Once Upon a Valentine's Day

That lily livered snake slithered his way back through the door. He did this every day, Every-- single-- day! Steven, that's his name. He wasn't just any old curmudgeonly snake.

Steven was one of those rare, mutations of nature, slithering demons that sprouted another head or claws without warning inflicting immanent harm on anyone in his way. That's how powerful a truly evil man's words can be. The first time I met him I knew everything I heard about him was true.

Steven walked straight to the office door with his member's only conspiracy theory news letter firmly in hand. He slammed the door embossed with his name and the glass reverberated for what seemed like an eternity. I resisted the temptation to cover my face from the potential shower of sharply edged glass shards that had not yet left their wood encased frame. I stood still behind old convenience shop's counter.

I felt relieved that I did not have to see him again for the usual thirty minutes..........or so I thought. Just as Steven entered with that natural anger he embodied, he strode back out and slammed the office door again. Once more I resisted the urge to shield my face.

"Nice eyebrows!" he spat out with sarcasm. Surprise and shock ran down my spine.

How did he know that I was extremely sensitive about my eyebrows?! I spent almost every free private moment examining them in any reflective surface I could find. Had snake man seen me do this! Oh!..My!..God!, does everyone know that I was born with a shelf of eyebrow hair. At one time in my life I could be mistaken for a boyish hamster, even though everything else resembled a girl I was originally born as. I thought I had plucked them to perfection every day.

Steven examined the innards of the shop. As if to make sure that no sign that I might have excited should be spotted there. That bastard! I would have paid eight million dollar to see him fall on is beak like nose right then. Abruptly, he turned in my direction and opened his mouth as if he were getting ready to sputter another reviling comment ... but froze. Steven looked straight down at his shoes and then hurried out the door as if he just remembered that his house was on fire. Just like that it was as if I did not exist, am I invisible when I am not needed?

Why couldn't I have been born in the time of the black plague? It would be more bearable than working for Steven the Satanist. Just then I saw a small rat scurry across the floor with patches of fur missing. With any luck it would have some death causing disease that could play in my favor toward eternal release.

No such luck though, Mrs. Carson walked in on her dangerous mission to pollute her lungs and wither her skin to a leathery malaise. Looking directly as her face you would think she had reached this pinnacle of success, yet she proceeded to scuttle her way toward the counter for her three packs a day habit. Mrs. "Carcinogen" appeared to be in an oddly chipper mood as she cracked a one sided upward lip movement that might have once been mistaken for a part smile.

She did so as the cigarettes hit the counter top. Mrs. Carson threw down the exact amount of cash on the counter and turned to make her way out the door, in a hurry to light up so as the prevent inhaling the "horrid fresh air" that awaited her outside. I was excited about the fact that I didn't have to smell Mrs. Carson's permanent cigarette musk for another second.

I quickly took another look around and checked my eyebrows in the chrome cash register. The paranoid schizoid that I am I scrutinized the clear glass door that lead the way into the store to check if anyone had seen me at my shameful habit. OCD, that's what they call it, I said to myself as I snuck another look at them. I decided to diagnose myself as erratic instead, just to feel a little more at ease. Men like erratic women, right? Right? Whatever, I'm great person otherwise ...maybe. I hope.

Steven the snake interrupted my thoughts as he banged and stomped his way back into the store. This time tightly, holding a large worn brown paper bag. Maybe he's dealing drugs, or he is snorting his brain away. Naww, I'm not that lucky, he's just a flying monkey's ass. "Die ass monkey! Die!" I screamed in my head.

"Here!" he geared as he threw the bag at me. It hit me in the shoulder with force, with any luck I could be bleeding internally right now. It fell with a thump to the floor. I looked up and saw the glass office door reverberating again.

I picked up and placed the brown bag that was just used as a weapon, on the counter. Cautiously, I opened it expected at any moment to be greeted with some horrific scene of disgustingness, but I was astonished to find a large box of heart shaped chocolates and a bushel of bruised flowers.

Still in a stupor the small white envelope managed to get my attention. Robotically, I opened and read the note....

"I am in love with you; I have been in love with you since that first day I saw you walk in covered in mud for your interview."

And written with what seemed like great effort was a postscript........

"P.S. Be my valentine."

"Steven"

Where is that patchy diseased rat when you need him!