Short Story / Apathy of the day.
“Every dog has his day.” That saying has never done much for me. If you think about it, it’s a demeaning saying. You are a pitiful person who really has no influence on this earth, but every once in a while, fate throws you a curveball to further delay the thoughts of swallowing a shotgun blast from really setting in. You’ll find a dollar lying next to your car as you leave your bullshit job. You find an onion ring in your box of fries, offering itself as a greasy lifesaver to rescue you from your self-deprecating train of thought. Or maybe, just maybe, one day, some ‘not like every other’ day, everything of no to great importance in your day goes absolutely and undisputedly your way. That rarely happens. I don’t have to say this. I break no new ground in saying this. It’s fairly universally known. The people who buy into the notion that they will indeed have their ‘day’ probably have a whole almanac’s worth of contemporary proverbs to motivate their day. “The early bird gets the worm” Nowadays, this simply means that you get to Starbucks slightly earlier and thus have to wait three people less in line for overrated coffee. I’m usually not in any rush. Those three people can go ahead of me. I’m not like the folks at the front of the Starbucks line. They are eager to start their days. They are motivated. They are “morning people”.
Ugh. Morning people. I hate that term. A label created to name the section of society that pisses’ off people like me before eleven in the morning. But this morning was different. It wasn't like most of the other mornings. I got why those people feel the way they do in the morning. This morning I found myself empathetic to the cause of the morning person. My legs functioned properly, my eyes managed to stay open by their means, and I didn’t feel like someone had mysteriously, and for no reason, beat me in my sleep. This was glorious. This was momentous. This was damn near a fucking miracle.
I decided to take advantage of this energy that filled me on this warm summer morning. I went jogging. I exercise regularly, but it does little except to maintain a consistent fat guy. Nothing less, or more. And normally, I don’t jog. Bad ankles. But I was feeling feisty. When that feeling hits you, and the sun is still at eye level, you use it.
I went to a local park that had a long cement trail built in. The trail is about a mile long from end to end, but is probably longer because of all the winding it does. I start at one end, and make my slow but enthusiastic trudge to the other.
This is the last time I would feel good all day.
But what a glorious feeling it was. I had the spirit of the morning that I heard so much about. I was doing something good for myself. I had my headphones in my ears, blaring a soundtrack to accompany and saturate the overall self exuberance I felt. It was wonderful. Well, it was wonderful for awhile until I realized that my headphones sucked. Even though they were blasting rock music into my head, I could still hear a man yelling behind me. Nothing too pressing, and since I brought no one along with me, I believed his yelling was none of my concern, so I ignored him. "Keep on going", I thought. It’s bad when I have to start the self motivation not even a forth of a mile into a jogging session. But as I continued giving myself the physical trainers build up, the man far behind me continued yelling. He did so even more intently and loudly than before. My curiosity got the best of me, and I twisted from the waist to see what he was yelling at me for. It was then that I realized that he wasn’t yelling at me. He was yelling at his decently large sized German Shepard, which was at the moment running at full speed towards me.
Shit.
Shit.
……….. Oh Shit!!
Now my leisurely morning exercise had become a shining example in “Desperate moments in self preservation” as I run as fast as I can down the trail. Turns out that at full speed, and being the large man that I am (*which is pretty large, if you don’t know*), full speed is actually quite fast. At least it is when there is a motivation. Eighty pounds of muscles and teeth coming at me. Nothing but pumping limps and ravenous eyes burning me from behind. My earphones now playing what has become an audio backdrop of irony to my current situation. “There goes my hero. Watch him as he goes!” I set my legs free from my brain, letting them rush as fast and as hard as they deemed appropriate, and hoped to Christ that the rest of me would be able to keep up. I honestly have no idea just how long I was running for before I decided to turn around to see where the dog was. All I knew at that point was that I was still running, I hadn’t finished the ‘mile’ long trail yet, and I haven’t been bitten yet. I slowly turn to establish a distance to my lead, preparing myself mentally to the encounter the full figured face of furry fury that I was inevitably going to have to kick off my leg.
He was gone. There was no dog chasing me anymore. My legs, receiving the message, halted as fast as they could. I stood there, huffing and puffing, wondering not only how much of the mile I had completely at full sprint, but also, how much of it I completed at full speed with nothing chasing me. I tried not to let in bother me as I caught my breath, walking back to my car. I didn’t get to the end of the trail, but I was close enough.
Make my way home, dreaming of a warm shower. No hot water. Nothing leaves the skin feeling dry and filmy like cold water and a bar of Irish Spring with Aloe. You end up spending the day feeling glazed. Rather unpleasant.
