Always the Bad Guy

The place was a mess. There was trash everywhere you looked. The high school kid had transformed the once lush florist into their own personal social club. From the looks of it, Sammy was very stoned from someone blowing pot smoke in his face and in all likelihood inebriated. There was an empty Jack Daniels bottle lying at the bottom of his cage. So in addition to my friend the monkey also had both a drug and a serious alcohol problem.

As so many of us have witnessed (or gone through personally) these diseases are progressive. The monkey being in a constant incoherent state proved it had struck again. Thankfully Sammy couldn’t read the racing forms or he could have been addicted to the big three. I can just picture someone taking him to a meeting.

The following day, I wanted to check up on both of them and went to the florist shop. Before I could even walk through the door, I clearly heard the high school girl screaming at the top of her lungs. Sammy was furiously humping a paper towel on the counter next to the register. He was doing what I can only imagine as some type of mating ritual; raising his eyebrows in rapid succession like one of the Marx brothers.

I knew these animals have the tendency to be vicious but I’d never seen a monkey on the nature channel dry humping anything in a threatening manner while staring at someone. I guess only the drunk urban ones do this. The high school girl ran out the door past me, and now the little Trilogy of Terror creature was eyeballing me. I calmly and slowly walked to the back of the place. He followed me from overhead, jumping from one hanging plant to the other.

When I reached the back of the shop, I found my friend stupefied in his office with no chance of waking up, yet I started getting the creeps from something. I turned slowly and noticed the monkey was only feet away, standing eye level on a file cabinet. That little bastard was in stealth mode, and I had no idea he was there until I turned around. I saw a bag of chips sitting on the desk and figured maybe he was just looking for food. God knows when the last time was anyone thought to feed the poor thing. Maybe he’d finished with the paper towel and along with the weed, just wanted a snack before napping. I reached over my very drunken friend for the bag of chips and in an instant Sammy was biting right through my index finger.