Space Invaders

I got so excited over the new Brother fax machine at my full time job that I cradled the machine in my arms. Later, I got enthralled over an Ebay transaction that came through on my Paypal account on my second job. I thanked Jesus then began to produce the purchased product. Later, I poured over my emails hoping an acting job came through. Long after midnight, I erupted into rapture finding a new floor mop bought for me at my janitorial job. My bloodshot eyes checked the time. I had been up for 18 hours and literally had gotten paid for every one of my waking hours.

I said quietly to myself, “Joe, you are working way too hard on Mischief Night.”

On Halloween, I felt a little more relaxing admiring the parade of costumed trick or treaters that inundated our development. A rather stout miniature Darth Vader left his mother’s side at the end of my driveway. Vader’s black boots trampled over my newly seeded front lawn to get to the door. Alas, I stood in the doorway as Darth Vader approached then looked left and right of me. He seemed more interested in my home than the giant sized candy bowl thrusted before him for selection. A space invader on my stoop, Darth Vader spoke befuddlement from behind his mask.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“My mother was right.” He repeated in a sqeaky voice unbecoming of a villain. “This house is huge. Mom wants to know how anyone can afford to live here.”

“Help yourself to a gum ball then go tell your mother I got four jobs. That’s how.”

Darth Vader went running to the Dark Side. “Mom, looks like you got to get three more jobs for us to move here.”