THE QUEEN HOARDER -SHORT FICTION

Untitled Part 1

Do we hate those who are most like us? My authoritative boss, Angela, did. She despised those we served. I have never met a more opinionated person; she specialized in her opinions. Hoarder Expert. She marketed herself as the whole package, educated in psychology, though never actually stating she had a degree. I had taken psychology 101 in high school; I had a better grasp of it than she did.

Angela rubbed her bulbous chin, making her look like a witch. She pulled a massive vase from the floor. She could have climbed into it if she wanted to. She turned to our hoarding client Steve and said, "What if this vase fell on you and killed you?"

"Seems a little preposterous," Steve replied as his forehead scrunched tightly.

Angela liked to exaggerate. Still, I was trying to figure out why people collected such worthless stuff.

Angela looked over Steve's disgustingly filthy home. She let out long sighs and clicked her tongue while shaking her head. She covered her nose and gagged. "Wow, this is going to take extra effort. Let me call my people and see if I can bring more hands in." She did this act with all clients.

As her main hand, I accompanied her to all appointments. Honestly, I think I landed that position because of my bulk. I was an offensive lineman at university. People always looked twice, sometimes three times my way. She dragged me along for protection. On my second job with her, she had gotten really sassy with one of the hoarders named Jack. He had something mentally off. It didn't take my psychology 101 class to see that; however, Angela bullied Jack harshly. I never knew which personality she would use with the hoarders. For some, she seemed gentle and understanding. Others, she tried using big words with. And then, there were the ones like Jack. She treated the Jack-like clients with disdain.

Jack's eyes blinked rapidly every time Angela belittled him.

"You know that everything in your home is a safety hazard. This nasty coffee table could fall on you, and you could be trapped. Don't you agree, Michael?"

I shrugged.

Jack hugged himself and moved back and forth like a rocking chair. When he spoke incoherent mumble, I knew Angela needed to back off. She didn't, and Jack's hands reached for her throat. I pulled Jack off quickly. After that, she never went to a client's without me.

"Michael, there is a new temp firm that just opened downtown. It might be a great place to hire cleaners and junk clearers," Angela said. "I want you to check them out." We stood next to the truck after a particularly gruesome job.

"What is the name of the place?"

"I can't remember. Let me give you their phone number." She reached into the truck and jotted the number down on the back of an envelope.

"Can't you just text me the number?" I asked.

"I have already written it," she barked, shoving the envelope into my hands. I did as she asked and found a great place to bring in junk cleaners for our jobs.

Angela played the game of the expert, like when we assessed the house of a hoarder named Helen.

"Helen, I know you want to keep that rocking horse, but what value does it give you? You don't have any grandkids." Angela wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve. -yuck.

Helen snatched the rocking horse out of my hand. The quickness of the plastic burnt my skin.

"I might have a grandkid one day, and I want to be prepared."

Stacey, the client who hired us to clean Helen's house, turned to Helen and said, "Mom, I told you, I ain't ever having kids. And even if I did, which I won't, but if I did, I would never let them play in your house or with one piece of your garbage."