Career Advice and Public Transit

Red, green, navy blue; I think it needs more green- lime green? Evergreen? Maybe a mix. I wipe the colored residue from my palms. It seems like a fitting tribute so far. So far…needs more green.

“What are you drawing?” a man in a slick business asks me.

“It’s a homage, I guess you could say.”

There once was a man who dressed as a boat captain and stood on the corner of a street waiting for a ship that would never appear. He stood there proudly with his ash colored beard and tattered sailor’s hat. A small pile of money lay near his feet; left by those who confused him for someone who was begging for spare change. He just went on staring and staring. I saw him on that corner every day as I walked to the bus stop. I finally got tired of wondering and asked him what he was doing there.

“Can’t ya tell lass?” he asked me “I’m giving sail boat rides; it’s the city’s oldest form of transportation. Aye, I remember the old days when I gave rides to the wealthiest folks in town on their way to the opera houses or the pie eating contests. The sewers used to be the only way to travel!”

“Wow,” I said “I was expecting you to be a Vietnam vet with some kind of boat related post-traumatic stress or something.”

“Nah, nothin’ like that; just a man trying to make a humble living. So, will you be needing a ride this morning?”

I could see my bus rumbling towards the stop in the distance.

“I would love to but-”

“FANTASTIC!”

The captain stepped back from the rusty doors that were built into the sidewalk beneath his feet. He flipped through a giant ring of keys that would make any high school janitor blush with envy until he found a long copper colored key. The key slid into the padlock and the Admiral opened rusted doors that screeched like a pterodactyl that had caught on fire.

“Look, Captain-”

“I’m an Admiral! The Admiral said.

“Admiral, I really can’t miss my bus.”

“Sorry ma’am, could you repeat that? I’m just so excited to have my first passenger in nearly forty years!”

I looked into the Admiral’s blue oval eyes; they had the same kind of sadness behind them that my grandfather’s eyes had the local gangs would throw his walker onto his roof.

“I said ‘I can’t wait!’ What’s your fare?”

The Admiral closed his left eye and stuck out his tongue; I came to know this as his “thinkin’ face”

“Two nickels,” he finally said after a few minutes of deliberation “or a slice of pie!”
I dug through the bowels of my bottomless bag and dug out two shiny nickels.

“Hmm…what happened to the pictures of the buffaloes?” he asked me.

Beneath the doors was an old ladder that led down to sewers below. I carefully stepped down one, two, three rusted rungs then slipped down to the bottom.

“Careful there lass!” the Admiral said.

“I’m good, don’t worry,” I said as I rubbed my backside.

The boat looked like it was built by a bored child on a summer afternoon. Crooked nails jutted out like a porcupine’s quills. The paint appeared to have been neglected for years judging by the chipping layer of school house red paint. I inspected the hull, which had been hastily repaired by duct tape and bubblegum.

I really wished I had caught the bus in that moment.

Or, kept ignoring the Admiral and walked to the bus stop.

Or, finished college.

Or, not loaned my brother that money.

“Are ya ready to go lass?”

The boat bobbed up and down in the dirty water as I gently stepped onto its unstable interior.

“Jesus, how do you put up with this smell?” I asked.

“After awhile, it begins to smell like home. Ya start to wonder how you ever lived without the smell of people’s droppings around ya at all times. So, where to lass?”

“Oh, I need to get to Jittery Joe’s Java Joint on 5th street.”

“Then away we go!”

The Admiral looked out along his domain and breathed in the filthy air. He looked proud as he raised his make-shift craft’s sail. He flicked on a large fan attached to the back of the boat that gently bloated the sail with an artificial gust of wind.

“So, ya make coffee do ya?” The Admiral asked.

“Yup, I’m a barista.” I said.

“A ba-what? In my time they were coffee makers. Coffee back then was called ‘the Devil’s drink!’ Can ya believe that? There was only one place in the city where you could find it, but it was never in the same place twice! You could always find it though; all ya had to do was follow the sound of wild jazz and the smell of burning opium.”

I gazed over the edge of the boat into the murky surface beneath us. I could barely make out my own reflection in the dim lighting, but I could see my indigo-colored glasses resting on my nose; my ordinarily red hair looked like a penny in a parking lot after it rains, due to the liquid mirror’s coloring.

“This sure brings back memories, lass,” The Admiral said.

“My name is Shannon,” I said.

