I had just been up all night doing dangerous drugs 3000 miles away the last time I was at a DMV. My brother and I strolled in, haggard faced and disheveled, our eyes wide and confused. We walked up to the little machine that gives out numbers. Our number was very far away.
"My God, this is so inefficient. Only Americans could arrange a mess this like." My brother said. He had just returned from living in Europe. He was having trouble readjusting to the fat, illogical ways of the free and brave.
I asked my brother, who was good with numbers, how long we had to wait.
"About two hours, I'd say." He replied
"Fuck this. Let's go to a bar. We'll come back in 120 minutes." I said.
He immediately agreed.
Finding a decent bar at 11 am on a tuesday proved to be more difficult than it would have been if we were still in the Czech Republic. When we slept there, we actually had to kill time doing something productive, like visiting Communist Museums, before we could justify to ourselves drinking. Here, everything was a reason to drink.
We pushed onwards towards a large shopping plaza with generic corporate eateries and retail bargin basements. We selected one cookie cutter restaurant and immediately headed towards the bar. I wasn’t hungry still as the acid was still working on my stomach, so I ordered a couple of large beers. My brother ate a sandwich as we stared at a cable news channel on television. It was one of the first times that I had cynically watched television all summer, and it hadn’t changed a bit.
I finished my beers and ordered two more, as my brother commented, “I’m impressed with your tolerance for alcohol.” He was casually sipping his first beer still.
“It’s something I’ve been working on for the last few years or so.” I said absently, starring at the waitress.
I paid the tab, and we left. Once back at the DMV, we opened the doors and they immediately called our numbers. It worked perfectly. Except I spaced out slightly, distracted by fleeting drug psychosis and alcohol, and missed my number. So I had to charm the old woman into taking me anyway, and she obliged.
Today, 3,000 miles to the west, I had my doubts that it would work out this well again. I walked into the DMV with my sunglasses on my head, a collared shirt slightly undone with my jewelry glittering in the hot sun. I felt good. The potato salad in my hand felt cold. It was a great day for a DMV picnic.
I pushed open the doors and pulled a number from the machine, just like back east. I grabbed a form from an old lady who smiled pleasantly at me. I beamed right back, my brown eyes wide and friendly. An old woman walked by, eyeing me up and down like she wanted to touch me. I sat down on an empty bench, my potato salad beside me, spreading out my arms confidently like wings. I started to fill out the form, realizing my number was only about a dozen away from being called. The little ticket said, "ETA: 15 min."
Not too bad for Oregon, I thought.
I scanned the room looking for a target. A young girl in a tight white 'Obama' T-shirt was standing nervously against the wall, wearing tight jean shorts. Her purple bra was visible underneath her t-shirt. I stood and walked over to where she was standing, and began absently digging through the brochures beside her.
"Why is it," I said, "that they bore you with this stuff?" I held up a brochure about driving commercial trucks. "Where are all the Maxims?"
She smiled. "I guess they're for the last minute people who didn't study."
She had a pretty voice. I vaguely wondered if she was here to get her permit or something. That'd peg her at 16, 17 tops.
I was nearly 24.
But she was lovely.
"I probably shouldn't say this, but you remind me a lot of Bugs Bunny's girlfriend from Looney Tunes."
She laughed, and mentioned how much she loved that show as a kid.
I decided she was probably trying to regain her license after a DUI or something.
"Hey, let me show you something my friend taught me today." I said. "Let's go sit over there." I led her back to my empty bench.
I took her hand in mine, and softly began tracing the lines. I gave her a palm reading. And I was good at it. I always enjoyed the occult. And she was amazed. She smiled at me, impressed with my vague truisms and cliches which on the surface seemed insightful.
I put my arm around her. At times, it was too easy.
Suddenly, she stood alert. They had called her number. She placed her hand on my shoulder, and said it was nice talking to me. She stood up, and pulled down her tight jean shorts around her thighs.
She walked around a corner to take her permit test.
Damn.
I had to wait maybe thirty seconds until I saw another target. A dark haired girl, looking a little goth. A lot of mascara. A lot of eye shadow. Jet black hair. Large breasts in a tight purple shirt and tight jeans. She'd suffice.
I walked over to her bench, and sat down between her and an older woman. I began talking to the old woman like I knew her my whole life. A few jokes later, and she was cracking up, leaning into me. I turned my attention to the goth.
"I don't mean to sound out of tune, but your hair looks awesome. It reminds me of that Scandinavian band that just played in Portland...what were they called?"
She smiled. Apparently she had modeled her appearance after male death metal norwegian music groups. It was the perfect thing to say.
