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Funny Stories by Dick Oakes, Jr.

May 8, 2015 Leave a comment Go to comments
Dick Oakes, Jr.

Dick Oakes, Jr.

I was hanging out in the bus station reading a newspaper that some guy had dropped on the floor. They had this section called “Free Love Encounters” where people advertised all kinds of nonsense. I couldn’t figure on a bunch of ’em but I decided to try a few. It had been awhile.

There was some jackass clogging up the phone booth. He was nattering on about getting a bunch of furniture delivered to the outlands. I gave him a hard stare. He couldn’t take it none and, after awhile, he bolted.

I tried the number on the first ad– said something about nude girls with big yams that would come out to your place and clean up a little. I couldn’t figure on none of it but I dialed anyway. A swarthy-sounding guy snapped it up after two rings.

“Topless maids– can I help you?”

“What if you want a maid but you ain’t got no house?” I asked. I felt like a horse’s ass.

“Just name a place, buddy. I got Shirley right here, ready to go. She’ll do your laundry for you.”

“Nude? At a laundromat?”

There was a pause. “Naw, guess we can’t have that. Unless you got a room or something. Maybe she could wash your pants in a sink, towel ’em off. That kind of thing.”

That sounded alright. I gave him an address– the Visibility Inn. “Have her meet me in the coffee shop that’s shaped like a triangle.”

“Coffee shop shaped like a triangle?” He was getting all bent out of shape about it. I couldn’t figure on it none. “I protect my gals– I’m not gonna’ send Shirley out to a god damned coffee shop shaped like a triangle.”

“Make it a room then, Jesus. Tell her to ask for Oakes at the front desk.” skokie10

I hung up on him and huffed it down there.

The clerk was a little sissy in a tri-colored button-up. He gave me a room down on the end and handed me a couple of soaps on a towel. “Make it two towels. Actually, make it three.” I thought about the pants. He gave me a little hell about it but in the end, nobody gave a damn. The sissy went back to his magazines and his cigarettes and I went back to my room.

It was about twenty minutes later that Shirley showed up. She was sporting coiffed strawberry blonde hair and some fair business up front that was squeezed into an all-black costume with a frilly white skirt. She pushed in a cart of cleaning supplies. “What are we doing today?” she asked, disinterestedly. She looked around at the immaculate room– the Visibility Inn had thought of everything.

“You can wash these pants out in the sink,” I proffered. I took the faded, worn-through polyesters off and dropped them on the floor. They were blown to hell– there wasn’t no point in it.

“You should throw these away,” she said, removing her top. A couple of big bazooms came barreling out. I popped half a chub.

“Why don’t you throw them away for me?” I said.

She bent over and, in one motion, hurled the pants across the room into a plastic trash can. The can danced precipitously before falling straight over. It was growing dark out.

She began dressing.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

I suddenly began to feel very drunk. That half a fifth was finding its mark.

“You…did a good…job. I’ll recommend you, Shirley.”

“My name is Shirley but everyone calls me Peaches.” She was all dressed now. I couldn’t make no sense of it all.

It was a long time after she was gone that I passed out.

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