Business as usual

Sorry for the late post by me. This is for yesterday but wasn't finished till about a second ago.

Business as Usual

It started with a phone call that I could barely hear over the music. “Heloo this is Michael,” forming coherent sentences was hard as I tried to move to a quieter location. Which ended up being out the door and down the corridor of my apartment. There was the dance floor and my kitchen to cross, pushing past the bodies was a chore. “Excuse me,” I would say but did they really care?

“Michael!” I could hear faintly emanating from the phone. I had no idea who would be calling at such a late hour forgetting that caller-id even exists.

“Michael will be with you in a moment sir. He is currently indisposed.” I attempted to diffuse the tension of the angry man on the other side of the phone.

“Do you know who this is?” The voice asked it was familiar: strong, deep.

“Daddy?” I said reflexively, but I knew it couldn’t be. He had been gone for ages.

“No, this is Mr. Walker. Your boss.”

The color drained from my face and I throw up from the shots I had just ingested. This was bad. “Hey Mr. Walker, I didn’t expect you to call so late.”

“Obviously you have forgotten what happens in fifteen minutes.” He replied sternly. I checked the time it was 2:43a.m. but I couldn’t figure out what he wanted.

“Uh, they start serving breakfast at McDonalds?” I must have wanted food.

“No, Michael. In fifteen minutes if you are not on a computer logging in to the international executive meeting to give your presentation you will be fired.” With that he hung up and left me listening to dial tone.

“Three a.m. not p.m. you idiot” I say to myself realizing the weight of the problem. I had to give a presentation to the international executives while drunk off my ass. The room began to spin and my vision blurred. I slap myself across the cheek. “Pull yourself together.” I ran back to my apartment, I don’t have time to waste.

Entering the front door my first order of business was to disperse the party. I hook a left into my bedroom and into the closet where the breaker box for the apartment. I flip the breakers off. The music stopped and the lights went out. Some idiot screamed my cue to get them the hell out. I grabbed a flashlight walking back to the door of my room.

“Hey, everybody the power is out.” I yelled while turning on the flashlight. “That means the party is over.  Sorry to say it but you have to go.” Murmurs and abjections came from the void surrounding the flashlight but I could hear and see movement towards the door. I tried signaling like a police officer, “Keep it moving people.” but failed and looked stupid. With everyone gone I closed the door, in total it took two minutes, now it was time to try and sober up. What ever that means. Rushing to turn the power back on I formulated my plan. I had to make coffee, exercise and physically abuse myself to sober up as much as possible.

I turned on my treadmill that lay dormant in my room. Busting through to my kitchen I prepared the coffee: filter, grounds, water and bring the device to life. While I had time, I drank a glass of water to fight the deadly hangover tomorrow and splashed my face freshening it up. A fight ensued over which hand could slap the drunk out of me, both lost. With that the coffee was done, no time for cream and sugar, I had 8 minutes left. Pouring it into a sealable mug I brought the coffee with me back to the treadmill. Straddling the belt a brace myself with a swig the coffee burned my mouth and throat but I didn’t car. Jumping, I hit the ground running at 5.5 mph, “You got it Michael, steady… steady…” Attempting another swig I trip and fall the treadmill sends me flying back. With the mouth of the mug still open it dumps it hot contents all over me searing my skin. “For the love of god,” I screamed as struggled to pull off my now ruined clothes.

Four minutes left till my doom. I had nothing but boxers on but that was okay. I hopped over to my desk and found my computer wasn’t there. Where could it be? It is still connected to the sound system. I clamored over the furniture in my way, nothing could keep me from that laptop. I opened my MacBook and signed into to our meeting hosting software. One minute to spare, I had made it. Only I need to make sure my camera was turned off, they didn’t needed to see the mess I am in.

“Michael, it is good to see you have made it to the meeting. Are you ready to begin?” I could see Mr. Walker talking in one of the video screens.

“Let me just pull up the file… There we go. Can everyone see it?” I asked, responses in several different languages suggested it worked. “ Hello and welcome to the research division’s presenta--.”

The room goes black except for the glow emanating from my computer. I had lost connection with the meeting. The power was really out this time.

The Clock and I

            The clock winked at me as I walked out of the dark abyss of my bathroom. The face on the grandfather clock, just winked at me. Was that face always there? I thought it was just all numbers and a few spinning hands, since when did it get a face? As long as I have lived in this house it’s never grown a face. I cut my staring contest with the clock to observe the walls melting around me, I felt the cloud like carpet flow like a river beneath my feet, and looked back at the clock.

