or a short story from a weary boy
The first thing that happened to him was the last thing he needed. The day before he and his friends had ordered pizza from Diamond Joe’s Perfect Pies. Everybody expected it to be pepperoni but what came was ham and pineapple. Nobody was hungry after that. The party ended and they all went home.
The next morning came sooner than expected and all hell broke loose.
“Damn-it if I can’t make it to work on time one day in my life. Just once I’d like to sit down, read the paper, eat breakfast and watch the sun rise.”
He ran from his bedroom to the shower to his bedroom again and then through the kitchen to the garage. “Pizza?” he thought as he passed by the opened cardboard box of untouched pie. His stomach panged with hunger, or maybe with disgust disguised as hunger, or maybe as hunger disguised as disgust, “Why not?”.
Downhill from there.
“You’re late!!!” his boss screamed from across the cubicle crowded office.
“No you’re late you fat ass!!!”
“WHAT!!!” his boss was stunned.
So was he.
“What did you say?”
“FAT - ASS!” his hand caught his mouth as the perfect annunciation slipped through.
“Into my office!” The boss turned and walked away.
“Yes sir.” He was as confused as everybody else in the room. Everybody was as confused as him. He followed his boss into the office.
“Would you mind explaining what just happened out there?” his boss said. His eyes were full of hell.
“I can’t remember.” He wasn’t lying.
“How long have you been working here?”
“2 months.”
“Pack up. You’re done.”
“Pack this.” He felt a finger start to rise.
“You’ve got 5 minutes to be out of my building or I’ll have you thrown out.” He wasn’t lying either.
The drive home was quiet. Not a cloud in the sky and barely a car on the road.
The walk from his suburban car to the front door of his suburban home was quiet. Not a suburban neighbor in suburban sight.
Even the dog was quiet.
So much quiet.
“I need a drink.” he said. Then he fell asleep.
Morning came, then night. Then morning again.
A familiar voice echoed from outside the house, “Did somebody order a pizza?”
“Oh no, not again.” He said to his untouched bottle of Kentucky bourbon. The bottle smiled, he winced and somewhere off in the distance a dog howled.
“Not again. . .”
Again.
Again and again.
Posted by McKormick at October 15, 2003 07:00 AM | TrackBack