"I'm not sure...I just saw Decadence up there a few weeks ago." She smiled at me. If she took off some of the make-up, she'd be helluh cuter.
"You go to Portland a lot? I know a lot of people up there." I said.
"No...I wish I went a lot. I need to meet more people up there." She replied.
"Well, if you play your cards right, maybe I could introduce you to some people. Not as cool as me of course, but close." I smiled a shit eating grin. "That is, if you go up there often."
"Oh yeah, I try to go all the time." She tried to qualify herself to me. She wanted to prove she was cool.
She laughed, and relaxed. Her eyes dilated slightly. She was comfortable.
"Let me show you something. Do you like magick?" I asked.
"Amber, are you ready for your test?" The old woman asked across me to the goth chick. Goth Chick rolled her eyes. I realized I had sat between the Goth Chick and her mother.
"Yeah...Don't worry!" Goth Chick said dramatically.
"Would you like some potato salad?" I asked the mother to keep her busy. "It's homemade." I had bought it on sale at Albertsons two days ago.
"Potato salad? Does it have egg?" She asked. How should I know? Oh, because I told her I had made it.
"Of course not." I replied.
She happily dug in with a fork I produced.
"What's your name?" Goth Chick asked me. This was a sign that she was interested in me, despite her mother leaning over us. Hell, maybe I could get them both at the same time. I smiled at the challenge.
"Moon." I replied. "And you?"
"Amber." She replied. "And how long have you known your friend here?"
She made a face, and I could feel mom beaming beside me at the backhanded compliment.
"That's my mom. Adrianna."
Suddenly, Adrianna stood quickly. "Amber," She cried, "we missed our number! Come on, they only give tests until 4!" She pulled Goth Chick away, and another blond girl followed as well, which I assumed was a sister.
Amber smiled, slightly embarrassed, and began to walk away. I held out my hand, and she took it and squeezed it. I watched them walk away, and I laughed to myself out loud, garnishing the uncomfortable look of a fat black woman.
This was the danger. I was hooked. I didn't even care, I just wanted to defeat any challenge, like the next level in a video game.
I smiled, my eyes wide and warm.
"Can I get your opinion on something?" I asked the black fatty.
"How do you make potato salad? Do you use eggs?"
Regards, Esortnom
Monday, August 17, 2009
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Uxbridge
One day while walking downtown, a yellow paper had blown against my shoe. Thinking that it had gone through so much trouble to find me, i picked it up and brought it home. After finding it crumpled in my pocket, I read it and saw that the town was looking for a parade commissioner.
I toyed with the idea of marching to the city offices and applying. It said that experience in town management was required, but I was quite certain that I could use my lust for everything to my advantage, and convince the city clerk that I was the right man for the job. Late at night, when my friends and I all sat around laughing and talking, out of our minds as the weather slowly changed around us, this seemed like an especially good idea. But when the mornings would come, all anonymous hope would fade with the night, leaving uncertainty and insecurity in everything which I hoped to attain.
The bleakness was painted on the mills and grew on the trees. The cracks in the sidewalks sprouted little green bulbs of sadness. And under a rusting steel bridge caked with spider webs, a polluted river flowed with all that could have been, heading south back down towards the city where this whole mess began and inspired me to hide in the saddest place I've ever lived, thinking I could use the peace and quiet. When in reality, all the peace and quiet was killing me, making me feel old and useless, as though I was missing great things going on some place where people were actually living and smiling.
Now, of course, I know this is all just delusional silliness. Coast to coast, it is all the same. There are no places on this land where people are enjoying themselves and smiling all day. The American dream was just hype, happiness could not really be achieved. But I was young and wanted to run. So I packed up everything I loved except my cat into my blue little car, and headed west.
Regards, Esortnom
I toyed with the idea of marching to the city offices and applying. It said that experience in town management was required, but I was quite certain that I could use my lust for everything to my advantage, and convince the city clerk that I was the right man for the job. Late at night, when my friends and I all sat around laughing and talking, out of our minds as the weather slowly changed around us, this seemed like an especially good idea. But when the mornings would come, all anonymous hope would fade with the night, leaving uncertainty and insecurity in everything which I hoped to attain.
The bleakness was painted on the mills and grew on the trees. The cracks in the sidewalks sprouted little green bulbs of sadness. And under a rusting steel bridge caked with spider webs, a polluted river flowed with all that could have been, heading south back down towards the city where this whole mess began and inspired me to hide in the saddest place I've ever lived, thinking I could use the peace and quiet. When in reality, all the peace and quiet was killing me, making me feel old and useless, as though I was missing great things going on some place where people were actually living and smiling.