It didn’t wink this time. Instead the face had melted into itself. All swirly and disfigured, it made me think of those funhouse mirrors. Its form kept on changing, the minute hand sped up at an astounding pace but the hour hand remained cool and collected, never moving from the clock’s rippling while surface. I wanted to tell Jordan, but the size of my house had grown significantly in the past few hours, and I didn’t want to interrupt her journey.

My eyes drifted downwards to the pendulum. I watched the pendulum swing back and forth, and then back and forth again. It was behaving oddly, well differently than I thought it was supposed to, but I never really paid attention to it. At the peak of its swing, the brass pendulum moved at rocket like speeds as if it were trying to escape its eternal servitude of the clock. It reminded me of life, how we’re all slaves to the machine known as society. As it made its journey downwards the giant brass lever’s velocity plummeted to just a fraction of its speed, all the while phantom-doppelgangers of the pendulum followed suit behind it. After what felt like life time, a life time I envision I spent with Jordan, the pendulum sped back up, reaching the apex of its swing, leaving the doppelgangers behind.

I sat and stared at the fascinating mechanism for a child like curiosity, but an old man’s wisdom. I wondered how something so simple could measure something so complex and mysterious like time, but yet I knew the struggle of the pendulum. It wanted to break free, but it also knew it was important for the clock to live on. It was the heart of the machine, the reason the elaborate series of gears could turn the hands on the face. That’s a weird thought, why would a face need hands? I have forgotten about the face of the clock, how could I? It did complement me with a wink earlier. I stood back up to gaze at the face.

The face on the clock was back on the clock’s face. I observed every detail of the face, the perfectly beautiful face. It was the pale face of Jordan embossed into the blazing white background of the clock. Her eyes, next to the ten and two positions were large and full of life. Her lips hovering just right above the six bore her signature smirk. And her nose sat cutely in the middle of the face.

I took a step back to gaze upon the beauty; it was the most beautiful clock I’ve ever seen. I soaked in the moment for a few swings of the pendulum, a few lifetimes with Jordan. Then my eyes spied something I didn’t notice before, the hour hand laid near the three positions and the minute hand laid a few ticks ahead of the nine. I suddenly saw Jordan baring an awkward mustache. A chuckle escaped my lungs, followed by another. A picture of Jordan’s face with Mario’s mustache invaded my head, and a tsunami of laughter escaped my mouth.

Joe's Doughnuts

            Another day, another test, it’s amazing what the universe will do to make myself a better man. It was during my typical morning routine, you know the one where I leave my house at exactly 6:45 am, drive eight-point-nineteen miles down the road to Joe’s Doughnuts, pick up my usual coffee with two packs of sugar but no cream and two doughnuts (one glazed and one chocolate), then continue another thirty-seven-point-forty miles to work. Well it was at Joe’s doughnuts where it happened.

            As you know, I always take the drive-thru at Joe’s, and I would like to thank the man himself for putting it there for me, making my commute so much more efficient, especially since nobody ever uses it that early in the morning. You don’t see that many drive-thrus at small time coffee shops, so I cannot thank him enough; but I digress. Yet the universe works in mysterious ways and I stumbled upon a line, a small line maybe three or four cars, but still a line. I figured that Joe, being the clever genius he is, arranged this to get me to come in and finally meet the man. So I did.

            I was greeted with a warm smell of surgery air, and the soothing roasted of a cocktail of many coffee blends. The shop was small, almost uncomfortably so, it held only two two-seater tables and nothing more. Behind the counter stood a woman of middle age, she wore a blight orange shirt, but the expression of her face was as dull as a winter’s night. I’ve never seen her before, but I knew she liked me; I was their most valued customer after all.

            “I would like the usual please,” I said with a warm smile on my face.

            “Sorry sir,” she said her face still stern, “I don’t know what that is.”

            “Joe didn’t tell you about this?”

            “About what exactly?”

            “That he wanted to meet me in person, that’s why the drive-thru –. “

            “The drive-thru is what?” She cut me off.

            “Let me finish please,” I said. Maybe she was new here, that would explain her expression, and she wasn’t a morning person for sure. “The drive-thru is busy. It’s never busy this early in the morning, but it is now so I knew it was because Joe wanted to meet me.”

            The door bell rang, I turned around, maybe this was all a trick before Joe came in to shake my hand (and maybe offer me a free meal). But it wasn’t, two women dressed in button shirts, one a baby-blue the other a plain and white, and khakis paraded in instead. I have to admit, I felt a tad disappointed.

            “I wouldn’t know because I never liked dealing with the drive-thru,” she said, “now if you would excuse me I have actual customers to get to.”

            “Hey Mel,” the woman in white said.

            “Moring,” the woman behind the counter said, “the usual for you two?”

            “Yes please.”

            “Hey,” I chimed in, “what about my usual?”

