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Posted by Steve at 10:01AM, Sunday, December 09th, 2001

Fun with Walter

I never thought a termite inspection could be so invasive, making me feel naked and totally exposed to a complete stranger.  Walter, as he introduced himself, looked like a man fit to change tires at Wal-Mart.  He was sent to check my place for any return of the termites that had once eaten my walls and shit on my bed.  His inspection consisted of walking around looking at every inch of my personal living space with an oversized Maglight and his carefully trained eyes. 

Walter started his survey at the front door and worked his way counterclockwise around the inside perimeter of my place.  He felt the need to ask questions and make comments about my material possessions along the way.

He came across my old double bass leaned up against the wall and asked, "Do you play the cello?"

"No, it's actually a bass," I responded, standing close in case it fell over when he moved it to look behind at the wall.

He moved on, walking into the bathroom.  He turned the fan on instead of the light, like every other guest does the first time they go in there.  He then opened the wooden cabinet, exposing a plastic container labeled "GMHP Safe Sex Kit" with a photo of two underwear clad men grabbing their dicks.  I suddenly felt ill.

"Your bathroom ceiling tile looks like ceramic tile," he stated.

"Yeah, this is a weird place," I shot back, wondering if he'd seen all of my hair and skincare products on the shelf as well.

Walter left the bathroom and proceeded past my couch, staring at my computer monitor.  I presume he was looking for termites in it.

"That's a pretty flower on your desktop.  Did you download it off the internet?"

"No, that came with Windows," I said, as he moved on around the corner.

The kitchen was the next place to be inspected.  Aside from the fifteen bottles of liquor, I couldn't think of anything too embarrassing in there.


"An art major?" he asked after gazing upon the enormous Georgia O'Keeffe "Jack-In-The-Pulpit" poster above the table.

"No, I actually inherited all of the posters on my walls from a friend who moved away and left stuff behind."

"That's cool.  There are all sorts of ways to get cultured.  You got it through osmosis."

"Umm... Yeah," I said under my breath.  I was glad he didn't comment on the book I had left on my kitchen table last night, Biological Exuberance: Animal Homosexuality and Natural Diversity.

At this point I wonder if Walter was really a termite inspector.  I mean, when's the last time termites infested a computer monitor or poster?  Perhaps he was sent by my father to attempt to determine my sexuality, as if there was any question at this point in my life.

"What a nice cozy sleeping box you got," he felt the need to mention as he made his way over to my loft bed.

I didn't say a word.  I was ready for this in-depth inspection to be finished.  Unfortunately, he still had my small walk-in closet to inspect.

He moved the beam of his flashlight across the clothes hanging in my closet.

"Are you a Boy Scout leader?" he asked as he saw my uniform shirt hanging there.

"Nope, but years ago I was a Boy Scout," I replied.  I didn't feel the need to tell him I kept the uniform handy to fulfill the kinky sexual fantasies I have from time to time.  You see, he was wearing a uniform with his name on it, and I didn't want to give the wrong idea.  He wasn't my type.

The next thing his flashlight spotlighted was my almost empty bottle of ID lubricant on the shelf beside my collection of OUT magazines, stored discreetly as if they were porn magazines.  Gulp.

Satisfied with his inspection of my closet, Walter's last place to look was behind the cubes that hold my VHS and DVD collections.  My stomach sank as I realized my copy of "Shooting Porn" with Chi Chi Larue was in his sight.


"Everything looks just fine," Walter said as he scurried out the door.

I'm not sure who felt more uncomfortable at that point.

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