustache. Maybe she’s a he.” Liz had her hand over her heart as she took a couple steps away from the door. “Why does she/he keep shouting ‘Ollo’?” Liz whispered to me.

  “I think she’s saying hello,” I whispered back.

  “Ollo! Ollo! Ollo!” The pounding continued so we did the only thing we could do in this situation. We shut the lights off and hid.

  “What’ll we do if she’s still there when our Chinese arrives?” My stomach continued to grumble as we hid in Liz’s room.

  “I don’t know. Surely she’ll be long gone by then.”

  ~ ~ ~

  It took fifteen minutes for her to give up and go away; the whole time she had pounded away at our front door. Liz and I were on the sofa watching a marathon of The Walking Dead in our usual debate about who was hotter, Rick or Daryl, when our Chinese finally arrived. I leaped up to get some plates while Liz went to pay for the food. I heard Liz thanking the delivery guy as the glorious smell of fried wontons filled the apartment. Oh God, how I loved crab rangoons. Liz’s scream erupted so loudly that I swore it rattled our windows and caused me to drop the plates onto the kitchen floor. The shards of ceramic on the tile blocked my path, forcing me to take an awkward leap over them. Then I rushed over to find the bag of food on the floor in the hallway next to Liz, who was holding her chest as the swarthy woman that I now could see also had a unibrow and sideburns, stood not even an inch away from her. “Ollo!” she waved at me. “I was hiding.” She pointed at Lizbeth. “Scared her to death.” She laughed and she sounded exactly like a donkey. “Megamind is my favorite movie! Ollo!” She laughed and danced around some more and some spittle hit Liz’s face. “I’m Mary, moved in upstairs yesterday.” She extended a hairy arm in my direction, and not having a choice in the matter I shook it. A little squeal left my lips as she squeezed my fingers; I feared she’d crush them. “Sorry, sorry.” She released my hand and Liz began sliding down the wall and back into the apartment. “We’re neighbors, wanna exchange keys?” Oh hell no!

  “Nice to meet you, Mary, but we’re just about to have dinner.” I reached down slowly and picked up our bag, thankful none of it had spilled. As hungry as I was I’d probably eaten it anyway.

  She leaned and inhaled. “Yum. I’ll see you guys around then.”

  “Okay, bye!” We slammed the front door.

  Liz and I stood with our backs against the door, both holding our breath until we heard the ping of the elevator door opening. “Oh. My. God!” I blew out a breath. “She was actually hiding out there the entire time?”

  “Apparently.” Liz shook her head and pushed off the door to go into the kitchen. After set
ting the food on the counter I began helping her clean up the mess on the floor. “What kind of freaks do you people have living here in America?”

  “Freaks are everywhere Liz. But that one takes the cake. Poor thing, did you see her—”

  “Issues with facial hair? Yes, it is impossible to miss it. Hairy Mary needs to have a little waxing or electrolysis done.” Liz looked so serious that I couldn’t help laughing.

  “She wanted to exchange keys.” I giggled as Liz and I were stooped over the pile of broken plates, carefully picking up the large pieces.

  “Of course she did.” Liz laughed. “This is who we are, Phoebe, magnets for the degenerate and abnormal.”

  We threw the last remaining remnants away and I retrieved the broom and dustpan from the closet. “You’re so right about that. We need to get some pepper spray or some form of protection from the crazy ones we attract.” I continued to chuckle as I finished cleaning the kitchen floor.

  “Phoebs, we probably should. You know, oddly, I think Hairy Mary is harmless. She just startled me, that’s all.”

  “Hey Liz, this just occurred to me. You and Hairy Mary should hit it off in grand fashion.” Liz narrowed her eyes, waiting for the punch line. I didn’t disappoint. “I mean, this whole ordeal is amazingly reminiscent of your hiding under the desk at the office.”

  “You take that back, Phoebe Hawkins! That was an impulse that I will never indulge in again.” She shuddered and walked out of the kitchen. “Hairy Mary and I have nothing in common.”

  “If you say so,” I laughed.

  “I do! Fancy a movie?” Liz called from the living room as she plopped down on the sofa, placing our Chinese food on the coffee table.

  “Sure! How about Megamind?” The moment I came around the corner I shouted, “Ollo!” I was smacked in the face with a flying fortune cookie. Guess that was a negative on my movie suggestion.

  Lizbeth

  Where There’s A Will, There’s A Way

  Office life was sort of like its own little community. You had the cliques like high school, the older crowd that didn’t care about anything except for waiting for the clock to strike five. Those were the types that were simply biding their time till retirement. Then there were the young professionals just starting out, eager to make a splash in the industry like Phoebe and me. Everyone had their own little space that was their home, a small five by five cubicle. I was thankful that Phoebe and I had our own office. Being out in the open like that would really hinder my and Phoebs’ creative process, the fake it till you make it process. We should really patent that shit.

  “Hey Phoebs,” I whispered as she took a seat next to me in the break room.

  “Yeah?” She was opening up a container of yogurt. She saw me eyeing her snack choice and she shrugged, “I need to shed a few pounds.”

  “Phoebe, you’re a size four,” I grumbled as I popped another crisp into my mouth. I hated it when she went on these diet kicks. She would be trying to wrangle me into one next.

  “A fat four.” She grumbled and began scraping the bottom of the container, desperation written all over her face. “God, I’m starving. Why do they make these cups of yogurt so small? Ugh,” She tossed the container into the waste bin.

  She was ridiculous and I rolled my eyes to make that point then regained my train of thought. “Have you seen the new guy?” It was great not being the newest new person in the office anymore.

  “You mean that weirdo Todd who tapes up all those papers around his cube?”

