More than three weeks ago, after I learned that the fire that broke out in my house didn’t spread past the room it originated in, I felt like the luckiest man on the face of the earth. Sure, I had my health which was important, but I naively thought that because my house fire was of the tame variety that the fix up would be relatively pedestrian and painless. What all would they have to do, clean out the room, pull up the carpet and scrub the walls? I sincerely thought that I’d be in that room putting women with criminally low self esteem and daddy issues on the business end of my sub par love making in no time. Boy was I wrong. Not only did that room have to be literally demolished, with the four sides of my room being gutted on some Ronald Reagan “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!” shit, the hallway walls had to be stripped and everything that was upstairs except for a select few items had to be shit-canned because of massive soot damage. Everything downstairs was salvageable, but they still had to evacuate every single item to be thoroughly cleaned at some other location. I stopped by my house earlier today and the place is nothing but an empty shell, it had a distinct coldness to it that made me feel like the place has become a hangout spot for disgruntled spirits.(Thanks “Sixth Sense”)

Right when you get your head around the concept of them having to proverbially hold your house upside down by the ankles and shake the valuables out of its pockets on some High School bully shit, you are hit with the sobering reality that complete strangers will soon be riffling through your shit with reckless abandon. Even though the men are just doing their jobs, what they view to be trash and what you cherish as truly sentimental items really makes you feel somewhat violated. Sure, they sincerely try to soften what feels to be an invasion of privacy by taking extremely specific inventory of everything that they shitcan, but little solace is to be found. While discussing one of these lists of inventory with one of the men, I had what is best described to be a Hip Hop Larry David moment.

SERVPRO Worker: Sir, I need you to look over this sheet of inventory, then sign it if everything looks alright.

Me: Ok. (visually scanning the list) Um, there seems to be a mistake here.

SERVPRO Worker: Did we overlook something sir? Is there something we failed to put on this list?

Me: Well, its actually something that you mistakenly put on this list. (Pointing to the specific entry) I have never, never, in my life purchased a Foxy Brown album. Its against everything that I believe in. If you actually knew me, you’d know that said discovery would be like finding an Afro pick in a white supremacists house.

SERVPRO Worker: Well we don’t know you, and that’s what we found in your house, that’s just the facts sir. Maybe a friend gave it to you and you forgot about it?

Me: Impossible. My friends know that the best way to terminate our relationship is to give me sub par Hip Hop as a gift.

SERVPRO Worker: (Under his breath) I’m surprised your house isn’t littered with sub par Hip Hop gifts you fucking lunatic.

Me: What??!!

SERVPRO Worker: Nothing. Come on, “Ill Na Na” was a decent record, it went platinum for Christs sake!

Me: *Menacing stare*

SERVPRO Worker: Alright, I know that isn’t much of an argument.

Me: Maybe its an elaborate plot by one of my enemies..

SERVPRO Worker: Sir, its just a CD!

Me: Hold on, follow me on this one. Maybe one of my enemies stashed that piece of shit CD inside my house to give me years of bad luck,  akin to the guy who tried to bury that David Ortiz jersey under Yankee Stadium?

SERVPRO Worker: *Shaking head* I really have to get back to work Sir.

Me: Alright, but before you leave I’m going to need you to erase that off of your inventory list.

SERVPRO Worker: Really? This list is going to the insurance company, not to your peers. What do you care what some insurance company square thinks about a rapper that they probably have never heard of in their life?

Me: Lets just say that I care.

SERVPRO Worker: I’m not going to do it, that’s just silly.

Me: You better do it or I’ll make you do it, even if that means ripping your fucking arm off and erasing that shitty CD off that list with your lifeless limb.

SERVPRO Worker: *Angrily erasing* You sure are a music snob.

Me: You’re goddamned right.