Maybe I should start a business

I am excellent at getting rid of people. Just excellent. Sometimes I do it when I don't even mean to. Ha ha.



No, but seriously: have an unwanted party guest? Ex-boyfriend driving you crazy? Mom gotcha down? Allow me to recommend my services. I can get rid of the most restraining-order worthy pest in ten minutes flat. (Or your money back. Not that you pay me. You cheap, cheap fucks.)



My career as a professional driver-away of unwanted humans began in college, when I was visiting my best friend Sarah at BU. She and her roommates Liz and Jacob had this one, um, well, "friend" obviously isn't the right word -- classmate? social colleague? -- that they just couldn't stand. This girl's name was Gina or Tina or Teensy or something, and she was a total pain in the ass. She had no personality, but she wouldn't shut up. She also phrased everything in the form of a question, like she was on an eternal game of Jeopardy. After she was done talking, you had no idea what she'd said, but you felt sort of vaguely hopeless and disgusted with everything. Also, she had terrible hair.



Anyway, on this particular evening, Sarah and her roommates and I were hanging around doing what you did in college in the late 90s, namely, play Tetris and do bonghits, when the doorbell rang. Everyone dove to the floor but me, and Sarah's roommate hit the lights.



"Am I missing something?" I asked everyone, blinking into the darkness. "Are we about to be shot? Should I be concerned? Has anyone seen my lighter?"



"Shhh!" Sarah hissed. "It's Teensy. We should have known better than to leave on the lights. She always comes around this time of night."



"Who's Teensy?" I asked. "Is she a Mormon? Why are we hiding from her?"



"She's the most boring fucking person on the face of the planet, that's who she is. Now, get under the sofa before she sees you."



The idea of fighting for space under the sofa with an accumulated semester's worth of corn chips and dust bunnies appealed neither to my dignity nor to my Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, so I offered Sarah and her friends a deal: "If you let Teensy in, I will get rid of her in ten minutes. Ten minutes, I swear to God. I further promise that she will stop coming around here every night. This I swear. On my lighter. If you see it anywhere in the gloom."



Curious to see what I might do, or maybe just sick and tired of lurking under their own furnishings, they decided to let me have a go at it.



"Hey, you guys," Teensy said. "I didn't know you were here! The lights were off!"



"Yeah, we were playing with our Lite Brite," Liz muttered. She picked something off her pants. "Corn chip?"



"No thanks. I already ate. Omigod, you guys, you wouldn't believe? What they had? At the dining hall tonight? Totally. AMERICAN CHOP SUEY. SO GOOD. It reminded me of the time that my Mom...hey, what are you doing?"



"Don't mind me," I said, scratching away at my back as I had been since she sat down. "It's just this rash. I'm pretty sure it's not contagious anymore."



"Oh, crap," Liz said. "You have that again?"



"Yeah, fucking thing. The shots totally didn't work, by the way. Just in case, ha ha, you ever find yourself in this position. My doctor gave me some cream, but I seem to have forgotten it."



"Oh, Hubs," Sarah said. "That's awful. You must be so uncomfortable."



"You have, like, a rash?" Teensy said. "Is it, you know...um, how did you get it?"



"Oh, who can say, right? Hey, you know what, you guys? Would you all mind if I took my shirt off?"



Chorus of "no, go ahead" from the Peanut Gallery. Nothing from Teensy, who was looking nervous.



"Thanks," I said, pulling both shirt and bra over my head. "Whew! That's much more comfortable."



"Hey, you're like, really comfortable with yourself, huh?" Teensy said. "That's great. I mean..."



I snapped my fingers. "Oh, hey, you know what? Do you guys have any butter?"



"We totally do!" Sarah said. "Hey, that might be kind of soothing."



I cocked my finger at her. "ABSOLUTELY. That is ABSOLUTELY what I was thinking."



A minute or so later, smearing butter on myself in silence, while Teensy attempts to shut her mouth, which, for once, was not producing any sound, just sort of flapping in the breeze.



"Do you want some?" I asked her, holding out a handful of butter. "I hear it's really good for your HAIR."



"Oh, um, no thanks," she said."Hey, guys? These pants are really uncomfortable..."



Teensy shot out of her chair. "You guys, I totally? Have to go?"



Altogether now: "Oh, no, no, no. Really? Aw. That's too bad."



The door shut with a slam. I looked at my watch, the face of which now bore a buttery thumbprint.



"Eight minutes thirty seven seconds."



"A world record," Jacob said, admiringly.



"Will you please put your shirt on now?" Liz asked.



"That depends," I said. "Have you seen my lighter?"