  After the giggle escaped my lips I nodded. “He says he feels a draft or something.”

  She leaned in. “Did you hear the rumor about Todd and the custodian doing the nasty in his cube last night?”

  “No!” My eyes widened.

  She snapped her fingers. “Damn, I forgot to start that rumor. You will in a few minutes.” She hopped up and started out the door.

  My hand just managed to snag the back of her shirt with my fingers. “Stop right there, Phoebe Hawkins.” She made a choking sound and then slapped at my hand. Taking advantage of her momentary debilitation I stood. “It wasn’t the janitor, it was Chrissi!”

  “You’re right.” She laughed, “It was. We really need to do a little investigative snooping on who we are working with.”

  “Oh, I totally agree.” It was on. Phoebe and I were on a quest to find out as much about our colleagues as we could, if only for our personal amusement.

  “We need some dark glasses,” Phoebe whispered as we began peeking over the cube at one of the older employees by the name of Calvin. He had his feet propped up on the desk and he was sawing logs loudly.

  “We don’t need any dark glasses.” I scolded Phoebe a little more loudly than I intended and Calvin woke with a snort. He began looking around, disoriented. Phoebe ducked back down, slammed her body against the cube wall covert op style, and rocked the entire cube. Stupid Phoebe, she was going to get us in real trouble one day.

  Phoebe scurried from the cube and down the hall toward the ladies’ room. “Don’t you dare blame this on me, Lizbeth!” How did she always know what I was thinking? “You were leaning against the cube too!” Oh hell, she was right. I was.

  After checking to ensure the ladies’ room was all clear I admitted, “Okay, you’re right. I was snooping over the wall too.”

  Just then we heard a bunch of sobbing coming toward the bathroom. “Hide!” Phoebe snatched my arm and pulled me into a stall. “Climb up on the seat,” Phoebe ordered as she locked us inside. Why we were hiding was beyond me. Phoebe had said hide so that is what we did.

  The both of us were squatting down on the toilet seat just as the door to the ladies’ room burst open. The sobs grew and the clique group that consisted of four bleached-blonde women came stomping in; the clip clop of their expensive heels against the tile floor unmistakable. God, we hated those sort of people; all the cooing in high-pitched voices with a bit of twang coming from the ones not in tears made me want to barf. What were their names again? Oh, that’s right…Sandra, Mona, Nina, and Mandy, the office chick clique with their big hair and their over-the-top make-up. Fake is what they were. I’m so happy Phoebe and I weren’t like that.

  “How could he have done this to me?” Mandy sobbed. “That rat bastard is lucky I didn’t cut his dick off.”

  “Aww, honey, men are assholes. No, worse, they are the asshole’s asshole. And really, you were always too good for Dennis anyway,” Mona cooed.

  “How did you find out he was cheating on you?” Sandra asked with a strangled inflection in her tone. “I mean, I wouldn’t rush to judgment.”

  Phoebe and I exchanged glances. She was the one! I could just feel it! Sandra, that two-faced bitch had been sleeping with her best friend’s man. How could Mandy be so blind? The answer was right in front of her snooty face. I wanted to march right out there and put an end to the charade. Phoebe, seeing the resolve in my eyes, started waving her free hand in front of my face.

  “No!” she was mouthing over and over again.

  “Fine,” I mouthed back as I joined her and peeked over the stall door to get a gander at the show already in progress.

  We tried to focus back on the conversation that hadn’t stopped while we silently argued. “I’m not rushing to judgment, Sandra. He had them in his coat pocket and they weren’t mine,” Mandy whined.

  “What was in his pocket?” Phoebe asked me silently.

  I shrugged in response.

  “What color were they?” Mona asked. Color?

  “Pink. And I don’t own a pair in of lace thongs in that color,” Mandy answered and then we heard them walk toward the sink. Running water followed. It was hard to hear anything with all that water flowing. How completely rude of her.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here early. We totally need a girls’ night out,” Sandra said the second the water was shut off. “Just forget about this mess. He’s not worth it.”

  “Sandra is right—we’ll go to Shout’s and drown our
sorrows in several pitchers of margaritas.” Their high-heeled feet clip clopped across the tile floor and then they were gone.

  “Oh, my legs,” Phoebe wailed as she slowly stepped down off the toilet. “I can’t feel them anymore.”

  “Me either.” I began rubbing my thighs after walking out of the stall. “Can you believe Sandra had the nerve to console Mandy after what she did?”

  “Unbelievable,” Phoebe said and shook her head. “We should do something about this. As annoying as Mandy is she doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

  Phoebe walked over, opened the bathroom door, and marched out. I guess The American and The Brit were about to offer some unsolicited advice. Well, back to work.

  ~ ~ ~

  Over the course of the week we had somehow managed to stay out of trouble at work, not embarrass ourselves, and more miraculously had put together over twenty responses to problem letters that had come in. It was just after nine in the morning and we had to send our first lot of The American and The Brit letters to Mr. John Thomas for review. I was still having trouble calling him by his first name. But I did manage to add it between the Mr. and the Thomas. That was progress for me.

  "Go on, then." Phoebe had been reassuring me for the last hour that they were awesome and Mr. John Thomas would laugh his arse off. "Press send already!"

  "He'll think we've completely lost the plot and give us our marching orders for wasting his time." My head was in my hands again; I'm surprised I didn't have palm dents in my forehead from the amount of times I had done this during the week. "Maybe we should go over them again, tame them a little. We are a bit straightforward in our responses, Phoebs."

  "That's what we're here for, that is what they're expecting." Phoebe looked so proud of our accomplishments this week. Her beaming smile reassured me a little.