JUST LIKE DAYDREAMING3...
Albertsons at 23rd and F was even more crowded than usual. A black man in a watch cap standing too close, whistling a Lou Rawls song. I got IDd buying a bottle of wine by a woman with freckles on the front of her neck. The President of the Midtown Lou Rawls Appreciation Squad kept throwing candy bars onto the conveyer. A couple of Reeces, a Mounds, three or four Butterfingers. He said something about money to someone in the next line then laughed. I grabbed my groceries and walked out to the darkened lot. A brand new Edsel nearly ran me down. Wouldnt that have been a swell way to spend a Saturday night? Damn stupid people in their ugly cars. Guess it could have been worse, could have been a Henry J or a Metropolitan. I like the looks of those Volkswagens theyve been bringing over maybe ten years. My friends dont, some them are still sore about the Nazis and all that. I try not to hold onto my anger, most times I succeed.
A 51 Plymouth sedan was parked next to me, the only 47 Cadillac in the lot. My friends all give me grief about my old car butin 48 all the post war designs came out and things went to shit in my opinion. Sure, some of the fellows in Detroit do all right, I like one car from last year, the 58 Plymouth, but look at the new Cadillacs. Ugly. I like the lines of the pre-48 cars much better. Guess everyone has their own opinion.
I eased out of the parking lot and back onto F Street. A 54 Chevrolet wagon was poking along as if he were the only guy in the world. There was a strange smell coming from the backseat, some mans colognethen I heard the strum of an open chord and nearly took out a 56 Buick coming in the opposite direction.
Laughter from the back seat--who the hell had gotten into my car?
Relax, chief. Sorry to give you a scare, guess I like to have my fun.
Was it really him? I thought he had died in London a couple of weeks ago, bad car crash that nearly took out Gene Vincent as well. I looked up in the mirror again. Sure enough, blonde guy with a blonde Gretsch guitar.
Jeepers, I nearly crapped my pants, Eddie.
Ah, dont be sore at me, chief. Hey, did I see you driving around with some new gal?
I turned left on 21st Street. It must have rained when I was in the store because the street was mimicking the glow of the moon.
Yeah, Lauren. We went to Old Town then out to Blimpeys.
You mean Dimple?
Nah, now and forevermore it will be known as Blimpeys.
So, how did it go, chief?
It was fun. I enjoyed hanging out with her, shes very enjoyable to be around. Im always afraid I come across as subdued when I first hang out with people, I err on the side of quietness at first, but Im probably just being hard on myself.
You usually are, chief, Eddie laughs. Hey, stop up here. I need to get some Chesterfields.
I pull to the curb and look over my shoulder at the backseat. Eddie is gone. The Cadillac is gone, it is just me sitting in my Corolla on a misty Midtown street.
I screwed up some clients order on Tuesday and they made me watch the Indenture Temps training film again. Lots of soft music and wacky scenarios that have never played out in the four months Ive been there. There is this insane Scotsman named Jonnie MacGutten that owns maybe a half dozen temp agencies. He looks a hell of a lot like John Cleese from Monty Python right down to the receded hairline. Jonnies accent is so thick, you nearly need subtitles when watching the training video.
Ah sturted Indencha Temps wha the ghoul at feel avery stappin nhead a plausibull. Whalcum t whore whinnen tim.
The television is one of those TV/VCR combo deals set up in the back of the storage room behind a large pile of boxes that appear to have been there since 1978. Switching the television off, I edge past the boxes then have to pull off an edging/crouching sort of maneuver to get between these overloaded shelves. More boxes have been stacked in what is loosely called an aisle. I feel like that asshole in the Cask of the Amontillado. I start climbing up the stack of boxes, feeling them shift beneath me, looking around wildly for something nice and sharp to break my fall so I can SUE THESE FUCKERS. Wheres my damn Sherpa guide? Im up high enough I could use an oxygen tank and--
Are you climbing over some boxes? The Bird Lady is looking over from the door to the storeroom.
If that is what you call this little misadventure, this gambit of self-peril that will surely lead in my plummeting to my death.
Thats nice.