Now, of course, I know this is all just delusional silliness. Coast to coast, it is all the same. There are no places on this land where people are enjoying themselves and smiling all day. The American dream was just hype, happiness could not really be achieved. But I was young and wanted to run. So I packed up everything I loved except my cat into my blue little car, and headed west.
Regards, Esortnom
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
At Thy Request Monster, I Shall Reason
Officer Martin Jergins walked to the front of Blanton’s post office and threw himself down on a wooden bench. He pulled out a tattered blue handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his forehead and the back of his neck, reclining into the warm bench. His legs were sore from the morning patrol, and it was just too goddamn hot to be strolling the dusty streets much longer. Besides, it was only a little past one o’clock in the afternoon, the schools hadn’t let out yet, and most of the towns occupants were still at work, if not returning from their lunch hour.
His stomach groaned at the thought of lunch, and he idly contemplated heading into the Uptowne Café and grabbing a turkey club and some ice tea. He wondered if the old woman would be working today, or if her young daughter Juliet would be behind the counter. He replaced the handkerchief into his back pocket and grinned at the thought of young Juliet in the air conditioned café.
“How’d it goin, Off’cer Jergins?” A raspy drawl from behind the bench.
Jergins straightened a little in the bench, sitting upright and turning to face the voice. He knew who it belonged to, of course. He greeted the man, and moved over on the bench to make room for him, as Leon always looked about ready to fall down some place if you didn’t offer him a seat fast enough.
Leon Kentwood was always hanging around the post office, or across the street at the Rosebud Tobacco and Cigar. The old man was haggard and thin, his face mapped with the all the journeys which came with living in the town of Blanton. His hands were large and scarred, the nails seemingly always black with grease or tobacco resin. He always had long sleeved flannel shirts tucked into scraggled jeans despite the heat, but never seemed to notice the large moisture spots of sweat which stained the arm pits.
“Don’t believe it muh self, but uh Janice back dere in the Post Office told me they’re fixin’ to raise stamps again? You believe that, sir?” Kentwood joined Jergins on the bench and pulled out a pack of Benson and Hedges.
Jergins agreed that no, he could not believe that the price of stamps was going up another nickel.
“It’s jus like I pictured it, en everythan.” Leon muttered, striking a match on his boot and inhaling deeply on his cigarette. He offered a smoke to Jergins, and after hesitating, Jergins accepted. Leon noticed his pause.
“Wife making ya quit again, sir?” He said with a sly grin.
“You know it, ol’ boy. She took my pipe and threw it out with the rubbish last Wednesday. Said if I don’t quit, she’s gonna leave me. I told her if she kept yanking my pipes, I’d be leaving anys ways.” Both men laughed as Jergins lit his Benson, looking down the street casually, in case his wife happened to be in town today.
“Ain’t that broads though, eh?” Leon crossed his legs, and flicked his ashes onto the sidewalk. Jergins nodded slowly without saying anything, enjoying the smooth golden flavor of an expensive cigarette with the hot sun on his back. It was a fine day in his town, and at that moment, sitting next to old man Kentwood, enjoying a smoke, he was entirely happy in his life.
A large rumbling vibrated the air, like small explosions going off somewhere down the horizon. He could feel the air pushing against his face from the force of the noise, and see dust rising up down the street. At first Jergins was reminded of artillery shells in Korea, but that image quickly flashed from his mind.
“What in the damn hell...” Leon started, sitting up straight, starring down the street searching for the source of the noise. Almond eyes wide, the man looked outraged at whatever force had the nerve to abruptly end his mid day dreams.
Kicking up dust on the horizon, and speedily approaching the two men on the bench, a red foreign made automobile blazed through cross walks and yield signs. As it grew closer, the awful wails of distortions and thrashing percussion instruments could be heard under the thumps of the bass. The car slowed briefly, then accelerated again and blew by the two men, including Jergins, an officer of the law. Jergins could not view the driver through the tinted windows, but could only imagine the shit head teenager behind the wheel.
“Christ on the cross.” Leon’s jaw gaped open in disbelief. “What the damn hell was that? You see that, Of’cer Jergins?” The old man turned to Jergins, still wide eyed.
“Yup.”
“Damn shit for brains. Driving all around like that gonna kill some one, ya know that? Ya reckon ‘bout doing anything ‘bout that feller?” Leon looked hopefully at Jergins.
“Dunno if I can...ain’t all ‘em like that now adays, anyways? These boys dumping any and all their savings into cars and music...seems like ‘to hell with the future’. That’s their attitudes now.”
“Ain’t that the truth. I still remember when we were young, Off’cer Jergins, that some things were sacred. Now, I dunno...everything is questioned. This world’s gone to shit, ain’t it Off’cer Jergins?”
