Dead Dogs Don't Roll Over
Written by: Alex Sandell


Chapter 23
Pregnancy Benefits

I arrive at my bank exactly 28 minutes after I left to urinate (and send my dead Dalmatian back to Limbo). The casino has begun filling up with its typical Friday night crowd, and Carrie looks as though she's gone about 23 minutes past being flustered. When she glares at me she looks just like Harrison Ford in that one scene where he’s possessed by that bald dude with Kiss makeup on his head in "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom." I give her a timid smile and begin loading my change apron.

Ignoring the lights, Carrie walks up to my bank to chew me out. "Where in the hell have you been?" She stops a moment to huff. I notice that she pronounces the word "been" as "bean." After taking another moment to puff, she tells me that she’s "been running around like a fucking maniac for the past hour." I stop her rambling long enough to notify her that I was only gone for twenty-eight minutes. This may not have been the wisest thing to do. "Well, it was an hour according to my watch!" What is it with everybody timing me today? And how can she possibly stretch 28 minutes into an hour?

Carrie's face is growing redder by the minute. I start worrying that her head may explode. I can see two huge blood vessels pulsating on either side of her burning head. "Well, what took you so long? It doesn't take that long to piss!" I notice an even larger vein doing the boogie at the bottom of her neck as she hollers.

I evade her question by trying to place the blame on somebody else. Pregnant Bonnie seems to be the easiest target. When in doubt, always blame the pregnant chick. "Why didn't Bonnie come down and help you at all? Her area looks pretty slow. It would seem she could stroll down here and grab a few lights every once in a while." Carrie's eyes take on a sort of greenish hue (a phenomenon I do not understand) as she blurts out an answer. "I've been getting Bonnie's lights, too."

My mind begins reeling once again. "Why would you be getting Bonnie's lights? I would think that responsibility would lie with Bonnie." I notice that I am suddenly sounding like a Liberal Arts student would while trying to impress his girlfriend with some lame philosophy about the benefits of being a warlock, or something. "Well, Bonnie's pregnant," Carrie declares, sounding as scathing as she possibly can, "due to her pregnancy, they're not making her get lights. She just has to stand in the corner of High Stakes, and give change to the people that come up to her."

I feel a slight amount of bile squirt up into my throat. How could Bonnie be so pregnant that she can't push a cart? Just yesterday, she was still a virgin. I ask Carrie how long it has been since the virgin Bonnie conceived her first child. "A week," Carrie answers, her frustration growing more visible with every word.

A nerdy sounding laugh sort of thing farts out of my throat. "Gu-Ha-Hoo!" I stop to clear my throat, before responding. "In no way," I begin, sounding more and more like a Liberal Arts student every minute, "does a week’s worth of carrying a fetus prevent you from pushing a change cart around to sell a few quarters." Carrie throws her hands up in the air. "Hey, I agree with you," she says, "just try to convince Bonnie of that."

At that, Carrie leaves to belatedly grab a few of the nagging change lights and I finish loading my apron. For once, something worked out for the better. I succeeded in convincing Carrie that her being overworked was caused, not from my extended bathroom break, but from Bonnie the virgin’s "immaculate" conception.

I smile and try to pull my borrowed pants out of my ass. They’re so tight, I decide that they are no longer in my ass, they've become part of it. I see Bonnie staring at me from down the hall. Upon noticing me, she gives off an evil smirk and a half-assed wave. I wave back as I lock up my bank. What a job. What a life. Why doesn't somebody just shoot me?

Go to: Chapter 24

1997 Alex Sandell but, if you're a book publisher and, you wanna get this puppy out, please get in touch with me, hand me a nice, big contract and, of course, a 12 pack of Grape Soda and maybe we can do lunch.

You know the routine, just click it.


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