Back in the main part of the office someone is dissecting some meal they had a couple of days ago. What made it was the sauce, you see, but there was this flaky pastry around it that was quite lovely. Then there was the meat, it was either really fine roast beef or some sort of prime rib. Prime rib. It had to have been prime rib. There is an awkward segue into a discussion about menopause, three minutes about hot flashes and mood swings.
Need a temp that can talk about cheese for twenty minutes? Maybe a temporary employee that can wax endlessly about wax paper versus shrink wrap? Let Indenture Temps be your temporary staffing solution. And now, a quick word from our President, Jonnie MacGutten. Ach, weev ga some mott burrs dun ere, ah was sue flummoxed wit boreem ah trad at cutmuh wrist witta papper clup.
The boss brought in nacho makings. These consisted of a large jar of excellent picante sauce, a tub of something resembling either melted cheese or vomit, and a bag of tortilla chips the size of third world country. The boss is always on the move, always busy. The receptionist tries to catch her at her desk in our work room but this is usually to no avail.
Uh, shes stepped away, Mr. Ives calls out. He started to stand, to hitch his thumbs in his slacks for another monologue, but the boy behind the spotlight was asleep. Where does the term stepped away come from, anyway? It sounds like our fearless leader did a soft shoe off stage right or something.
We have a very nice gentleman from New Zealand who works in the side room making sure the thumb screws are polished and the hinges on the iron maiden are religiously anointed with WD40. He is always bringing in food, on Tuesday it was crumpets with some sort of lemon spread. I didnt have any. I mean, Ive never bring him in anything. Wouldnt seem right no matter how good a crumpet sounded right then. He is a genuinely nice person, an open person. I look at people like that and wonder if theyre that way because theyve missed out on the dark side of human nature or whether they just choose to transcend it. Lauren and I had a conversation about being able to see ghosts. Maybe open people choose not to see ghosts.
Three new temps enter the books. Bachelor number one is a stylish lad from Shanghai. He loves gardening, listening to house music, and buying shoes at Kenneth Cole, ladies say hello to Phuc Duong. Batchelor number two is from some Slavia or other and appeared on one of our other game shows Id Like to Buy a Vowel, say hello to Eddie Ylst. Batchelor number three is a hair stylist from Bejing, put your hands together for Suk Yung Cheung.
The smell of booze permeates Mr. Ives skin. I think he sells health potions on the side because hes always trying to bring them ever so slyly into conversations. Hes been bringing in some ghastly green concoction that he refers to as swamp water and drinks with relish. Its suppose to improve his health but all it seems to do is make him smell even more like low tide.
Lunchtime. One of the Gathering of Old Man sits at the break room table. He is somewhere in middle age and recently bought an older Corvette.
Ive loved Corvettes since high school, I remember this football player had a 63 Stingray. That guy got a lot of tail, he used to tell us about the cheerleaders hed butt fuck
I look over him sharply, he does not seem aware of the fact I drifted off.
I said, Id love to take it into the Sierras, but if it snows I may get stuck.
I see Mr. Ives walking in the room with a large salad and make my exit.
A large record chain has these ads on television about how, even if you only know a fragment of a melody, they will be able to figure out what youre humming and name the song. Im sure the employees of that particular chain are besides themselves. Sure, send them in. Bring us your nasal, your tone deaf, your musically inept. No problem, uh hold on one second, sir--TAKE ME NOW, LORD! WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO WRONG TO END UP IN THIS JOB??!--uh, could you, uhm, *warble* that again, sir? Your complete massacre of what I am sure is a timeless melody has left me stumped. Im guessing its either Luck Be a Lady by Sinatra or maybe Crazy Train by Ozzy Osbourne.
Want a balding temp with a smug elitism about music? Indenture Temp has a wide array of jaded ex-Goths, poseurs who wear much too much black and can recite every occasion Peter Murphy farted on the first Bauhaus tour. Indenture Temps, we want to be your temporary staffing solution.
