The Capricious Adventures of Inspector Awkward
By Professor. A. Clueless
I had a wonderful conversation, over tea this afternoon with an old friend. He remarked on his enthusiasm for my writing; particularly the stories of my friend Inspector Kathleen Awkward. Eventually the conversation turned to how such adventures became inspiration for the novel that I am now writing. For the purpose of enlightenment on how this novel came to be, I'm including the anecdote I shared with him as a chapter.
It began early morning, much like the conversation with my old friend. I had just returned from the post office where I sent a parcel; when I arrived at Awkward's ground floor apartment. My briefcase in one hand, I let myself in with the rusty old key that she had provided me with a few months ago. I entered the apartment to the pungent smell of fresh paint and a sharply blinking light from the damaged lightbulb. I quickly flicked off the main light switch, preventing a power surge.
My eyes adjusted to the natural lighting cascaded around the room from the opened curtains. I noticed my friend, Inspector Awkward, by the far wall. She was applying a new layer of paint to the structure when she finally noticed me and briefly stopped what she was doing to acknowledge my presence.
"Clueless?" She begins in a exhausted tone. "How on earth am I meant to recognise your appearance when you're skulking in the shadows over there?" She gestures to my whereabouts.
Anyone else would've mistaken her tone for impertinence. I, on the other hand, am rather used to her sharp and uncompromising demeanour.
I paced a few steps forward to be closer towards the sunlight from the window. Placing my briefcase on the nearest table I replied "my apologies, dearest Awkward. How can I be of assistance?" shrugging off the previous remarks made by my friend.
"Could you bring me some tea?" She mumbles the question while pointing towards the kitchen, having now returned to the painting.
"In a cup?" I gently enquire, bracing myself for an exasperated reply.
"No, in a bowling ball(!) yes in a cup!" She replies, irritated by my both her lack of sleep and my question.
"I apologise, Inspector Awkward. It's just after the last time when you set fire to the kitchen with one of your failed experiments, I can't ever be entirely sure." I continue making the tea, now collecting a cup from the top far end cupboard.
"Failed experiments?" She replies as if spitting feathers. With the paintbrush in her hand (perhaps to steady her insomniac nerves) she sharply turns to face me. Taking a deep breath with disappointment, she replies "dearest Professor, you are quite clueless sometimes. That wasn't a failed experiment. It was quite the success."
As I finish pouring the hot water into the lavender infused cup of herbal tea, I enquire "may I ask how then?"
"Well... It taught me what not to do next time, I suppose." She ponders the question further "as well as thinking more about what I'm doing, before accidentally combusting the kitchen."
"Will that help?" I ask handing my friend the cup of tea, to which she sips graciously. She then places it down next to the pot of paint.
Almost inaudibly, she mutters "it should do."
I collect the local newspaper from my brief case. Sitting down in the arm chair without realising I left my case open, I began to read the first few pages. Finding nothing of interest, I eventually respond to Inspector Awkward "so we won't have to renovate again?"
"You shouldn't demand blind faith, Clueless." She promptly replies.
"You just said..."
"I know what I just said. I didn't say I'd take my own advice or learn from my mistakes." She replies pedantically.
Before I could reply, we were interrupted by the sudden knock on the door. I quickly go to answer it, knowing full well my friend wouldn't have the audacity to engage in potential social engagements. Instead, she continues repainting of the wall.
Upon opening the door, I find myself greeted by Mrs Parsnip, the sincere if not mildly nonsensical landlady of the apartment (who is also Kathleen's grandmother).
"Good morning Mrs Parsnip." I greet her cheerfully, inviting her into the apartment.
"Good morning Alfred." She says before stepping into the room.
"You'll have to excuse the smell." I mention while closing the door.
"Oh you smell fine, dear."
"Not me, Mrs Parsnip. The paint."
"Oh hello Kathleen, are you redecorating?" Mrs Parsnip replies, oblivious to the previous conversation she just had.
After a long pause, Inspector Clueless finally realises she's being spoken to. "Ah, Mrs Parsnip! Yes, I am. You'll have to excuse my brief absence of response, I was thinking of my last job."
"Mrs Parsnip, are your sinuses playing up again?" I interject, asking with concern.
"Oh no, I'm not a shy person dear." She replies, mishearing what I said.
"No, Mrs Parsnip. Sinus. As in your nose senses. You might have a cold coming along."
"No, no. I'm fine, stop fussing over me." She remarks rather abruptly, before strolling around. Inspector clueless smirks at the response while Mrs Parsnip starts frantically searching the property.
"What is it Mrs Parsnip?" I ask with curiosity.
"Can you hear that gurgling noise?" She asks in a faint voice, she closes one eyes as she searches the window frame.
"Gurgling noise?" I ask now rather concerned.
"It's coming from somewhere in here" she gestures to the kitchen.
I quickly dash into the kitchen trying to find the noise. Frantically searching the sink for the source of the problem.
That very same moment, waste from the disposal unit gushes out of the plug hole. Leftover rubbish and sewage water is spurted up the walls, covering myself and Mrs Parsnip with the byproducts. Inspector Awkward quickly drops the paintbrush into her cup of tea and dashes into the kitchen to see the action.
Wiping the waste off my clothes in disgust, I find a shredded piece of fabric on my shoulder.
"I think someone had vegetable lasagne last week by the state of things." Mrs Parsnip remarks at the excess tomato and pasta on the surfaces.
"Inspector Awkward, would you care to explain why my favourite socks are shredded in the food dispenser?" I ask in frustration at the situation.
"You said any waste should be dispensed of, and they definitely needed dispensing." She replies in a joking manner.
"Inspector Awkward, you have no right to dispose of clothing that are not your property. What's more they're most definitely not to be thrown in the WASTE DISPOSAL UNIT."
Mrs Parsnip continues her clearing up of the kitchen mess, humming an ominous tune to herself.
"It was more efficient that way." Inspector Awkward snarls before crossing her arms.
"What about the costs of repairs and damage it's caused? Is that very efficient? It isn't your property to damage." I try to reason with her.
"You really should think before you act upon your ideas, Kathleen." Mrs Parsnip chimes in to the conversation.
"Ah, to hell with thinking." Kathleen replies. Flouncing out of the kitchen, she returns to the living room. I quickly follow her, to continue the conversation.
Inspector Awkward picks up her tea and goes to sip it with the paintbrush still in the cup. I quickly dash over to her but it's too late. She sips the drink with swirls of yellow paint at the top of the water.
"Enjoying your paint infused tea?" I calmly ask.
"Quite." She replies ambiguously. One thing you'll learn quite quickly about Inspector Awkward, it's often hard to tell whether she is being passive aggressive or genuinely contented.
After many hours of cleaning, bickering, and dreadful songs on the radio, most of the damage had been repaired in the kitchen. Awkward and I finally sit down at the table with fresh cups of tea each, I finish my writing in my diary about what happened today. Inspector Awkward asks me what I was writing. Referring to the paper content in my briefcase and on the table.
"My therapist has asked me to write about my day to day life, most of which is with you and the work we do. So, I'm writing some of your adventures, which you really should consider having published."
She begins to read some of my extracts before asking "Clueless, do you have any understanding of the publishing world?" She replies with underlying discontent.
"Well, my father was a journalist and my mother taught English literature. i like to think I have some understanding on the subject."
"Excellent, we may have a new adventure." She replies with a detectable hint of glee.