The Happy Helpers Club Strikes Again

"They said they were here to help, and then burned the bathroom to a hallow shell. I have to poop in a bucket until the insurance money comes in."

 Afternoon Readers,

     It'd been nine months since I'd seen the Happy Helpers Club Inc, but today they showed up, again unannounced, and again, I'm almost one hundred percent sure, uninvited. They handed me their business card. I already had the last one on file, but they were very proud because they'd just ordered new ones and now they were laminated and, they claim, "totally green"...what I assumed to mean, made out of recycled lemur tails. To their credit, the printing was impeccable:

The Happy Helper's Club Inc.

-We "Help" Out and Stuff-

Twitter: @paininthebutt

p: 123-4567

fax: We never have all of them..

I'm not going to say I was happy to see them. The last time I'd hired them to do my dishes, the results had been less than impressive.  But I'd just mixed up some homemade carpet cleaner, and, when the stuff exploded, it'd be nice to have someone around to identify my body. That, and it was really a one person job, so having a little company to watch wouldn't be that bad. "Alright," I said."You guys can stay. But I don't have any money."

     The little boy flipped the card over. Please pay wis dee fru 'nacks..

     Fruit snacks, I could do that. So, I got back to sprinkling off brand baking soda on the stairs and got ready to mix something I hoped wouldn't melt my hands off. The recipe only called for a small amount of gasoline, which seemed reasonable.

     "We helpin'." I looked up and watched as the little girl prostrated herself on the baking-soda-covered stairs and began preparing herself to be popped in the oven. The little boy followed suit.

     I held up my hand. "I don't think that's wise."

     "Ma Ma," said the little boy. "I jumpin'."

     "First off, do you call everyone who hires you "Mom"? Because that seems a tad informal. Secondly, I think you should steer clear of water. You're about two steps away from becoming a walking Alca Seltzer."   

     The little girl, who'd shown up in only a swimsuit with a tu tu attached to it, shook her finger at me. "We wanna sit on da 'tairs, Mamma."

     "Again with the informality. I really prefer Mrs. Kellerman or "Fairest In the Land", but you two don't seem to care either or, so..." Quickly, I mixed up the cleaner: Vinegar, baking soda, eye of newt, hair of Bieber.

     They stared me down as I sprayed each stair. "What you doin'?"

     I took a break from scrubbing the bottom step with a good wedding towel. "You know, before your agency sends you out, you really should check what the job's for. I'm getting the sense this whole thing kind of took you by surprise."

     The little girl's chubby feet squished through the soap. "Cleanin', Momma?"

     "Yes, cleaning. Although, I hate seeing this dirt spot go. We've had that one since we moved in. I was using it to help me remember how long we'd been here. For tax purposes and such. Speaking of, what kind of qualifications do you have?"

     The little boy smiled. "I run da va cuum?"

     "Is that all you need for a work visa these days?"

     "Tairs all wet."

     "You must've aced that test." 

     And while I finished scrubbing, they used the stairway as a luge and hit each other in the face. It was also rude how they kept running down the hall and saying they were going to play in "their" room. But, I did manage to get the stairs clean, and, as of now, I only have three more layers of dirt to work through before we can get down to the base color, which I believe is tan..brown? I might just say brown and call that project a success.

Now if I could just find a polite way to tell them to move out of my room and take their fruit snacks with them...

Until Next Time, Readers!