Vic Socotra

08 July 2009

Trespass

(Proposed Big Pink Sign)

I saw Mardy 1 in the lobby when I was trooping back form the pool. She had a day off from the House of D, and was dressed in casual sweat elegance with a well-worn blue ballcap instead of her formal D-black.

There was a crowd in front of the elevators, which is unusual, but the Mayor had scheduled the Cleaning of the Brass on the elevators this week, and one of our three cars was out of service.

I was in a hurry, and contemplated walking up to Tunnel Eight once I snagged the mail. The little man was already taping off the edges of the post-boxes in preparation for slathering it all with Brasso.

The weather turned amazing right after the holiday ended, and we went back to work. I have been looking out my office window at the brilliant blue sky, dreaming of lolling by he pool. Consequently, I have been trying to wring out every minute of daylight possible.
I swim in place, inching east across the pool to stay in the light, and when the last rays have left the surface of the water, sit by the pool as the shadows limb up my legs.

When the light leaves my swimsuit and shadow threatens my torso, I buzz upstairs and get squeeze another forty minutes of ray-time before the solar disc slides down into the gap between the trees over the State Department Party House.

“Did you hear the latest?” asked Mardy 1.

“Of course,” I said. “Isn’t it great?” I assumed she was talking about my Army Commander, Mr. T. Boone Pickens, who is scheduled to be in town Wednesday to publicize the first anniversary of his campaign to end our dependence on foreign oil.
“Great? What are you talking about? Sister Bedlem was in tears.”

“Listen, “ I said, a little confused. She is a psychiatric nurse, for goodness sake. It is nothing to be sad about. If Sister B is concerned about spending enough on foreign oil every month to hire 3000,000 teachers all over America, she ought to join the Army.”

“You don’t know. Joe complained to the Mayor about the party she threw on his patio when he was down at the Ornamental Concrete Workers International watching the fireworks. She got a big lecture and she has never been in trouble before.”

“Well, I think she had some help on that. Joe wouldn’t have minded if someone had just asked him. God knows he has done some cazy stuff here in the last twenty years. Plus, Chad and Jeremy were both there, and Diana Ross and goodness knows who else.”

“It wasn’t their idea,” said Mardy 1. “I was there too and it just seemed like a good idea. They were going to go over to the dog park next to the Oaks at the back of the property where they wouldn’t bother anyone, but some kids had occupied the property by hopping the fence. It is the same ones who have been forcing open the gate on the tennis courts.”

“That is a clear case of trespass,” I said. “I talked to Uncle Bill about it at the pool. We think something has to be done about it. Between the guys marching to the feeding program at the Luz Verdadera across the street and the neighbors using the park and the tennis courts by outsiders we are under siege.”

“That is apparently what Joe thought. The Mayor was very stern with Sister B. That is the first step before things go to The Board.”

“I know how that goes,” I said. “Next stop Doggie Dachau like that noisey mitt on the eighth floor last year.”

“Chad and Jeremy got off without a warning,” said Mardy 1 thoughtfully. “And they are renters. They could just breeze on out of here. Sister B is an owner and who knows what they could do to her.”

The elevator clunked open, and the crowd surged forward. Mardy 1 rolled her cart full of melting groceries into the crowd. A woman from the seventh floor looked alarmed at the lack of personal space.

“I hope it works out. It was the Fourth of July, after all even if it was trespassing. That is sort of a tradition.”

“I suppose,” said Mardy over the head of that little guy from the sixth floor. I got off at four, squeezing around her cart.

“Don’t forget, General Pickens is going to be at Ben’s Chili Bowl on U Street tomorrow to meet with the Army, and then they are going to storm Capitol Hill to lecture the Interns about the need to get America off foreign oil.”

“All right,” I heard as the elevator doors shuddered shut.

Darned things aren’t used to carrying that many people, I thought. Hope they keep working.

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