“Aye lass, so many great memories. I gave a ride to F. Scott Fitzgerald once.” The Admiral said.

“The author?” I asked.

“He wrote a book?”

The Admiral continued to steer the boat down the urban Amazon. I tied my official barista apron around my waist as I waited to arrive.

“Admiral, are we getting closer?” I asked.

“Well, we have to make a quick stop at my girlfriend’s…ex-girlfriend’s, actually.”

“What? I’m already running late!”

“Look lass, I know this goes against the sailor’s code, but I have to prove a point to her! Sewer
transportation is lucrative business.”

“But it’s not! I only took this stupid boat ride because I missed the bus! I’d rather walk through glass than take a sewer boat!”

The Admiral’s face began to sag, as though it was weighed down by his many wrinkles. I immediately regretted what I said.

“I’m sorry,” I said “I overreacted, and it just smells so much down here, and I’ve been under a lot of stress lately.”

“Don’t apologize,” a voice said “you’re completely right.”

I looked into the water and saw a woman’s head floating along the right side of the boat; the head’s blond hair floated in the water like yellow seaweed. A pair of arms rose from the water’s surface and lifted the woman into the boat. I saw that the woman’s human body ended just below her navel and became the tail end of a fish.

All of the grace and beauty typically associated with mermaids was immediately erased from my mind as the overwhelming stench of half sewer-fish half sewer-human barbarically invaded my nostrils.

“Lucielle!” the Admiral cried “You see? I got a customer! I told you I could do it!”

“Zachary, we broke up two years ago. One customer in two years isn’t going to make me change my mind about you and your ridiculous job!”

“This is just the beginning though; she’ll recommend me to friends and family! Won’t you?”

I stayed silent.

“Even IF she told ANYONE it wouldn’t change anything, Zachary. I’ve moved on; my life is different now.”

“You’re not dating Todd are you? I’ve seen him charming you with that crocodile smile!”

“He’s an alligator man!”

“Oh, whatever!”

The three of us stood in a thick silence for a few seconds.

“Um…Zachary,” I said “I kinda have to get going.”

Zachary started up the sail’s fans without any of the dramatic flourishes that he used earlier. Lucielle climbed off of the boat and splashed back into the water.

“Please don’t come back,” she said.

Zachary did not respond.

After a few minutes of sailing, the boat stopped in front of a ladder to the streets above.

“Once you climb up that ladder you’ll be right in front of your coffee place,” Zachary said.

“Thank you…Admiral,” I said.

Zachary popped out a small smile.

“Is this what you want to do for the rest of your life? Be a…barracuda?”

“Barista,” I said “and no, no it’s not.”

“What do you want to do?” he asked.

And I told him the dream that I had kept in my head for years.

“I want to be a chalk artist,” I said “I’ve never told anybody that.”

The Admiral smiled. He flipped on his fan and the sail majestically filled with air.

“Good luck lass,” and with that, he was gone.

“So, this is the crazy guy?” the man in the business suit asks.

“He’s not crazy, he’s just a man with a dream…maybe he’s a little crazy.”

I placed the final touches on my drawing. The sidewalk was now adorned with a drawing of the Admiral standing in a metallic sewer pipe. In his arms he was carrying Lucielle and the two of them are locked in a passionate kiss as her blond hair rests on her shoulders. The Admiral’s right foot stands on the chest of a slain alligator man triumphantly.

I think it might just be perfect. Maybe it needs more green…

The Epic of Rogarth Part 3: Rogarth and the Trial of the Job Interview

Rogarth stared at the cat-shaped clock hanging in Ted’s office.

“Gift from the missus,” Ted said, indicating the clock.

“AYE,” Rogarth was still trying to remember the tips that Jeffery had given him about how to control the volume of his voice. He adjusted himself in the cold folding chair; trying to find a position that made him feel comfortable in the strange Earth clothes that Jeffery had given him. The clothes, which belonged to Jeffery’s older brother, proclaimed that Rogarth was currently “with” someone of inferior intelligence. Rogarth’s massive frame caused the seams to burst one by one with each movement.

“So…Jeffery tells me you’re European. I’m having a hard time placing the accent though. What part of Europe are you from?”

Rogarth thought back to the conversation he had with Jeffery the night before.

“If he asks what country you’re from,” he said “just tell him Iceland.”

“I COME FROM THE ICE LAND.” Rogarth smiled to himself, very satisfied with his own answer.