There is a new group of civilization that has shown its face to me over the past couple of months. And the only reason I even noticed this niche in society is because I was quietly and unknowingly assimilating myself into it. It is unemployed twenty-something’s that have no concern for social recourse or negative forbearing towards their going to the movies, by themselves, at twelve thirty in the afternoon, on a Tuesday. Really it’s during any day of the week, but this day so happened to be Tuesday. And it is the fact that this day is Tuesday that made it so goddamn amazing that my local movie theater was sold out of seats to the only movie I wanted to see! How many desperately unemployed twenty-something’s could there possibly be in this fucking town!! Well, apparently, at least 324.
With my head held low, I clutched my only remaining twenty dollar bill and walked back to my car. So far, the awkwardly cheery morning I had risen to had yet to pay on any of the implied niceties I assumed were heading my way. I figured that I need to do something for me. Not for my health, or my general well being, but something fun for me. The only thing I could fall on was bowling. There is not really much to do in this town. I would need more money though. I make my way to the bank, and that is where I nearly had a heart attack.
I have a habit of checking my balance before I take out any amount of money from my checking account. Just a habit. Even if I know there is loads of money in the account, I check. I drive up to the window, feed the machine my card of life, punch the numbers, and wait for my receipt.
…….
…….
…….
…….
The machine spits out a receipt, and I look to my horror that I am several hundred dollars over drawn. My vision becomes slowly engulfed by blind rage. I keep records of my money handling, and according to my latest accounting venture, I should have some money and not actually be owing the bank. The best decision I made was not going into the bank to find out what was wrong right at that moment because there is a good chance I would be in jail right now. No one takes kindly to someone yelling and making a scene in the bank. So I drove off to allow myself to relax, and spout some very effective bits of road rage. My goodness, how the children in the day care van cried!
I later found out that the tire place that I had bought some tires a week earlier from accidentally charged my twice, and depleted my account. If you were wondering.
As I drove around the oddly busy roads for this time of day (*early afternoon*), my lack of money and dire need of a job rode shotgun in my thought process. I was quickly and drastically coming to realize that rent was coming up soon. I had car registration due in a matter of days. General doing stuff was going to take a severe cut in productivity because of depleted funds. I need a job. I need a job, and no one is hiring.
Fuck.
I drive for hours on end, stopping at any grocery store, convenience store, book store, electronics store, clothing store, sandwich shop, auto shop, porn shop, diner, café, delicatessen, bar, grill, and general eatery that I can force myself to enter, and ask, half hearted and half hopeful, if there were any positions looking to be filled. There were none. Nothing. Nobody was hiring. These are rock hard times.
Very sullen, very defeated, and very fucking broke, I make my way home. Drives are never fast enough when you don’t want to be out in the world anymore. Every inch of road seems to be extended to its fullest. An inch of road feels like a hundred miles. Cars don’t seem to go fast enough no matter how hard you step on the gas. I was tired in every sense of the word. I felt I could hang my head, fall asleep, never wake up, and that that might just be ok with me. I would have been ok with that until I saw the “Now hiring” sign in the Starbucks window. I have known many people who worked at this place, and they all say the same thing; “Don’t ever work there!” and normally, I would heed that advice. But I see myself in somewhat of a crucial situation.
Fuck everyone.
With a guarded energy, I stroll into the store and get in line. I don’t mind waiting. I see hope at the front of the line, which is moving surprisingly quick. That’s a good sign. Least I think so. My turn. Finally. Girl at the counter seems nice, but I might just be secretly giving her the benefit of the doubt.
“Hi, what can I get you?”
“Yeah, can I get an application. I saw the sign on the window.”
“Which sign?” She is playing hard to get. I don’t know why though.
“The ‘Now hiring’ sign. I’d like to apply for the job”
“Oh. Yeah, sorry, but I’ve been meaning to take that sign down. We filled the position a month ago.”
…………………..shit.
“Oh. Well………….. then……….how about you take ten seconds out of your busy day making shitty fucking coffee, and take down the fucking sign so you don’t give me and other people false hopes of standing around in a snooty, air conditioned coffee shanty and getting paid to do a piss poor fucking job doing anything that involves leaving that EXACT FUCKING SPOT!!!”
That’s what I wanted to say. That’s what I should have said. What I actually said was, “Oh. Well…… shit. Uh…… I guess I’ll have a Grande java chip Frappuccino.” I couldn’t take out my frustration on this poor girl because she sucks at her job. I wouldn’t be mad at her about that. Well, not entirely, but she would bear some undeserved aggression. That could not stand with me. I pay with my last twenty. So, once again, I take my drink, I have a seat, and begin to play the film “The Great Escape” in my head. It seemed like the only thing I could do to keep my mind distracted from the immensity of everything. I don’t know what a large Mexican man openly weeping his problems away in the middle of a Starbucks looks like, but I refused to let the people in the store find out before me.
