Class Reunion

“Hey, Timothy!” said Jocko, slurring his speech. “How’s it going?”

“My name is Targus, not Timothy,” said Targus, sitting uncomfortably.

“Sorry, Tangie,” said Jocko. “My bad.”

“No, it’s Targus. Not Tangie.”

“Sorry. So, anyway, it’s been such a long time since we graduated. Jenny says you’re a…janitor. Is that right?”

“I work for the president.”

“As his janitor?”

“No.”

“Is this the president of the local Salvation Army that you work for?”

“No.”

“The local preschool?”

“The President of the United States.”

“Of Europe?”

“Of America!”

“Oh. As janitor? That’s nice.”

“No, I’m an administrator.”

“Of what?”

“Not janitors.”

“What then?”

“I’m the president’s liaison to the IRS.”

“So, you…”

“I’m the tax man.”

“Oh, okay.”

“I hear it’s a real difficult job.”

“Well, it certainly doesn’t compare to janitorial work, Jocko.”

“So I hear.”

“So you’ve heard, I’m sure.”

“So, Jenny says you found a kid on the freeway? Some kind of roadkill?”

“He’s my son. He’s seven.”

“Wow. Terrible way to go.”

“He’s still alive, I assure you.”

“Do you…have any pictures?”

“Pictures?”

“Yes, pictures are little colored things that look like real stuff. It’s the photoelectric effect. Einstein talked about it.”

“I know what a photograph is.”

Targus then proceeded to produce an image of his son. He was riding a bicycle in the middle of summer with summer shorts and a helmet.

“Aw, girl’s legs. My condolences.”

“He doesn’t have girl’s legs. He’s svelt.”

“And what’s that black lump on his head? Some kind of brain tumor?”

“It’s a helmet.”

“Oh. So, what does he do for a living? Does he still live with you?”

“Like I said, he’s seven.”

“Seven?”

“Seven. Yes.”

“You got started late.”

“I’m twenty-four.”

“Wow. Well, I guess not everyone can be a certified ladies’ man like myself.”

“If that’s what you believe.”

“I should give you some pointers sometime.”

“For what?”

“For, you know, getting with the ladies.”

“I’m married.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ. Is she okay? I know a good therapist.”

“She is a therapist.”

“Oh, that’s even worse. Does she need help? Is she…happy? I couldn’t imagine.”

“Oh, she’s happy. At least, that’s what she tells me.”

“You know, it’s not polite to pretend to have a hot therapist wife if you’re living alone in a shack in the middle of the freeway.”

“There are no shacks in the middle of the freeway.”

“So, you’ve been?”

“Yes. I drive there every day for work.”

“Where do you…go to the bathroom? Do they have an outhouse there, too?”

“I go to the bathroom at my house!”

“Oh, they have a house on the freeway? How do the cars drive around…?”

“My house is in the suburbs.”

“The suburbs?”

“Yes, the suburbs.”

“Is this some sort of subterranean…”

“It is a place where wealthy people raise their children.”

“Oh, you babysit for a living.”

“I’m the liaison to the IRS. I told you.”

“So, you babysit IRS employees’ children. That’s gotta be a tough job.”

“Says you.”

“Don’t worry, man. I’m here for you.”

“I’m the president’s liaison to the IRS…”

“Of children?”

“No, of adults. And I would appreciate it if you would refer to me as Sir.”

“Sir? What would induce me to call you sir?”

“Well, last year I was knighted.”

“You, knighted? Fart stick Tim?”

“Yes, me. My name is Targus.”

“Who knighted you, Bozo the Clown?”

“Bozo retired decades ago.”

“Oh, he needed you to carry the torch?”

“I was knighted by the Queen of England.”

“Is that the English version of the band Queen?”

“No, the Royal family.”

“The Royal Crown Cola family?”

“No. Kings and queens. And potentates.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What you do on the weekends is your choice. Not mine.”

“I was knighted, so I would prefer it if you called me Sir.”

“You were knighted?”

“Yes, I was knighted.”

“Prove it.”

“How?”

“Show me your suit of armor. And your sword. And your horse.”

“Are you familiar with the royal system?”

“I got a royal flush last week.”

“I would like you to know that if you wish to come visit me at my office, I’d be glad to allow my assistant to make an appointment.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t go in for that sort of things.”

“What sort of thing.”

“Trust me. I know the type.”

“I was just knighted last year. I’m not some sort of fraud.”

“That’s what they always say. What took you so long? Were you serving a life sentence for carpooling?”

“Don’t you mean carjacking?”

“For real? You…I had no idea.”

“I’ve never been to prison.”

“So, you went straight to death row? Must’ve been harsh.”

“I’ve never been incarcerated.”

“You have, or you haven’t?”

“I haven’t and I haven’t.”

“That’s a double negative.”

“A double negative?”

“Yes. If you say the negative twice, that’s legally an admission.”

“An admission? To what?”

“Carjacking?”

“I told you that I’m not a carjacker.”

“But you have jacked before?”

“What are you asking me, exactly?”

“It’s a tough question to answer.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, and I don’t want to set you up for failure.”

“I’m more successful now than you’ll ever be.”

“Maybe to those slogs down at the ERS, but not to me.”

“The IRS. I’m the president’s liaison to the IRS.”

“You didn’t pay your taxes?”

“Of course, I did. How could I not?”

“You just said you were indicted by the IRS.”

“The IRS doesn’t have the power to indict.”

“Oh, so you’ve been around the block a few times.”

“I’ve been to the Queen’s castle.”

“Don’t say that in public. You might get indicted for real this time.”

“The Royal Family is not some sort of criminal enterprise…”

“Let’s not mince words here.”

“I’m asking you, begging you.”

“You’re homeless too? I know of a good free underwear store you could go to. The underwear is used.”

“Did we even go to the same school?”

“What do you mean? Of course we did, bro.”