“Ah…Iceland, I see,” Ted looked down at his clipboard. He added a few more explosions to the masterful doodle he was crafting of himself standing in front of the ruins of the White House in his Anarchy Inc. uniform. In the doodle he had replaced the American Flag with a waving banner of his own face and he was flanked by Miss America and Miss USA who were fawning over his exaggerated cartoon muscles.

“So, Rogaine,” Ted continued “have you had any previous experience in food service before?”

“Aye,” Rogarth said. Again, this was part of Jeffery’s instructions. Always say ‘yes’ to any of the questions he may ask.

“And which restaurant did you work in?” Ted asked.

Rogarth could feel the pain in his head returning. His memories would fade in and out after he had hit his head and fallen into the parking lot, but they had slowly started to come back piece by piece. He remembered an old man in white and a woman in a flowing red gown.

“The…old man with the silver beard…” Rogarth said.

“Oh, Kentucky Fried Chicken,” Ted said “I didn’t realize their franchise had gone over seas…now then, do you have any experience with grilling meat patties?”

“Aye,” Rogarth said.

“How about firing automatic weapons?”

“What?”

“You know…in case of a robbery.”

“I am skilled with many weapons…I HAVE EARNED, THROUGH COMBAT, THE ENERGY SWORD OF THE GOD-” Rogarth felt the painful migraine return. It was his memory’s way of telling him they weren’t ready to come out of hiding just yet.

“Uh…okay, well, that’s all I need to hear! You’re hired!”

“Aye?”

“Aye! I mean…yeah! Whatever, come in on Tuesday, we’ll have Jeffery show you the ropes.”

Rogarth burst out of Ted’s office with an invigorated sense of pride. It was a feeling he only slightly recalled having once before in his past. The incomplete memory of a grand victory over an archenemy came to his mind. He could only see the fragments of his past life like a jigsaw puzzle spilled onto a floor. He walked out into the mid-afternoon sun and shouted to the sky.

“I AM ROGARTH! AND I HAVE BEEN GIVEN A JOB!”

He took a deep breath and began the walk back to Jeffery’s house.

The Epic of Rogarth Part Two: Challenge of The Mime.

“Hey…hey buddy.” Jeffery lightly shook the massive shoulders of the man in the crater. He then tried lightly slapping him on the cheek with the back of his hand. This seemed to do the trick.
“YE GODS!” the man cried. Jeffery was blown backwards by the force of the man flying out of the crater. His gloves, badly damaged in the crash, sputtered and sent him flying towards the earth again, this time however he landed on his two feet.
“WHICH OF MY ENEMIES HAS TRAPPED ME IN THIS FORSAKEN LAND!” he spun around quickly, “SHOW YOURSELF TO ROGARTH!” Rogarth held his closed fists in front of him and as he slowly pulled them apart a glowing yellow beam of light appeared between them that turned into a massive sword.
“THERE YOU ARE!” Rogarth charged toward the statue of Mikey the Mime, the official mascot of Bourgeoisie Burgers and promptly sliced its head off with one mighty swoop. The head plopped next to Jeffery’s feet.
“Holy. Poop.” Jeffery wiped the ash from the crater off of his face and handed Rogarth’s damaged helmet back to him.
“FEAR NOT SMALL ONE, THE TYRANT WHO RULED THESE LANDS HAS BEEN SLAIN.” Rogarth took his back his helmet. “ANSWER ME THIS; ARE YOU SKILLED IN THE CRAFT OF REPARING METALS AND WEAPONS, ESPECIALLY THOSE CRAFTED FROM THE IRONS FOUND BENEATH MOUNT ORION?”
Jeffery looked at the massive sword and gauntlets which he could only describe as reaching levels of extreme ass-kickery.
“Oh yeah…totally,” Jeffery could barely set his alarm clock much less repair a cosmic warrior’s gauntlet.
“MY THANKS FOR YOUR ASSITANCE; WHAT IS YOUR TITLE?”
“Uh…Jefferey. Hey no offense but do you think you could lower your voice a bit?”
“’LOWER MY VOICE?’ WHAT KIND OF TYRANNICAL LAND IS THIS? A WARRIOR CAN NOT SPEAK AT HIS PROPER VOICE LEVEL?”
“Hey, hey, hey what the hell is this?!” Jeffery looked behind Rogarth and saw his manager Ted. Ted was an overweight bald man who often suffered from serious delusions of grandeur in his managerial position.
“It must have been some kids sir, it was like that when I came out here.”
“Some kids put a giant smoking hole into the parking lot?” Ted pointed at Rogarth “And who the hell is this weirdo!?”
“I AM CALLED ROGARTH! DESCENDENT OF…” Rogarth suddenly felt dizzy, he clutched the hilt of his sword for support.
“What kinda name is Rogarth?” Ted asked.
“He’s European,” Jeffery quickly answered.
“Oh well that makes sense, what’s the matter with him?”
“It must be…jetlag! Yeah, he’s an exchange student who just got in today so he must be pretty tired so I better get him home.” Jeffery threw Rogarths arm over his shoulder and dragged him back to his house.
“I was better off dragging garbage bags,” he thought to himself.
Ted watched suspiciously as the Jeffery dragged the oddly dressed European home. He breathed a sigh of relief that Jeffery did not bother to ask him why he returned to the restaurant after it had closed. The portly man waddled towards the front door and unlocked it. Once he entered he pressed the buttons on the key pad to turn off the alarm system he then pressed three other digits. The floor beneath slowly began to lower him underground. Once the elevator had reached the bottom Ted’s clothes had changed. He was now wearing a bright red jumpsuit with the letters A.I. embroidered into the left breast pocket. On his face was a fake handlebar mustache which he felt made him look more nefarious and a scar drawn on with eyeliner which he felt created the same nefarious effect.
“Security team! I want the names and addresses of the punk teenagers who made that giant crater in our parking lot!”
“Uh sir, it wasn’t teenagers…it was that guy who left with employee Jeffery.” The security agent played back the video of Rogarth crashing into the pavement.
“My God...gentlemen! The whirly winds of fate of blown a unique opportunity our way, and it is one we must take advantage of immediately! Agent Fredricks! Get me a W-2 form on the double! We’re going to make that flying European the newest weapon of ANARCHY INC.!” Ted opened his cell phone and dialed in a number.
“Yes hello, is Jeffery there? This is his manager Ted…”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Prologue (Part one of a series)