“Yessir.” Jergins stood looking down the vast road, the dust still settling. He shifted his pants around his crotch, then sat back down on the bench. He pulled out another cigarette, and after a slight hesitation began smoking. After another moment he began enjoying himself. Leon stood at the road, looking haplessly in case the car roared back again. He kept his back to Jergins, but after a while he sat back down and joined him.
Regards, Esortnom
His stomach groaned at the thought of lunch, and he idly contemplated heading into the Uptowne Café and grabbing a turkey club and some ice tea. He wondered if the old woman would be working today, or if her young daughter Juliet would be behind the counter. He replaced the handkerchief into his back pocket and grinned at the thought of young Juliet in the air conditioned café.
“How’d it goin, Off’cer Jergins?” A raspy drawl from behind the bench.
Jergins straightened a little in the bench, sitting upright and turning to face the voice. He knew who it belonged to, of course. He greeted the man, and moved over on the bench to make room for him, as Leon always looked about ready to fall down some place if you didn’t offer him a seat fast enough.
Leon Kentwood was always hanging around the post office, or across the street at the Rosebud Tobacco and Cigar. The old man was haggard and thin, his face mapped with the all the journeys which came with living in the town of Blanton. His hands were large and scarred, the nails seemingly always black with grease or tobacco resin. He always had long sleeved flannel shirts tucked into scraggled jeans despite the heat, but never seemed to notice the large moisture spots of sweat which stained the arm pits.
“Don’t believe it muh self, but uh Janice back dere in the Post Office told me they’re fixin’ to raise stamps again? You believe that, sir?” Kentwood joined Jergins on the bench and pulled out a pack of Benson and Hedges.
Jergins agreed that no, he could not believe that the price of stamps was going up another nickel.
“It’s jus like I pictured it, en everythan.” Leon muttered, striking a match on his boot and inhaling deeply on his cigarette. He offered a smoke to Jergins, and after hesitating, Jergins accepted. Leon noticed his pause.
“Wife making ya quit again, sir?” He said with a sly grin.
“You know it, ol’ boy. She took my pipe and threw it out with the rubbish last Wednesday. Said if I don’t quit, she’s gonna leave me. I told her if she kept yanking my pipes, I’d be leaving anys ways.” Both men laughed as Jergins lit his Benson, looking down the street casually, in case his wife happened to be in town today.
“Ain’t that broads though, eh?” Leon crossed his legs, and flicked his ashes onto the sidewalk. Jergins nodded slowly without saying anything, enjoying the smooth golden flavor of an expensive cigarette with the hot sun on his back. It was a fine day in his town, and at that moment, sitting next to old man Kentwood, enjoying a smoke, he was entirely happy in his life.
A large rumbling vibrated the air, like small explosions going off somewhere down the horizon. He could feel the air pushing against his face from the force of the noise, and see dust rising up down the street. At first Jergins was reminded of artillery shells in Korea, but that image quickly flashed from his mind.
“What in the damn hell...” Leon started, sitting up straight, starring down the street searching for the source of the noise. Almond eyes wide, the man looked outraged at whatever force had the nerve to abruptly end his mid day dreams.
Kicking up dust on the horizon, and speedily approaching the two men on the bench, a red foreign made automobile blazed through cross walks and yield signs. As it grew closer, the awful wails of distortions and thrashing percussion instruments could be heard under the thumps of the bass. The car slowed briefly, then accelerated again and blew by the two men, including Jergins, an officer of the law. Jergins could not view the driver through the tinted windows, but could only imagine the shit head teenager behind the wheel.
“Christ on the cross.” Leon’s jaw gaped open in disbelief. “What the damn hell was that? You see that, Of’cer Jergins?” The old man turned to Jergins, still wide eyed.
“Yup.”
“Damn shit for brains. Driving all around like that gonna kill some one, ya know that? Ya reckon ‘bout doing anything ‘bout that feller?” Leon looked hopefully at Jergins.
“Dunno if I can...ain’t all ‘em like that now adays, anyways? These boys dumping any and all their savings into cars and music...seems like ‘to hell with the future’. That’s their attitudes now.”
“Ain’t that the truth. I still remember when we were young, Off’cer Jergins, that some things were sacred. Now, I dunno...everything is questioned. This world’s gone to shit, ain’t it Off’cer Jergins?”
“Yessir.” Jergins stood looking down the vast road, the dust still settling. He shifted his pants around his crotch, then sat back down on the bench. He pulled out another cigarette, and after a slight hesitation began smoking. After another moment he began enjoying himself. Leon stood at the road, looking haplessly in case the car roared back again. He kept his back to Jergins, but after a while he sat back down and joined him.
Regards, Esortnom
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