Wednesday, November 8, 2006

Mr. Edward Trinkle

Our main character is not Mr. Trinkle, but an elderly professor, impish stature, who teaches inner-city kids post-secondary. You know that Pixar guy that plays chess with himself? That guy. He’s been teaching at the same school for over 30 years. The fire he used to display at all times is now just embers that glow occasionally during his lectures. Regardless of his aged performance, he is well-respected, effective, and a bit cranky. On days like today, when his body isn’t fairing well, his wife joins him at work. They sit together now at his desk, which is located in a common bullpen area with other faculty. Our professor talks, and his wife sits quietly and listens.

(Ed. Note – The text below should be read with a thick Irish accent which I can neither speak nor reproduce in text.)

“That woman, dear, that woman over there is the one I’ve been telling you about.

“Mrs. Trinkle.

“She’s the one that goes to the potty without locking the facility door.

“She’s trying to catch people off-guard, methinks.

“It’s sad, really.

“Tinkle Trinkle, that’s what they call her, love, behind her back, of course.

“Tinkle Trinkle.

“A fitting moniker for such an unseemly behavior.

“Tinkle, tinkle, little Mrs. Trinkle.


“Edward. Edward is her husband’s name.

“Mr. Edward Trinkle.

“She refers to him as, Mr. Ed.

“It’s some vulgar reference to his male genitalia.

“‘It’s not what you think’ she says with some pathetic little gleam in her wandering eye, ‘it’s more like a club,’ she says.

“Remarkable, her speaking that way about her own husband.

“Come to think of it, I always thought she was a drinker, what with that dazed look about her eyes, including that one that just seems to float around minding nobody’s business including its own, and that kind of puffy face.

“Looks like she soaks her head in a whisky bucket if you’re asking me.

“In fairness, perhaps she just gets clubbed regularly.

“You know, dearest, perhaps that explains her disgusting habit. Maybe her regular clubbing has so compromised her eyesight that she can’t focus on anything smaller than a grapefruit.

“She can’t see to lock the door, poor thing.

“Sweet mother of God, I wonder if the unfortunate woman can see to flush.

“I tell you, mama, the story just gets worse and worse.

“But still, the two of them together, Mr. Ed and her, must be quite the sight.

“I can just picture it. Her in her privy tinkling away for all to hear, blind as a bat, and him walking about casting shadows with his personal club.

“They ought to be in a porno movie, I tell you, love.

“Just disgraceful.

“Probably’s already been in one of those porno magazines. An advert. ‘Protect your car with the Club – Mr. Ed’s Club.’

“Of course nobody’ll steal the car. Not with the two of them in the back seat.

“My word, I can just imagine that car on a warm summer night. It must stink to high heaven.

“The two of them ought to be ashamed of themselves.

“I’d cast the whole lot into the sea, I tell you, if it were up to me. Right into the sea.”

Mrs. Trinkle notices our kindly professor and nods. The professor responds with a nod of his own, and then continues talking to his wife.

“She seems a tad more flushed today than usual, dear. Wonder if she’s been milking the horse before work.

"She's been asking around, too, about what color to dye her hair. As if the color makes a difference when the lights are off.

"There's not a redeeming quality about the poor thing. A shame it is.

“Would you like some tea, darling? I'll make it for you. My stomach’s a bit upset at the moment.”

1 comment:

  1. OMG, I was a ble to hear the Irish brogue of my Grandfather in my head. So funny!