part 11 {rach}

“Yeah, but it has to be the right type of weird,” Eliana said, playing along. “It can’t be just any old eccentric acting goofy. Being weird takes talent.”
Hayden laughed. “But seriously,” he said, “what do you think about the job? You want to do the internship?”
“I guess it would work,” Eliana mused. “I’m still working at the gym, but that’s only for a few hours after school. I’m sure Gary would let me have the week off, I’d just have to ask.” She grinned and winked at Addison. “And I’ve always wondered what goes on at your mom’s work. You said there’s a man who’s really scared to learn another language?”
The conversation proceeded likewise, while Ursula sat contentedly on Addison’s lap. The pig soon drifted off to sleep, snoring rhythmically. Addison stroked her head while he talked, unconsciously rubbing behind her ears.
Eliana smiled to herself. A pig, she thought. Who would’ve guessed?

Eliana called Gary that night, and he seemed pretty okay with her taking the week off. “I’ve got a new kid who’s been begging for a job,” he had said to her. “Maybe I’ll give him a try while you’re away.”
So on Monday morning, Eliana was knocking on the Zangler’s door at 6:30am. Mrs. Zangler opened the door, seemingly very awake. She was wearing a floral shirt and a large, straw hat. “’Morning, deary,” she said, stepping to the side to let Eliana in.
“I like your… shirt,” Eliana said, glancing at the bright red and pink flowers.
“Oh I just wear this for Mrs. Kibbledoffer,” Mrs. Zangler explained, laughing. “She’s slightly obsessed with forestry. And the hat,” she said, glancing up at the wide brim that shaded her face, “is in honor of Mr. Blumbergen. His pet lizard died last week, and he’s having withdrawal. He says straw hats and pickle jars comfort him, so I thought I’d try to help out.”
“How very thoughtful,” Eliana said genuinely.
“Why thank you, deary,” Mrs. Zangler said. “Come on into the kitchen, I’m almost ready to leave. But you’d better be quiet dear, Mr. Zangler is still sleeping. He was up late last night trying to fix the garbage disposal.”
“Really?” Eliana asked, sitting down on one of the stools by the kitchen island. “What happened to it?”
“The wooden salad tongs got stuck again, and Hayden turned it on while they were down there.” She chuckled at the memory. “There were woodchips clean across the kitchen. Here, have a glass of tomato juice.” Mrs. Zangler handed Eliana a cup and a bottle of juice. “So, dear, are you ready for the life of a psychiatrist?”
Eliana smiled, pouring the juice into her cup. “I’m not sure yet,” she said. “I guess we’ll know soon, though, won’t we?”

Mr. Blumbergen was Mrs. Zangler’s first patient. Eliana sat to the side of Mrs. Zangler’s desk and prepared to watch her work. Mr. Blumbergen was middle aged, with graying brown hair and a large nose. His fingers twitched nervously as he sat in the chair across from Mrs. Zangler.
“Good morning Mr. Blumbergen!” Mrs. Zangler cried enthusiastically. “How was your weekend?”
“Not too good,” Mr. Blumbergen said, his eyes flitting around fretfully. “My neighbor bought a new weed whacker.”
“And is there a problem with that?” Mrs. Zangler asked.
“It reminds me of Charlie,” the man said, sniffing loudly.
“Charlie was his lizard,” Mrs. Zangler explained to Eliana.
Mr. Blumbergen seemed to realize for the first time that Eliana was in the room. He stared at her without blinking, looking confused.
“Oh, I’ve forgotten to introduce you!” Mrs. Zangler exclaimed. “Mr. Blumbergen, this is my friend and neighbor, Eliana Vostras. She is interning with me this week, and will be staying with me to watch how I work.”
“Glad to meet you,” Eliana said politely.
“Hmmph,” Mr. Blumbergen huffed, impolitely.
“Now, back to business,” Mrs. Zangler said. “Have you talked to your neighbor about his weed-whacker?”
“Yup,” Mr. Blumbergen said. “I told him I couldn’t stand to listen to it.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said to buzz off. He said he was allowed to weed whack his yard, just so long as it was after nine in the morning.”
“Well, he is right, you know,” Mrs. Zangler said.
Mr. Blumbergen sniffed. “But I can’t stop thinking about Charlie,” he said. “Every time in hear the hum of that weed whacker, I’m reminded of my sister in Venezuela. And that reminds me of her unusual toaster oven, which reminds me of those huge Asian elephants, which reminds me of my laptop, which makes me think of Charlie!” Mr. Blumbergen sniffed again, and Mrs. Zanger handed him a tissue.
Eliana was utterly confused.
***************************************

I must again quote the esteemed Oscar Wilde, especially since I am required to do a biography on him for literature. as he so bravely put it, "I have nothing to declare except my genuis." My sentiments exactly.

*blink blink* wait a minute. wait a minute! I just realized something. Mr. Wilde spelled genius wrong. how preposterous!! he must have been a fake. I am utterly disgusted. well, the one comforting thing is that we all know that I am *much* smarter than he is. yes.

goodbye.