So, I sat there, staring at the wall, slowly drinking my drink, thinking about Steve McQueen openly mocking Nazis. I was so in thought about the events in my cerebral cinema that I hardly even noticed when a little girl passing by tripped on her own feet, and spilled her iced black tea on my lap. She began apologizing frantically. I just looked at her and told her that it’s ok. I didn’t feel like getting riled up.
What kind of little girl orders an iced black tea? Stupid question. I lapped up as much tea as shitty recycled napkins would hold, and I made my way for the door. I wasn’t going to hang around here anymore.
I pulled my keys out of my pocket as I walked to my car. I tried unlocking the car, but it wasn’t responding. Maybe my remote control thing was out of batteries? Or maybe I was too far from the car, which don’t believe was the case. As I got next to the car, my clumsy fingers decided they couldn’t be bothered to hold the keys anymore and allowed the keys to slip from my grasp, landing next to the front driver side tire. Another, if only minor, setback to my day. I misjudge my position next to the car, and the speed at which my legs and abdominal muscles were willing to work together to bend down to pick up the keys we not the same seeing as when I bent down to get them, I smashed my head on the fender so hard, that not only did I disorient myself for a moment, but I actually set off the car alarm. It was at this point that I believe that in my hasty physical retreat from the side of my car that I accidentally kicked my keys underneath it. I think.
It must have been a sight. A man, stumbling, confused, and nervous, next to a car that screams its wordless cry for help. Anyone could have thought that any number of situations were possible to of caused the moment to look as odd or devious as it did.
That’s what the two police officers leaving the Chinese restaurant next to the Starbucks did. I assumed that they believed the car was wailing because someone tried to break into it. And that the confused, dumfounded, worried looking man next to car was, indeed, the would be car thief. The cops thought I was trying to steal my own car. So they did what naturally came to them. They tackled me against my car, not only knocking every cubic inch of air out of my lungs, but also walloping my jaw against the top edge of the car’s body.
As they pressed me against the car, putting cuffs on me, and while I tongued the entirety of the inside of my mouth to see if any teeth had been knocked loose, I couldn’t help but wonder if my current situation with the police could be considered an example of police brutality or not. They don’t understand the situation which caused the car alarm to be set off. They don’t understand just how completely unrelenting my day had been thus far, before they made themselves the flagship moment of this horrible day. But, on the other hand, they didn’t know it was my car. It was some nervous guy next to a car that was wailing. They didn’t know. If it was anyone else in this situation as the cops saw it, at this time, with my car, in this parking lot, just not me, I would be so relieved if they did what they did. The moments, sights and feelings for the police officers would have been the same. I would be feeling, and seeing things much differently. But knowing what I did, I could see why it would be brutality. I could also see why these are great police officers. I didn’t know whether or not I should be mad or not. I didn’t know whether they were full of noble intentions, or gung ho go-get 'em-ness, no matter what the cost.
I didn’t know whether to hate them or thank them.
“You got some balls, or you’re real fuckin’ stupid to try and steal this car in broad daylight, when the police are right next door!”
“I wasn’t trying to steal the car” At least that’s what I hoped it sounded like. It came out a bit differently seeing as my jaw was contorted to the right. I hoped to God this didn’t leave me permanently slack-jawed.
“Yeah. Car alarms set themselves off”
“I’m telling the truth! I have the keys!!!”
“Do you?” He relieves some of the pressure he is pressing into my back now knowing that he be manhandling a potentially innocent man. “Where are they?”
“I dropped them. They are by the tire, right here on the front.”
He pulls me off the car and sits me down on the curb in front of the Starbucks drive-thru hedges. The other officer, who hasn’t said a single word yet (*very off putting*) looks down at both the tires on the driver’s side of the car. He looks at his partner who is towering over me, and shakes his head.
“No dice, big man”
“NO! I’m telling you they are there! I dropped them, and I hit my head picking them up! That’s why the alarm went off! Please, you have to check more, please! They are there! THEY ARE THERE!!!” I think that is what desperation sounds like.
The officers share a paused moment together, and signal to each other the ok. The silent one walks around to the passenger side of the car, and looks around the tires. He sees nothing. To say that my heart dropped would be as obvious as to of said that the sun sets in the east. The silent one then squats beside my car, and pulls out his flashlight to check under the car. He starts in the back, for some reason, and makes his way to the front. Walking slowly, but continuously. Slowly. So slowly that I can’t tell when he actually stopped. He stopped because he found my keys centrally underneath the car. He pulls them out, and signals to the cop pull guard duty on me. I tell him “Open it!’. My desperation getting the best of me.
