Saving Room for Dessert by K. C. Constantine

fuck, Jesus Christ, save me, Father, for I must’ve fucking sinned big-time.
     Please shut this fucking woman up, I swear, you shut her up I’ll fly to Rome, I’ll walk from the airport to St. Peter’s on
     my knees, without fucking kneepads I’ll do it, I promise, just please shut her the fuck up.
    ldquo;You didn’t tell me why they named those things after a sausage. Aren’t you going to tell me? I mean as long as I’m here,
     I might as well try to learn something. If that’s possible.”
    “I didn’t say they named these after a sausage. You said that.”
    “I did not.”
    “You said you thought Slim Jims was the name of a sausage—”
    “I never said that. I said I
thought
that’s what it was. I was asking you why you called that thing that. That thing you can’t get my door open with. A whatever.
     Slim Jim.”
    “I don’t know why they call ’em that, ma’am, okay? Been callin’ ’em that as long as I been tryin’ to learn how to use ’em,
     okay? They could call ’em elephant for all I care—”
    “Oh now you are getting snippy. Obviously, you think I’m stupid. Or senile. Well I’m not! I’m not senile
or
stupid.”
    “No, ma’am, I don’t think nothin’ of the kind. And I’m not bein’ snippy here, okay? Just frustrated, that’s all, just … this
     is very tedious stuff, you gotta catch this little hickey down there and you gotta do it with the right tool ’cause with the
     wrong one it keeps slippin’ off, and don’t ask me why, okay, please? I already went through six of these things here, see?
     And now I’m gonna put this one away and I’m gonna try number seven here. See that? See, this is Slim Jim number seven slidin’
     down the window here. And I’m hopin’ this one does the trick.” Please, God, make this one do the fucking trick.
    “Well you can try to pretend you’re not being snippy with me, young man, but I know when people are snippy. I may be old,
     but I’m not stupid. I’m not senile, and I don’t have Alzheimer’s either. So you can stop thinking all that stuff, I know what
     you’re thinking.”
    “No, ma’am, I promise you, you do not.”
    “Do not what?”
    “Know what I’m thinking. I promise you, you don’t.” What I’m thinkin’ is I’d like to stick number seven down your throat and
     rip your tongue out, that’s what I’m thinkin’.
    “There! Ha! Got it!” Canoza leaned his head back and stuck out his tongue at the door as he opened it with a flourish and
     a little bow. Then he looked at his watch. It had taken him only twenty-one minutes. Last fucking Toyota took him twenty-eight.
     Yes! A personal best. Canoza takes the gold for popping the lock on a Toyota in a personal-best time of twenty-one minutes,
     give or take a coupla seconds. Canoza is wavin’ to the crowd as he takes his victory lap, yes.…
    He turned to the woman and bowed once again, deeply from the waist. “Don’t have to thank me, ma’am, no no, don’t even mention
     it. ’Cause see? I took an oath to serve and protect, and this is the service part here, what I just did for you.”
    “What’s your badge number?” she said coldly.
    “Huh? What do you want that for?”
    “Why do you think? I’m going to report you, that’s what for. You forget, young man, if you ever knew, I pay your salary. Me
     and people like me. People living on fixed incomes. Which people like you working for the government wouldn’t know anything
     about. All you know how to do is spend our taxes. And then you get snippy with us. I don’t have to take that. And I’m not
     going to take that. I know where City Hall is. And I remember the chief’s name too. It’s Nowicki.”
    “Well, ma’am, you’re very welcome. Right. That’s just the cherry on top of my hot-fudge sundae. But here’s what, ma’am, okay?
     Next time you lock your keys in your car? And you call us? We’ll have to respond because that’s our job. But I promise you
     we won’t be in any hurry.