I met death at the bus station at 9:15AM last Thursday. I wasn't actually going to node this traumatizing experience but I decided that I must do it for posterity. First I had to get up real early--which just plain sucks to begin with--and then I wandered down to the bus station, in rustic (seedy) Old Town, Portland. Thankfully, her bus was on time, so I didn't have to sit around chatting with the various hobos and crack-heads that inhabit the train station for very long. Immediately upon meeting her I knew for certain that which I had always suspected: she was trouble. She piled all of her Louis Vuitton baggage upon my person, as if I were not but a common valet, and demanded that I lead her to the nearest "watering hole" and "slide [her] some hooch".

Her loud and domineering nature further reared its ugly head when we arrived at the Hilton hotel lounge. I decided that this quiet, tasteful environ might calm her erratic behavior. I even went as far as giving her the benefit of the doubt and generously concluded that she was probably just temporarily insane from travel lag or some such thing. I quickly knew that this was not the case. As soon as we entered the calming, dimly lit bar, she actually attempted to order a "Night Train Express"--which I learned later is naught but Night Train on Ice topped with a shot of Bacardi 151. After being politely informed that the drink could not be mixed for her--because the Hilton Hotel chain was not in the habit of stocking Night Train for its bars--ideath jumped up on to the bar stool and over the counter in an attempt to bodily strangle the kindly, white-haired old lady that was tending bar.

After dragging her from the bar by her pigtails I took her to my place of work. This was my second huge mistake. At this point you can probably surmise that I am no longer employed as I was fired for bringing her there and allowing her to run rampant, asking customers if they were looking for a date and trying to scam fifty dollars off of an old man by stating, quote, "I need ta gets me fifty dollah cause my baby addicted to crack an we outta diapers".

After she managed to send one of our twenty-six inch monitors crashing to the floor, we were both asked to leave indefinitely. I tried to salvage the day by traipsing to the Matadore. As she was following me like a rampant devil puppy and was not deterred by my many threats of physical harm; I decided that the best idea would be to take her to a smoky, slimy barfly bar where she couldn't do as much damage. Big mistake, number three. In short, after an hour and a half of drinking she managed to:
  • Break the Jukebox
  • Throw the cue ball from the pool table out the front door
  • Chew the plastic tips off of the darts
  • Purchase an "Eight-ball" cocaine from a guy slouched in the booth next to ours
  • Light my shirt on fire
    and
  • Get the entire 60-year-old and over barfly contingent into a heated game of Strip Canasta in the women's bathroom
I tried to sneak out while she was buying drinks for an entire table of butch lesbians--with what I later found out was, my credit card. She spotted me while I was executing a duck-and-roll past the cash register and followed me out.

To shorten this tragedy slightly, I will simply disclose that I have been evicted, my possessions were nearly all destroyed; my life was laid to waste. I haven't even gotten to tell the tale of day two! I fear I couldn't recount but a moment or two of that horrid day. I believe that my mind is blocking that 18-hour chunk of history in order to retain what little sanity remains in my clouded and broken psyche.

I ran and I ran and I can only pray that I have finally lost her. Who knows what havoc she would effect upon the remains of my life should she locate me again. As I hide here, huddled in this cold abandoned building; I rue the day I met ideath face to face and I vow that I shall have my revenge!

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