Posts Tagged ‘Taffy the maid’

Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?

Monday, May 24th, 2010

By Tiber

I saw my parents’ maid, Taffy, working up here on the third floor and I noticed that her hair looked different.

“Well…uh…,” she stammered, before running into the doorframe and scurrying off. “Sometimes a girl just needs a new haircut.”

Even I could tell she wasn’t telling the truth since after this supposed new cut, her hair actually looks longer.

Earlier, I’d seen the maid Soledad with the exact same new hair. And I guarantee you, maid #3, Gabby, is wearing an identical wig.

I know what they’re doing and I don’t blame them at all.

My guess is that Mrs. Brunty, the housekeeper, has decided that during the financial crunch, she can potentially use Dad’s tendency to be distracted to the staff’s advantage. If all of the maids start looking alike, maybe Dad won’t remember how many he actually has on the payroll and be tempted to let one go.

The reason I’m onto this is because I read once where the great writer Shirley Jackson did the same thing with cats. She loved lots of cats. Her husband didn’t. So she solved the problem by always getting new felines in the same color. And her husband never did catch on to how many she was still taking in.

He did, however, eventually start to feel that the “two” cats they had, were starting to stalk him everywhere.

Flee the flying feline

Tuesday, March 9th, 2010

By Tiber

We’ve always had lots of pets and Paracelsus, our cat, is one of the most eccentric. He’s had a complete territorial fixation on one of the second-floor bathrooms, ever since he wandered in there once and happened to meow. The meow echoed but to Paracelsus, it could mean only one thing.

 “Intruder cat in the john!”

And forever after, in spite of his busy nap schedule, he still finds hours to hang out in there in hopes of eventually nabbing the stranger. Of course, no strange cat is ever found but since Paracelsus is in there constantly, haunting the bathroom like Moaning Myrtle, he’s had to figure out some way to pass the time.

So when any person comes in, usually an uninformed guest, Paracelsus quickly hides behind the shower curtain. He waits silently until said guest is seated on the john, relieving him or herself, and then the cat makes his move.

He suddenly shoots out from behind the curtain, claws extended, and sails over the head of the stunned person on the john, maniacally grinning all the way until he reaches the drain board on the other side.

By then, the guest has leaped up in a vault of terror, still pissing or worse, pretty much all over the room. I make a point of warning my guests to please check for cats behind the shower curtain before they go in there. Everyone else in the family assures me that they warn their guests too but I know that’s a lie, because they think the whole thing is really funny.

Yeah, it’s funny if you don’t have to clean it up.  Taffy, the maid, has, more than once, found a mess on the seat, the floor, the walls and once, even the ceiling. Mrs. Brunty, the housekeeper, refuses to believe it could be “that sweet cat’s fault” and instead just murmurs to Taffy, “You know…the older guests…”

My guess is, that fearing the prospect of that in her own future, Taffy will probably kill herself when she turns fifty.

The Hiccups of Doom

Thursday, March 4th, 2010

By Tiber

My parents’ maid, Taffy, worries every day now about being let go. But I know that Mom will do everything possible to keep her employed, even in the financial crunch – because Mom has always done everything possible to keep Taffy employed, even though Taffy is basically unemployable.

Mom, championing the underdog, or even an undermaid or an underbird, says that Taffy reminds her of a crow we once had outside, who had a hurt leg and could only hobble on the ground. But once he found his place in the air, he soared as well as all of the other birds.

Well, Mom may be waiting for Taffy for soar too but everybody else knows this is only going to happen if we can somehow get her hooked up to a hydraulic crane.

Anyway, Taffy’s crisis of this week was that she got the hiccups. The problem was that they wouldn’t stop. You may have heard about it. There was a little local human interest news coverage that got picked up.

It’s tempting to make jokes but in reality, it was pretty bad. It was hard for her to eat. She couldn’t get enough sleep. She tried to keep working but it was pretty half-assed. The furniture would be dusted but only in a zig-zag pattern.

Her boyfriend even left her, heartless scumbag. To be fair to him, though, Taffy’s constant hiccups brought on a certain amount of involuntary teeth-gnashing, so on his part, it may have been a smart move.

In spite of trying every remedy suggested, nothing worked. But two days ago, the hiccups stopped. Just like that. No one knows what started them or what made them go away.

So you can imagine, Taffy’s afraid that whatever it was, will set them off again. My sister, Iris Nell, heard that now Taffy is trying very hard not to burp or cough or fart or even sigh.

She may never get the hiccups again but we all think she’s going to explode.

It’s raining fish

Sunday, December 13th, 2009
By Tiber
You can see where I wrote an older post about my parents’ maid, Taffy. It was correctly titled, “Taffy vs. the Universe.“
Today, Taffy drove back to the house with her car windshield completely busted. She was shaken up but basically all right.
The thing is, weird accidents plague Taffy all the time. Is it bad karma? Is it inattention? Is it a gift from God to keep the rest of us entertained?
Thankfully, in this instance, Taffy was stopped at a traffic light because suddenly, her car windshield just exploded. A man, paused on the other side, saw exactly what had caused it. But Taffy didn’t know. She leaped out and started to run, afraid that maybe her whole car was going to blow up. The man, however, hurried over and grabbed something off of the ground to show her. It was a fish.

That’s right. A fish.

“It’s okay, miss. Here’s your problem right here!”

Taffy warily returned and gaped at his discovery.

“Well, will you look at that! You know, I wasn’t really paying attention when I filled up the tank, so I never even noticed him swimming in.”

“Uh, no…Actually, what happened was, a bird was flying over. And he dropped the fish he was carrying, which landed on your windshield.”

“Oh! Wow!”

“You’re all right then?”

“I’m fine.”

The man shook his head with relief and laughed.

“Freak accidents. Good thing they happen so rarely, huh?”

Taffy said she smiled politely and nodded. No need to tell him they happen to her all the time.

And they do. That bird could have packed a little bag and flown in from Guam.

I keep thinking Taffy ought to be able to get some sort of yearly tax exemption, just because of her life. I mean, she didn’t get the name of the man who witnessed the accident so, somehow, I don’t think her insurance company is going to reimburse her for, “fish falling out of sky.”

She did bring the fish home, though. Dad said at least we could make the best of it and eat it but Mom’s putting a halt to that. She claims that hard times or no, we are not going to start eating road kill.

The main thing is that no one was hurt. But I think we have to accept the fact that, for whatever reason, the word is out on this planet.

Get Taffy.

Taffy vs. the universe

Sunday, November 1st, 2009

By Tiber

At least for the moment, my parents still have a lot of people who work for them. And I know that even with the money crunch, my parents don’t want to fire them. First of all, they like them. Second, they know there are fewer jobs out there right now and third and sort of crucially, in the case of our help, a lot of them so often seem to need help.

Taffy, who is one of the maids, is the most accident-prone person I have ever met. My mother has always been fond of Taffy, plus a little sorry for her, which is why she’s survived so far. And since some breakage can be expected on a regular basis, she’s kept away from anything really valuable.

It’s the other accidents she has, though, that really make you wonder.

She just had to have about 3 inches of her long hair cut off because she’d gotten it caught in a metal wall-sconce. When they found her, she was standing on her highest tiptoes and flailing, with her hair, still caught in that sconce, sticking straight up like the Bride of Frankenstein.

The sconces are pretty high up and fairly flush to the wall so we figured the only way this all could have happened was if she’d been sidling down the wall while leaping. Or had she been indoor trampolining? Folk dancing? Maybe she had attempted the even trickier maneuver of folk-dancing while trampolining.

No one will ever know.