I grabbed part of the Sacramento Bee and retreated to my desk. Some British historian has theorized that the Chinese explored North America in the early 1420s. He alleges there is a Chinese junk buried in the Glenn County mud about a hundred and twenty miles north of here. The best part of the story was that the alleged Chinese explorers were lead by an admiral who was also an *eunuch.* I know they would sometimes geld palace slaves to keep them from starting hanky panky, but an *admiral*? Maybe it was to keep him from making sailors walk the plank. The weak part of the theory is that the Sacramento River was not dredged that far north until maybe a century ago and the stream was far too shallow for a junk to navigate. Its an interesting thought, though. Admiral Hak Dong wandering the misty farmland for eternity, the sad lost march of a handful of Chinese ghosts.
Another news story, one where the word hollered is used. Hollered. Are we in Mississippi? Was the writer actually wearing shoes when they composed this story. Hollered. Great. I cant get a break with the Sac Bee because theyre letting Snuffy Smith do their pieces.
An email from my twin brother, a rare glimpse of him acknowledging there are other people in the world: Do you ever wonder if were aliens, Jody? I mean, I really dont relate well to other people and I know its the same with you. Sometimes I really feel we were just dropped here, I wish theyd hurry back and pick me up.
I am guessing he is having problems with his band again. I think hes getting more and more delusioned with being 35 and never really making it. At least they have some sort of a following in Europe. At least he is able to continue to make Cds. Hes more of a success than I am by a long shot.
Braeden calls on Wednesday evening. She is going by Blockbuster and asks if I want to tag along. I hop in her car and we turn down 25th Street. B slows to 15 miles an hour to get her first good look at my shaved head.
Cover it up! Cover it up!
What? Are you serious?
Yes, its freaking me out, its like the moon or something.
I pull my hood up and we make some jokes about my lunar head before stopping at Rite Aid for a bottle of wine. There is a long line at the cashier, a lot of people making their 11PM liquor run. The Christmas decorations are marked down 75 percent and Braeden contemplates buying some. According to the Weekly World News, the Bat Boy led the police on a three state chase. Some wannabe Gs are buying a couple of forties of Old English. They pay with a corporate Mastercard.
After Braeden drops me out front, I stand on the walkway and look up at the trees. The clouds appear to be purple and frame the twisted limbs in a lavender embrace. The air is cold, and a slight breeze causes the leaves to march in slow, weary lines like Chinese ghosts
Albertsons at 23rd and F was even more crowded than usual. A black man in a watch cap standing too close, whistling a Lou Rawls song. I got IDd buying a bottle of wine by a woman with freckles on the front of her neck. The President of the Midtown Lou Rawls Appreciation Squad kept throwing candy bars onto the conveyer. A couple of Reeces, a Mounds, three or four Butterfingers. He said something about money to someone in the next line then laughed. I grabbed my groceries and walked out to the darkened lot. A brand new Edsel nearly ran me down. Wouldnt that have been a swell way to spend a Saturday night? Damn stupid people in their ugly cars. Guess it could have been worse, could have been a Henry J or a Metropolitan. I like the looks of those Volkswagens theyve been bringing over maybe ten years. My friends dont, some them are still sore about the Nazis and all that. I try not to hold onto my anger, most times I succeed.
A 51 Plymouth sedan was parked next to me, the only 47 Cadillac in the lot. My friends all give me grief about my old car butin 48 all the post war designs came out and things went to shit in my opinion. Sure, some of the fellows in Detroit do all right, I like one car from last year, the 58 Plymouth, but look at the new Cadillacs. Ugly. I like the lines of the pre-48 cars much better. Guess everyone has their own opinion.
I eased out of the parking lot and back onto F Street. A 54 Chevrolet wagon was poking along as if he were the only guy in the world. There was a strange smell coming from the backseat, some mans colognethen I heard the strum of an open chord and nearly took out a 56 Buick coming in the opposite direction.
Laughter from the back seat--who the hell had gotten into my car?
Relax, chief. Sorry to give you a scare, guess I like to have my fun.
Was it really him? I thought he had died in London a couple of weeks ago, bad car crash that nearly took out Gene Vincent as well. I looked up in the mirror again. Sure enough, blonde guy with a blonde Gretsch guitar.
Jeepers, I nearly crapped my pants, Eddie.
Ah, dont be sore at me, chief. Hey, did I see you driving around with some new gal?
I turned left on 21st Street. It must have rained when I was in the store because the street was mimicking the glow of the moon.