            “What usual?” Mel said.

            “Oh I see,” I said walking to the door and smiling as I realized what was going on, “I see. This is a test of my patience, not some sort of reward for being a valued customer. I wasn’t even supposed to come into the store this morning. You just wanted to see if I could wait in the drive-thru, and if I could I would be the best customer. Tell Joe that I passed, I’ll pull my car around.”

            I walked triumphantly out of the shop with a bounce in my step and a smile on my face, this was a good day. I felt so stupid for not getting it before hand but it was better than standing in line like some sort of idiot.

Well, shit...

The night started calm enough, with cocaine in the bathroom. I got it from a “co-worker”, he said it was good shit. Does it even matter? The high was instantaneous and it was all I needed to make it though another night. It is hard putting up appearances, no one likes a bum party and everyone trusts me to deliver. I am a professional party; Clubs hire me to liven up the place. They pay me big money to make sure everyone has fun. That usually means I don’t have any. I have to keep them going back for drinks, I have to keep them dancing, I have to bow to their every whim. Cocaine helps my keeping me in a good mood, high energy, and alertness. It allows me to stay ahead of all the drunken idiots.

I step from the stall messing with my nose, there is a girl puking in the stall to my left, her friend kept repeating, “Everything is going to be okay.” I washed my hands to put up appearances next to two blond 20 something doing their make up.

“Mark is so weird,” said the girl next to me,” he hasn’t bought us drinks all night. What do you think Brittany?”

“It is like he isn’t even interested in us.” Brittany replied, “But he is so funny and confident, he is a mystery Claire.”

This was good. I decided to touch up my make up as well after washing my hands. A little lipstick, a little eye shadow, easy stuff. But I also have to chat up these chicks. I already knew their problem, the pickup artist dilemma. They had no idea what they were messing with. “How hot do you think he is?” I decided to chirp in.

“Excuse me, who are you?” Claire asked rudely.

“My name is Sarah and I am just trying to help.” I reply.

“I would say he wasn’t worth our time at the beginning but he has been getting cuter.” Brittany decided to chime in.

“Brit! Doesn’t matter, that is about right.” Claire said.

“Well then you should ditch him and get your own drinks or get some other sucker to get them for you. He obviously won’t, I know his type.” I said.

“But he seems different from all the other guys.”

“Trust me the only thing any guy wants is to get in your panties, do yourself a favor and abuse it.” I said as I dropped my lipstick into my purse. “By the way does this Mark have short blond hair a red button up shirt with rolled up sleeves?”

“That is him exactly!” said Brittany.

“Thanks.” I said leaving the bathroom.

Of course I knew Mark; we are in this together and split the profits, the Light Diamond is a big place. He had the second floor while I had the first. It was good until Mark only wanted sex out of the deal. As I began to cross the down stairs bar the DJ puts on his favorite song, “God I don’t want to listen to this for the third time tonight,” I said. Going to the end of the bar I turn right and go up the back stairs so hopefully Mark won’t see me coming. Mark was an accident I shouldn’t have let happen. We used to be more than a team, now he is more like Dead Weight that I can’t seem to get rid of. What could I do to hurt him bad enough to stop this? Better think of it quick because there he was chatting up some red headed hussy. I was jealous.

I acted automatically; it was something I couldn’t contain anymore. Approaching them I said the first thing that came to mind, “I just wanted to let you know girlfriend, that he has genital herpes.”

“What? No!” Mark said as she went to slap him in the face. I watched the impact in slowmo, relishing in payback. She turned and left without a word. “Wait, she is lying I swear I don’t have herpes. No.” Mark clamored after her.

“That is what you get for flirting with clientele.” I said coldly.

“But did you have to be so mean?” he replied.

It was silent for a second the lights flashed around us and the music filled our ears. Was now the time? “I’m quitting.” I blurted out.

“What? You can’t do that. I need you without you they will cut this whole position they know I don’t do anything. Why would you destroy such a good thing we have?”

I could feel the tears well up as I spoke, “Because Mark, I’m not happy anymore. I can’t keep living a lie and scamming people out of their money. Mark, I can’t keep seeing you like this. “I was full on crying now, I couldn’t stop. “Mark, I love you.”

“Well, shit…”

The Beauty of Traffic

            A parade of sedans, trucks (both pickup and freight), motorcycles and buses stretched as far as the overpass would allow Kevin to see; a vein of commuters reaching deep into the heart of the inner city. Every passenger on a mission, a mission to transverse the concrete planes from point A to point B while riding in a giant metal cage etched by craftsmen and engineers alike to cut through the wind, and powered by the precise mixing of air, oil and sparks creating a series of controlled explosions out of life forms long extinct from an younger Earth. And every day it was the same thing to Kevin: a nuisance.

