The Great Inspection

My wish for a break from Red Light came true, as I’ve not heard her voice, have not seen hide nor hair of her all week.

Tomorrow is bingo Friday, so whatever spell has been cast, that kept her quiet, will then come to an end.

Heading out for yesterday’s workout, I spied the inspectors, walking around with their little clipboards, being accompanied by an uncomfortable looking Head Maintenance Guy.

Smiling to myself, at seeing HMG looking uncomfortable, transmitted itself, because HMG turned, looked at me, smiled, kind of shrugged his shoulders — like, oh well.

One of the inspectors also turned, saw me, smiled, said "hello".

They looked to be heading for Shadow’s unit and probably chose him because of his American flag.

The two inspectors — who looked like tough guy Union Representatives, seemed like the kind of guys who would appreciate seeing an American Flag, have probably served in one branch of the military or another, would be curious to see and talk to the resident of that unit.

Shadow’s story — if you believe it, is that he was a sniper in the Army, bragged about being a Purple Heart recipient, only I couldn’t find him listed in the National Purple Heart Hall of Honor site.

The flag on his patio leads me to believe he did serve, very possibly could have been a sniper, but he certainly was no Officer or a Gentleman because, after he pulled my use-to-be friend The Seer into his web, he went around bragging to the guys about "how fast she dropped her panties" for him.

Inasmuch as the inspectors were only one building over when I left for yesterday’s workout, upon returning, I checked with Next Door Neighbor to see if they’d entered my place while I was gone and/or inspected hers.

Not yet. Instead, I saw them hopscotching, later in the day, to other buildings.

Next Door Neighbor took the opportunity of my knocking on her door, asking about the inspectors, to invite me in, reassure her …… as if she really needed any reassurances.

As I’ve previously blogged, that tacky doormat of hers belies the fact that the inside of her unit is breathtaking, like a museum.

What she asked me, as she walked around naming objects as being a fancy brand name this, a fancy brand name that, brand names that are so far above me that I’ve never heard of them, was "Is my unit okay for Section 8?".

"Are you kidding? Your unit looks like a museum. You have exquisite taste and probably the most beautifully decorated unit in the complex".

I meant it, even though I wasn’t impressed with the brand name bed, mattress, dressers, armoire, wall art, etc. she so proudly pointed out — some collected when married to her high ranking military officer husband, who provided her with a fancy lifestyle, servants, but whom she divorced because he was a wife beater.

Thinking about that conversation this morning, the way my non-impressive This End Up, Pier 1, Walmart, Target furnishings/decor doesn’t compare, it occurred to me THAT may be how she ended up on Section 8 — the materialistic need to continue the lifestyle she once had … bring in, own, showcase top of the line, most expensive this that the other.

So, anyway, with seven more days of inspections to go, the guys may get to this building yet.

Along with their looking like tough guy Union Representatives, the two inspectors had GQP Republican vibes, which means they’re not gonna like my can’t miss seeing anti Inmate# P01135809 cups and voodoo doll.

In other news, granddaughter sent me a t-shirt commemorating the August 5th Alabama Boat Brawl.

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I pimped it up a bit by adding my chair training photo.

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