Yeah, Lauren. We went to Old Town then out to Blimpeys.
You mean Dimple?
Nah, now and forevermore it will be known as Blimpeys.
So, how did it go, chief?
It was fun. I enjoyed hanging out with her, shes very enjoyable to be around. Im always afraid I come across as subdued when I first hang out with people, I err on the side of quietness at first, but Im probably just being hard on myself.
You usually are, chief, Eddie laughs. Hey, stop up here. I need to get some Chesterfields.
I pull to the curb and look over my shoulder at the backseat. Eddie is gone. The Cadillac is gone, it is just me sitting in my Corolla on a misty Midtown street.
I screwed up some clients order on Tuesday and they made me watch the Indenture Temps training film again. Lots of soft music and wacky scenarios that have never played out in the four months Ive been there. There is this insane Scotsman named Jonnie MacGutten that owns maybe a half dozen temp agencies. He looks a hell of a lot like John Cleese from Monty Python right down to the receded hairline. Jonnies accent is so thick, you nearly need subtitles when watching the training video.
Ah sturted Indencha Temps wha the ghoul at feel avery stappin nhead a plausibull. Whalcum t whore whinnen tim.
The television is one of those TV/VCR combo deals set up in the back of the storage room behind a large pile of boxes that appear to have been there since 1978. Switching the television off, I edge past the boxes then have to pull off an edging/crouching sort of maneuver to get between these overloaded shelves. More boxes have been stacked in what is loosely called an aisle. I feel like that asshole in the Cask of the Amontillado. I start climbing up the stack of boxes, feeling them shift beneath me, looking around wildly for something nice and sharp to break my fall so I can SUE THESE FUCKERS. Wheres my damn Sherpa guide? Im up high enough I could use an oxygen tank and--
Are you climbing over some boxes? The Bird Lady is looking over from the door to the storeroom.
If that is what you call this little misadventure, this gambit of self-peril that will surely lead in my plummeting to my death.
Thats nice.
Back in the main part of the office someone is dissecting some meal they had a couple of days ago. What made it was the sauce, you see, but there was this flaky pastry around it that was quite lovely. Then there was the meat, it was either really fine roast beef or some sort of prime rib. Prime rib. It had to have been prime rib. There is an awkward segue into a discussion about menopause, three minutes about hot flashes and mood swings.
Need a temp that can talk about cheese for twenty minutes? Maybe a temporary employee that can wax endlessly about wax paper versus shrink wrap? Let Indenture Temps be your temporary staffing solution. And now, a quick word from our President, Jonnie MacGutten. Ach, weev ga some mott burrs dun ere, ah was sue flummoxed wit boreem ah trad at cutmuh wrist witta papper clup.
The boss brought in nacho makings. These consisted of a large jar of excellent picante sauce, a tub of something resembling either melted cheese or vomit, and a bag of tortilla chips the size of third world country. The boss is always on the move, always busy. The receptionist tries to catch her at her desk in our work room but this is usually to no avail.
Uh, shes stepped away, Mr. Ives calls out. He started to stand, to hitch his thumbs in his slacks for another monologue, but the boy behind the spotlight was asleep. Where does the term stepped away come from, anyway? It sounds like our fearless leader did a soft shoe off stage right or something.
We have a very nice gentleman from New Zealand who works in the side room making sure the thumb screws are polished and the hinges on the iron maiden are religiously anointed with WD40. He is always bringing in food, on Tuesday it was crumpets with some sort of lemon spread. I didnt have any. I mean, Ive never bring him in anything. Wouldnt seem right no matter how good a crumpet sounded right then. He is a genuinely nice person, an open person. I look at people like that and wonder if theyre that way because theyve missed out on the dark side of human nature or whether they just choose to transcend it. Lauren and I had a conversation about being able to see ghosts. Maybe open people choose not to see ghosts.
Three new temps enter the books. Bachelor number one is a stylish lad from Shanghai. He loves gardening, listening to house music, and buying shoes at Kenneth Cole, ladies say hello to Phuc Duong. Batchelor number two is from some Slavia or other and appeared on one of our other game shows Id Like to Buy a Vowel, say hello to Eddie Ylst. Batchelor number three is a hair stylist from Bejing, put your hands together for Suk Yung Cheung.