The silent one unlocks the car, and starts rummaging through my personables. I don’t know what he is looking for, but for some reason, I felt that I didn’t want him going through my stuff. He was violating my personal items. He takes what seems like eternity to get out of the passenger seat holding what looks like my car registration, my cell phone, an insurance card, and my gym card. They look at the gym card because it is the only item with my picture on it. They do not look happy with themselves. The one that talks came up to me with his pride dragging half to death behind him.
“Your name. What is it?”
“Pedro”, I tell him.
He looks even more upset.
“Shit……. Do you have your license?”
“Yeah. In my wallet. Back pocket”
“Get it out”
My hands are bound behind me because he and his friend beat up on an undeserving guy, and he is afraid of coming off gay. I could see the look in his eye when he thought that he was going to have to reach back there. Any other time I would have called him on it, but I am smart enough to let it slide. Self-inflicted grand theft auto sounds like a stupid thing to go to county for. I reach in my pocket with little difficulty. My arms were facing in the optimal direction for me to get the wallet out. I turn, and he grabs the wallet out of my hand, pulls out my license, and groans like no one I have ever heard.
“I’m really sorry, sir. We overreacted. We just saw what we saw and assumed the worst.”
“I get it.”
“Really, very truly sorry Pedro.”
“Yeah.”
The one that talks takes the handcuffs off, places my wallet on the hood of my car, gives me a concluding nod, and heads back for the car. Before he also breaks for the car, the silent one hands back the items from my car, gives the nod, and quietly gives his solemn input on the situation, “Sorry”.
And just like that, as quickly as it had started, it was over. I stood there in the Starbucks parking lot with my assemblage of car items, confused, upset, relieved, reeking of sweat and black tea, and, most curious of all, mystified. I grabbed my wallet, got in the car, and drove off.
I got home to an empty house. I didn’t know nor did I care where anyone was. So grateful was I that no one was home to see what a mess I had become in the few hours I was gone that I started to laugh. The one place that didn’t need to glorious and it is the only place today where I caught a break t. I took off my soy infused jeans, not bothering to replace them with anything, and jumped right in the bed, where I lay now. I could use the sleep. The sun is still up, and the promise of the day making itself right could still show itself, but I just don’t care anymore today. Logic, empathy, reasoning, simple problem solving abilities or even politeness, gone. All of them. I don’t care anymore. In this bed, I devoid my mind of emotions for the next dozen or so hours. Except gratitude. I keep that one around. It is the reason I am about to fall asleep because I need it. I need the gratitude after a day like today. I need the gratitude for tomorrow. I need the gratitude for the night. I am content only because I am grateful that tomorrow is another day.
I hate that saying.
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Oh my, I sure hope this wasn’t a true story! LOL…. what a horrible day. I hated laughing throughout this because I’d hate for this to have really happened to someone but it was hysterical. Great images, sounds, smells, feelings….. all through this. Yes, there are tons of spelling errors, omitted words and even added words. Since you stated in the beginning that you knew they were there I didn’t want to waste your time by stating them all. I truly enjoyed this.
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I like this . it is well written and a sad and sorry tale. The only beef I have is it would be nicer to have a little more dialogue in there. Maybe have another one or two really miserable experiences to make the day really complete and just a little more humour as well. But in general it is a good story.
...”great to no importance in you day goes absolutely…” your
...” A label crated to name the section of society that pisses’” created
Just had to throw a couple in there for Urbis policy.
I enjoyed the story, it had a great pace and excellent sense of humor. Very well done stream of conciousness, it had me entertained. I wasn’t bored at all with pedro and his terrible day. At his expense of course. I felt like the scene where he hit his head went a little out of reality to ridiculous, but hey that’s comedy for you. I began to wonder if pedro looked like Ben Stiller.
My suggestions are light, just the dialogue tagging would be a nice addition if you gave them expressions and actions so I could get a good idea of what kind of things are going on. It almost felt like reading a comic book without pictures sometimes. But otherwise very descriptive for most of the story.
You’ve got a lot of typos in here, it didn’t really detract from the story, because I knew what they were supposed to be, but you could go in and fix them, like ” and start rummaging through it.” Starts* there are more of these throughout the story.
Just needs some polishing and it’s a solid story that is very entertaining, I enjoyed it even if it was a little ridiculous! I write ridiculous as well.
thanks for the entertainment.
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