A massive neon sign that reads "Bourgeoisie Burgers" lights the highway like a hamburger shaped sun. Below the sign lies a dumpster, near that dumpster is Jefferey. Jeffery is dragging behind him a garbage bag, this Sisyphean task takes all of his energy as the black plastic boulder rips open and the filth of the evening's dinner rush spills onto the pavement. Jeffery was about six inches from the dumpster. He takes a look up at the night sky and heads back inside to get another bag.

In that night sky a star almost a full light year away dies. In its wake it leaves a gaping black hole- a inheritance to the cosmos. A fiery beam of light shoots forth from this black hole and begins to hurtle towards Earth. Somewhere within the beam is a man. By Earth standards he is approximately six feet and five inches tall. His body is covered in a gray armor crafted from the metal ores that can be found at the base Mount Orion (rough English translation), the largest of volcanoes on his home planet. The gauntlets strapped to his hands contain an advanced propulsion system that reverses the polarity of the gravity around. This allows him to travel through space at a rate of a light year for every ten earth minutes. Ahead he sees his destination: Earth. He removes his helmet so he can begin to adjust his bio-engineered lungs to breathe our alien planet's oxygen when he enters the atmosphere. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath...and is struck by a cell phone satellite. The man begins to fall towards Earth in a burning spiral.

Jeffery looked down at his phone after he walked inside, for some reason all service had been lost. He hit it against the palm of his hand a few times and then suddenly heard a thunderous crash from behind the door. He stepped outside and saw a smoking crater that drilled a hundred feet into the depths of the parking lot. Jefferey cautiously peeked over the edge and could see a glowing red shape at the bottom of the black top pit.

"Oh my God," Jeffery said "this is fucking awesome."

Haikus for Night Class

1. Frizzled hair, white kicks,
green sweater. My prof. looks like
Einstein; but pudgy.

2. Projector stays on,
"Firefox Security
Alert," we should run.

3. Left handed desk is:
weird, hated, misunderstood,
alone, uncouth, sad.

4. Abstract chalk on board,
is there a deeper meaning?
Or a drunk teacher?

5. Gray and blue trashcan
Live together pretty well
side/side why not we?

6. The House of Usher
fell down; poor dry wall and weird
siblings are to blame