The smell of booze permeates Mr. Ives skin. I think he sells health potions on the side because hes always trying to bring them ever so slyly into conversations. Hes been bringing in some ghastly green concoction that he refers to as swamp water and drinks with relish. Its suppose to improve his health but all it seems to do is make him smell even more like low tide.
Lunchtime. One of the Gathering of Old Man sits at the break room table. He is somewhere in middle age and recently bought an older Corvette.
Ive loved Corvettes since high school, I remember this football player had a 63 Stingray. That guy got a lot of tail, he used to tell us about the cheerleaders hed butt fuck
I look over him sharply, he does not seem aware of the fact I drifted off.
I said, Id love to take it into the Sierras, but if it snows I may get stuck.
I see Mr. Ives walking in the room with a large salad and make my exit.
A large record chain has these ads on television about how, even if you only know a fragment of a melody, they will be able to figure out what youre humming and name the song. Im sure the employees of that particular chain are besides themselves. Sure, send them in. Bring us your nasal, your tone deaf, your musically inept. No problem, uh hold on one second, sir--TAKE ME NOW, LORD! WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO WRONG TO END UP IN THIS JOB??!--uh, could you, uhm, *warble* that again, sir? Your complete massacre of what I am sure is a timeless melody has left me stumped. Im guessing its either Luck Be a Lady by Sinatra or maybe Crazy Train by Ozzy Osbourne.
Want a balding temp with a smug elitism about music? Indenture Temp has a wide array of jaded ex-Goths, poseurs who wear much too much black and can recite every occasion Peter Murphy farted on the first Bauhaus tour. Indenture Temps, we want to be your temporary staffing solution.
I grabbed part of the Sacramento Bee and retreated to my desk. Some British historian has theorized that the Chinese explored North America in the early 1420s. He alleges there is a Chinese junk buried in the Glenn County mud about a hundred and twenty miles north of here. The best part of the story was that the alleged Chinese explorers were lead by an admiral who was also an *eunuch.* I know they would sometimes geld palace slaves to keep them from starting hanky panky, but an *admiral*? Maybe it was to keep him from making sailors walk the plank. The weak part of the theory is that the Sacramento River was not dredged that far north until maybe a century ago and the stream was far too shallow for a junk to navigate. Its an interesting thought, though. Admiral Hak Dong wandering the misty farmland for eternity, the sad lost march of a handful of Chinese ghosts.
Another news story, one where the word hollered is used. Hollered. Are we in Mississippi? Was the writer actually wearing shoes when they composed this story. Hollered. Great. I cant get a break with the Sac Bee because theyre letting Snuffy Smith do their pieces.
An email from my twin brother, a rare glimpse of him acknowledging there are other people in the world: Do you ever wonder if were aliens, Jody? I mean, I really dont relate well to other people and I know its the same with you. Sometimes I really feel we were just dropped here, I wish theyd hurry back and pick me up.
I am guessing he is having problems with his band again. I think hes getting more and more delusioned with being 35 and never really making it. At least they have some sort of a following in Europe. At least he is able to continue to make Cds. Hes more of a success than I am by a long shot.
Braeden calls on Wednesday evening. She is going by Blockbuster and asks if I want to tag along. I hop in her car and we turn down 25th Street. B slows to 15 miles an hour to get her first good look at my shaved head.
Cover it up! Cover it up!
What? Are you serious?
Yes, its freaking me out, its like the moon or something.
I pull my hood up and we make some jokes about my lunar head before stopping at Rite Aid for a bottle of wine. There is a long line at the cashier, a lot of people making their 11PM liquor run. The Christmas decorations are marked down 75 percent and Braeden contemplates buying some. According to the Weekly World News, the Bat Boy led the police on a three state chase. Some wannabe Gs are buying a couple of forties of Old English. They pay with a corporate Mastercard.
After Braeden drops me out front, I stand on the walkway and look up at the trees. The clouds appear to be purple and frame the twisted limbs in a lavender embrace. The air is cold, and a slight breeze causes the leaves to march in slow, weary lines like Chinese ghosts