            “God Dammit!” Kevin said for the eighth time in the past five-minutes-and-forty-seven seconds, which was quickly becoming his catch phrase ever since the city broke ground to expand the freeway from a measly three lanes to an effective six, just two-months-and-twenty-three days ago. However a good majority of the freeway was two lanes due to the ironic nature of highway construction.

            Kevin pounded on his steering wheel like a caveman stumbling upon a wheel for his first time and, after seeing the usefulness of such a device, declared it to be a form of witchcraft and had it promptly destroyed, and later would commence the burning at the stake of anyone and everyone who contributed to such treachery. An action typically deemed socially acceptable if and only iff Kevin had heavy rock music blasting at full volume, but instead made him come off as a crazy man (or normal commuter) within the silence of his 2008 Honda Fit.

            If Kevin would have taken a moment to relieve his stress with a deep breath of air, he would perhaps be able to calm down and focus on the more fascinating aspects of the commute. For instance, five vehicles ahead of him; past the lip-stick red Hyundai Sonata, the Mercedes-Benz S550 tinted so black that looking upon it is like gazing into the empty void of universe, the hulking Kenworth  T700 semi, and the humble silver Chevy Silverado Chassis sat a burnt-orange Toyota Prius.

            Although an odd color for most cars, which Kevin most likely agrees with, the car itself is quite the achievement. Rated one of the cleanest cars in terms of total smog emissions by the EPA, it is one of the best cars to own if you’re into the whole save-the-environment thing. Kevin was not, all he wanted was an affordable car that would get him too-and-from work, nothing wrong with that. The Prius, unlike his car, uses a unique blend of combustion engine and an electric drive train. This unique combination allows the vehicle to cut down on fuel emissions allowing a cleaner and smoother ride.

            Back in Kevin’s car he had turned on the radio, he continued to absently flipped through every radio station that played within the range of music he enjoyed, ranging from: alternative rock, classic rock, and electronic; but found nothing he enjoyed. After much debate with himself he kept the radio on an alternative rock station just in case something good would come on.
            At the speed of a glacier during spring time, the line of traffic began creeping forward, a sense of relief flew through Kevin’s mind. They had finally done it, the traffic was cleared and he would actually be able to make it to work in time for his first time in a month! The crowd of cars began accelerating fast and faster, he had gone from zero to twenty in thirty seconds, a record breaking speed for a land vehicle on that highway since the dawn of the expansion.

Thirty billion years ago when the universe was conceived from nothing to something all the laws of physics were born, from gravitational waves bounding planets to stars in an eternal dance, to the nuclear forces holding quarks together inside the nucleus of an atom in much the same manner peanut butter sticks to ones mouth. Each law mind boggling and confusing that even the smartest humans ever to live struggle to understand them, yet they are signs of the universe’s elegance. But somewhere down the line, the universe must have gotten lazy and rehashed the same equations that are used in fluid flow and applied them to traffic.

Three miles ahead, like a boulder falling into a river that was doing just fine until pesky gravity had to intrude into the river’s personal space blocking off all water flow into the valley below, and probably killing all the vegetation down there too, a gust of wind decided it wasn't blowing strongly enough and decided to prove its might by lifting off the hardhat of a construction worker enjoying a nice cup of his favorite dark roast, no cream or sugar added ("A man's coffee," he would say). The hat flew into the air, violently spinning about its center of mass, the sun’s light reflecting off the glazed-yellow surface like a disco ball. It smashed into the ground, not even getting a scratch on it, proving its worth as an effective hardhat, and rolled into the street. Still tired the worker didn't notice his empty head until the hat had rolled halfway into the highway. He chased after his hat, completely forgetting about his coffee and the molasses paced traffic, causing a driver of a Mercury Mariner to slam on her breaks, which was promptly rear ended by a Nissan Altima, both of which combined are as heavy as the boulder mentioned previously. A ripple of red lights transverse the highway, occasionally joined in by the chorus of horns, as if letting out loud noises were going to solve the problem.

Kevin, still oblivious to the situation due to his distance between the accident and himself, was cruising at a constant twenty-six miles-an-hour, his hands banging on the steering wheel to this favorite song of the season, a catchy tune by a band that might be forgotten by next year. Things were looking better, he was going to be to work on time, and possibly leading to the promotion he begged his boss to give him forty-eight days ago. It was going to be a good day. Then the rear lights on the lip-stick red Hyundai Sonata turned as red as the car itself, slowly decelerating to a standstill.

“God Dammit!” Kevin said for his ninth time in the past eight-minutes-and-sixty-seconds.