Who Can I Sue?

In mah bathrobe I went out to admire the sasanqua.

I'se still low sick, but I needed to see somethin' growin', so I jes' went out into the back forty, bathrobe an' all. (so shoot me, fashion police)


Uncle is in the woods....seein' as I wuzn't daid after two days, he figgered I must be on the mend.

So in mah bathrobe I'se pickin' a few blooms when a chirpy "HI!" sneaks up aside me.

"Go home, Robby Joe, I'se contagious. An' we has a gate fer a reason. "

"Well, ya do look puny. Guess that explains the bathrobe, huh?"

"What it doan explain is what ya's here fer, an' why ya sneaked in mah back gate wif' no invitation. I ain't expectin' callers, " I said.

"Who me? Sneak?"

"Doan see nobody else, Robby, but yore own self."

"Guess thas' true, haw!"

I was in no mood, "And?"

He had the decency to look at his shoe tops. "Mrs. Belle, does you recall how you was a witness when Sis slipped on that oily floor at Curtis' Auto Repair back in July? And how the whole time she was laid up with her broken ankle and two busted ribs, how it was me who waited on her hand and foot?"

"No."

"What'cha mean, 'no' ?" he bellowed.

I fixed him wif a stare ya doan wanna never see.

"Young'un, I know ya didn't mean to raise yore voice none. See that it doan happen again. ...What I was a witness to was how yore Sis ignored the signs plastered all over Curtis' place, what tells' folks to stay out of the work area-- big ole red D AN G E R signs. She knowed it, an she ain't got a problem wif it. Leave that dawg lie," I said.

"No'mam. It's like this. At least you recall how I moved in an' was doin' eve'r thang fer her? Well, now she ain't aiming to pay nuthin' for them weeks when I was her veritable slave! She owes me. Owes me plenty. And thas' jes' the money part of it. "

Iffin' I'd had a hoe I'd of brained that low-life skunk.

"Youse a snake, Robby, not a brother. Ever'body here an' yonder knows the score: Youse out of work--again--an' Sis let ya move in, eat her food, keep warm and clean an use her computer to play endless games of War of the Worlds. I'd say that is a fair trade. Ya' ain't due a dang dime, so slither on out mah gate, now afore I really gits riled.

His voice turned as oily as Curtis' floor.

"What ya doan know MRS. Belle is that I is a snake wif' a lawyer and that lawyer wants to meet wif ya'. Cause you seen the accident and the conditions of criminal neglect that Curtis calls his bidness...I'se a man wif a lawyer thas' who I is. You oughta show me some respect."

I was on the way into the house when I turned back to see his face, scrunched up purple as a turnip.

"There ain't a lawyer in this town who would take this farce as a case, Robby Joe," I called back over my flappin' robe, hands full of blossoms. "Respect is earned, Robby, earned."

"I is done wif folks in this town! I got me a big city feller off of a billboard, WhocanIsue.com! And he say I got a good case. He will take your statement by videoconferencin' so it won't cost you or me nuthin.' He say I have a case! I AM OWED."

I slammed the door. By the time I collected mahself, I realized that Robby Joe is a product of our sludgey, sick culture. Everybody wants to make a buck on the next guys back.

We's overdue fer a good cleansin' .

Ever think how money is corruptin' our relationships? Ain't we monitized ever'thang possible? How much of the last generation was thinkin' they was engaged in "wealth creation" when all they was doin' was makin' people pay for what we once done naturally fer each other?

One of Uncle's huntin' buddies never eats at home much now. His wife is a real fine cook. She opened Bonnie's Cafe on the road down to the huntin' camp. She makes enough money at it to keep her kids in a day care and to git herself an I-phone an' upgrade her make-up brands. The day care is owned by her sister-in-law. They used to keep each other's chillen when the need came up, but now one charges the other fer the service, an' the other pays with money made sellin' cawfee and apple pie to other menfolk lookin' fer a taste of somethin' homemade.
Well, I doan know. Does ya'll see that as "wealth creation"?

Thas' what Cafe Bonnie said at the Camp's Fall BBQ. How her --hers, now, not theirs--accountant said now that she had a cafe, where she sold the fruit of her labor, she was another American engaged in"wealth creation."

Then she said how her other half was plannin' to sell his famous BBQ sauce on the internet. More "wealth creation." I doan know how much he sells on the internet. What I does know is how he used to give ever'body in the camp a half gallon jug of that finger lickin' good sauce at Christmas time.

Now he doan do it cause he can get 5 bucks fer it online. He "cain't afford" to give it away no more--his accountant say so. He's cozy wif' the accountant-as long as he pays the accountant's bill. Thank is, he ain't as cozy as he used ter be wif' his ole buddies. Not that they's mad over a bottle of hot BBQ sauce---nope, it jes'that they's put off some by the idea that now he sees them as customers first, friends second.

Reckon I'se old fashioned, but when a person's labor goes to care fer family, or is given freely to friends, it has enormous value. It jes' ain't monitized. Ever'body is worriet over "capital." Well, what about family capital or cultural capital? If it doan draw interest--or more important,iffin' ya cain't use it fer collateral, does that mean ot doan have no value?

Now we's all so money conscious, we see friends and neighbors and buddies and family as one more place to make a buck. What ya reckon it does to relationships when every skill or hobby or friendship we all used to simply share as part of family or community--all that is now appraised
for "wealth creation"?

Iffin' ya fail to "create" wealth, no matter. Jes' log on to WhoCanISue.com

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Y'all I hopes ya' remember that on Tuesday and Wednesday we's gonna have a cyber garage sale" please put up lists or pics of yore junk--all that ya wanna purge (see previous post) an' we can play show an tell over our cyber garage sale!! (ya ain't akshully gotta sell it--we all jes' wanna see yore junk , er, junque.)