“You shouldn’t drive,” said Ethel. “Last time you went the wrong way on the interstate. The semi missed us by inches.”
“The traffic signs were confusing.”
“ ‘Do Not Enter,’ ” said Eunice. “Yeah, that’s a mystery for the ages.”
“I’m warning you!”
“Or what? You’ll spit up on me?”
“That’s it!” A cane came out.
“Girls! Girls!” said Edna, getting between them. “We shouldn’t be fighting with each other. We should be fighting them.”
“Who?” asked Eunice.
Edna nodded across the room, toward a small group of young women chatting next to their supervisor’s desk. “Our caregivers. Look at ’em so smug.”
“Always condescending,” said Ethel.
“And they always find our vodka,” said Edith.
“But what are you going to do?” Eunice poured another cup. “We’re practically prisoners here.”
“No we’re not,” said Edith.
“But they won’t let us drive anymore,” said Edna.
“So what? You’re not seeing the big picture. We’re now free to do whatever we feel. Instead, we’ve sat around bitching and moaning for the last six months.”
“What’s your point?”
“We’re not responsible for ourselves anymore. The possibilities are endless,” explained Edith. “We can do absolutely anything we want, and they’ll just chalk it up to our age and ailments.”
“Example?”
“Watch this:… Yoo-hoo!” She waved toward the caregivers’ station as if she needed something.
Two spritely young women walked across the room. The one on the left bent down and smiled like a kindergarten teacher. “And how may I help you today?”
Edith smiled back. “Go fuck yourself.”
The caregiver stood up and turned to her colleague. “Tourette’s.” They walked away.
Four women on the sofa snickered.
“Who’s in?” said Edith.
“For what?” asked Eunice.
“An adventure,” said Edith. “The world out there is our oyster.”
“But we can’t drive,” said Edna.
“They took away our licenses, not our hands and feet.”
“But we’ll get in trouble.”
“They’ll just bring us back.”
“So what’s your plan?” asked Ethel.
“I know where they keep the keys to the shuttle bus.”
“Let’s do it,” said Eunice.
“Grab the vodka,” said Edith. “We’re blowing this Popsicle stand.”
Chapter Fourteen
Two men in green outfits stood on the corner.
Cars automatically hit the brakes as they approached the intersection.
“You’re right,” said Coleman. “They’re actually slowing down.”
“Told you,” said Serge. “Every year there’s newspaper stories of cops who dress up as holiday characters to catch speeders. So I figured since we already have the costumes, and these assholes drive way too fast in a neighborhood full of kids…”
“That doesn’t look like a radar gun.”
“It’s not,” said Serge, aiming at another car that slammed the brakes. “It’s just a black caulking gun from Home Depot.”
“Wouldn’t a hair dryer work better?” asked Coleman. “Why not use that instead of a caulking gun?”
“Because I don’t want to look foolish.”
Coleman watched another driver slam on the brakes. “You sure we won’t get in trouble doing this?”
“There’s no law against standing on a street corner dressed like an elf and pointing caulking guns at traffic. That’s the whole problem with the general population: They’re blind to the obvious possibilities.”
“But isn’t it against the law to impersonate police officers?”
“I’d say the elf suits are a good defense that we’re making a strong effort not to look like cops.”
“But you said they dress up like holiday characters to catch speeders.”
“That’s right.” Serge aimed the caulking gun at an approaching car. “It’s the police who are impersonating elves. We’re the ones who should have the beef.”
Crash!
“Serge.” Coleman pointed at steam shooting out from under a hood. “That guy hit the brakes when he saw your caulking gun, and the other guy rear-ended him.”
The drivers were out of their cars, cursing each other in the street. Just about to come to blows.
“Everybody just calm down!” yelled Serge, running into the road. “You were speeding, and you were following too close. But since it’s so close to Christmas, I’m going to let you off with a warning.” He began walking away.
One of the motorists: “Thank you, officer.”
“Oh, I’m not a police officer,” said Serge. “Just a concerned elf with a caulking gun. Please drive safely.”
They went back to the house.
An hour later, electrical cords crisscrossed the lawn.
Serge stood at the top of a ladder, one step above where the warning label said not to step above. “Coleman, hand me another string of lights.”
“I’m tired.”
“Just hand ’em!”
Coleman grudgingly complied, reaching into an enormous box at his feet. “You bought twenty cases of lights. It filled the whole car and trunk, and I had to sit with the last box in my lap.”
“This is going to be the best display in the whole city!.. Give me another string.”
Coleman handed it up. “But why do we have to go through all this work if we’re just going to take it all down in a couple weeks?”
“Because that’s the true meaning of Christmas. Running up the December electric bill.” Serge draped another strand over a palm frond.
“How much more do we have to do?”
“Almost finished.” Serge jumped down from the ladder. “We covered all the shrubs, and the roof, and palm trees, and garbage cans, and the pile of yard waste, and the broken washing machine we rolled down to the curb. And just in time because it’s starting to get dark. I can’t wait to turn it all on and win total respect from the street.”
“What about that giant display on the next block with the inflatable snowman and life-size reindeer?”
“That guy’s obsessive. The street will just think he’s weird like the people who fill their yards with birdbaths and Roman statuary.”
“Serge, the sun’s almost down and you have four cases left. I don’t think we’re going to make it.”
“I will if you don’t slow me down.” Serge tore open a cardboard flap. “Here, take some lights from this case and make your own decoration.”
