Controlled Scribbling

Sign Here

Now more about destiny and the effects thereof. My life is moving along, defying logic every chance it gets. Today my adventures beyond incidental circumstance brought me to a small room and left me there alone with a middle-aged woman. The room was lit with four fluorescent ceiling fixtures that worked successfully as a team to insure the absence of shadows. The lady's hair was grayish-white and over the years had grown spastically from her head. She smiled at me as she rifled through her feminine attache. Pulling out various writing utensils, she mentioned she had been running late.

It was early and I did not care about her busy little life.

She settled down in her chair and filled the desk that was between us with forms and folders. She asked me questions about my life, my employment, and my belongings.

What in the bloody world was I doing here? I was talking to a Loan Officer about a mortgage. Was this me? Why should I be talking to this woman? I am not about to buy a house, or am I? What a kick in the ass. Who would have thought? It took me about twenty minutes to decide to do it. Here I was, a week after a verbal agreement, ready to sign my life away and buy a house with my sister. I ran a quick internal systems diagnostic and as far as I could tell it was still, for all intents and purposes, me. A short month ago I would have laughed at a suggestion so ridiculous - buy a house with my sister. I was never away from home for more than a two-week stretch in my entire life. I don't even own my own towel. Almost two years went into the selection of the house I was about to buy and an equal amount of time went into financial planning. I was not involved in any of this. I was simply not a character in this particular play. Here I was about to catch trails off of this lady's wild hair, and all she could say now was, "sign here." This was her favorite thing to say, I think. She said it more times than I knew was possible. She worked it into sentences that you might not be able to work in the word 'fuck.' Who was this lady? Ms. "sign here" USA, perhaps. "Sign here." I put her little blue pen through a rigorous half hour. I was surprised the pen didn't burst into flames or at least dry up and die. "Sign here-nice weather-sign here-today, don't you think?-sign here." What in the house-buying universe was I up to? All the stacks of paper she had pulled out had circled around in front of me and back to her. Every single piece of paper now bore my name, some more than once. She made a neat pile and dragged air in through a dizzy smile. It seemed to be over, I would be set free now. I didn't have any idea. She chattered off some Loan Officer jargon as she began to leave me alone in the room. She paused in the doorway long enough to tell me she would be right back. Alone, I eyed the neat pile of papers I had signed. Some of these were simply blank forms. Why am I signing blank forms? This better not be some kind of recruiting office scam. I started to think I may have made a terrible mistake and now would have to kill a bunch of commies without my Nintendo. Before my thoughts could complete their little paranoid journey, she entered the room with a new pile of forms. Before she sat in her chair, before she moved herself completely around her desk, she was at it again. "Sign here." She "sign here" was "sign here" relentless "sign here." A new stack quickly sucked up my signatures and was neatly put next to its predecessor. She drew more air in through her Manson-like smile and I tried not to stare at her. After the last document was signed, I suddenly realize she hadn't exhaled the entire time I was there. Papers signed, mission accomplished. I had to get out of there before this lady shot around the room like an untied runaway balloon. A shake of the hand and I was off.