The Cooler

 

Lemon Lime Gatorade…check. Cool Blue…got it. Let’s see…Bug Juice, Bug Juice…where’s the box of Bug Juice? There it is! God, it’s cold in here. I want to get outta this place thought Aleksandr Fairholm as he folded his arms tightly across his chest and shifted his weight from one side of his body to the other in a desperate attempt to find warmth. His eyes scanned box label after box label and then found the position of each product on the shelves to see how many more bottles needed to be priced and put out.

            The man stooped down to pick up a large cardboard box filled with two liter bottles of Dr. Pepper. He hefted it up, scanning the overpopulated shelves behind him for a space for this tremendous box. He rested the box on his right hip, holding on as best he could with one hand as he pushed the boxes over to create a space. This isn’t right. Someone like me shouldn’t be stuck in a place like this. I should be traveling the world, spreading poetic genius to captivated audiences! Aleksandr thought to himself as he pushed the box into place. 

His breath hung in the air as he finished stocking the rest of the cooler. He waited, as was his duty, for customers to stop in and take something from the shelves. His store prided itself on never having bare shelves, and it was because of the suffering of one dedicated stock boy that this was possible. While he waited, he took up the pricing gun and adjusted the dial so that the gun would stamp the total $1.39 on the bright yellow labels. Aleksandr put the gun down and reached into his back pocket. He pulled out an ice cold box cutter and pushed up the blade. He knelt down and tore through the packing tape on a box of Aquafina, and then he started to unpack the box and price the individual bottles of water. The great literary minds before me never had to devote their time to such menial labor. I would like to tell the world of pastoral poetry, of wandering lonely as a cloud, and of the minstrels’ devoted, passionate love. I want a studio apartment in the heart of New York City where my mind can roam freely to touch upon the valiant wings of uplifting inspiration. And yet, I find myself here amongst these stifling boxes unpacking drinks that are no more inspiring than dreamless sleep.

“You know,” Aleksandr mused aloud, “I don't think these people have the slightest clue just how talented I really am. I mean, I can recite poetry that most people haven't even heard of!” Aleksandr exclaimed excitedly, his voice clearly audible over the humming of the cooler's refrigerator. “I belong on stage in front of an audience. I should be a famous reciter of poetry!” Aleksandr dropped down amongst the cardboard boxes, falling to his knees onto the cold tile floor before throwing his hands up above his head and crying out, “As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need O! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!” 

In a matter of seconds his manager flung open the cooler door and looked around, eyes trying to catch a glimpse of the phantom stock boy. He sighed as he spied Aleksandr on the ground. “Stop with all that noise and get back to work. I'm not paying you to act like some sort of idiot,” the manager barked before turning on his heel and shutting the door.

With cheeks be-painted red from a mixture of embarrassment and mild hypothermia, Aleksandr climbed to his feet, his knees now aching slightly from colliding with the tiled floor. “Oh Apollo, why haven't you come on your chariot and whisked me away from these simpletons? I bet the manager hasn't even heard of Shelley's Ode to the West Wind” Aleksandr grumbled before turning back to the mountains of boxes. He inspected the shelves and then crossed his arms over his chest again before sitting down on an overturned milk crate. He sat there defiantly waiting for more of the drinks to be taken from the shelves. He smiled to himself and adjusted the sleeves on his work-issued long sleeve polo shirt that he habitually ironed every morning and every night before he rested his hands on the pin-striped dress pants he always wore as a part of his work ensemble. “You know, I'll just wait until one slot gets dangerously low, then, I will invite whoever takes the last drink out for coffee so I can discuss with them my brilliance! Ha! Then we'll see if there are any intelligent, cultured people left in this town,” Aleksandr declared with a defiant nod. “Boy, I hope it's at least a girl that I get to take out. Maybe I can woo her with my recitations,” Aleksandr said with a slight laugh, though he secretly hoped that he was that fortunate.

He continued sitting there, his body growing colder, his gaze becoming less intense as he watched as the various drinks dissipated at a slower rate than he'd anticipated. He started tapping his foot, his recently polished dress shoes thudding lightly against the floor. He started rubbing his arms, the long sleeves not keeping him as warm as he'd wished they would.  He groaned, knowing that all he was doing was adding wrinkles to his once-perfect attire. His dark brown eyes glanced lazily down into his lap as he yawned out of boredom. He would hear the slight rattle of glass bottles striking together every so often and that would snap him out of his half-sleep state and immediately the challenge he'd proposed would grant him new vigor. His eyes were given alertness and all signs of weariness seemed to leave him with each sound of the doors opening.

Soon, he noticed that he was down to his last Pepsi. He stood, waiting in silent anticipation for that fated moment that someone would be forced to acknowledge his existence and he would be able to see whether or not he should give up on the small town that he believed had no sense of culture. A few moments later, just as he was starting to feel defeated, he saw a hand wrap around the last plastic bottle of Pepsi. Aleksandr knew that this was the time. He took another bottle in hand and strutted to the empty space. He looked through the empty row and saw a dazzling beauty with hair the color of a raven's wings and turquoise eyes with little flecks of grey and darker blue. He took in a deep breath as the girl smiled, exposing her pristine teeth just beyond her soft pink lips. He gazed at her alabaster skin and noticed that it was without blemish. His heart beat faster in his chest as they stood, eyes locked on to one another. “Looks like you need to restock your Pepsi,” she said. 

His thoughts, racing faster than he'd expected, overwhelmed him; and after a couple seconds of looking dumbfounded he shoved the bottle into the empty row, blocking her view of him. The girl shrugged and shut the door before turning and walking toward the cashiers. “Wait!” he shouted, though the girl didn't notice he had called to her. He sank down to his knees as if weighed down by some unseen suit of concrete as tears welled up in his eyes. “It seems as though I am like ill-fated Cassandra. Only, instead of my words being heard but not believed, my words fall on ears packed full of wax. I guess an audience is just not for me, not if one set of eyes is enough to make me forget my lines,” Aleksandr lamented before picking himself up and stocking the shelves- finally resigning himself to the fate that was the cooler.

             

 

Reviews

[Shadkim]

I love the allusions in this piece! Whoot!

Well, it isn't the best one you've written (and I bet you're smiling) but there are some good points to this story. You've chosen a creative topic that isn't used often - a guy in a freezer.. what is his story - and blended artfully allusions that fit even when unrecognized. I liked his ramblings; it really revealed what was going on in his head.

I'm not sure how to make this better. It all depends on the "So What?" factor. What did you want the readers to learn after finishing the story? Perhaps you might want to add another worker in, someone to demonstrate how average people treat him - not just a boss.

Good start - let's see what you can morph this into!

[Taja B.]

Well, I don't really have that much experience in prose writing to bash this, but even if I was experienced in this area, I definitely wouldn't because this is a pretty good story. I've noticed your allusions of various lines of famous poems such as " I wandered lonely as a cloud" and the excessive hubris of the character, and you used them pretty well. Plus, it's nicely expressed, and I liked the overall message stating that the only thing that was holding him back from his dreams is his arrogance and his delusion.

So overall, this is a creative and well written story.

Thanks for sharing.:)

[Emily B]

One to recite:

The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me,
That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
And to-night I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.
--Longfellow
Retrieved from "http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Day_is_Done"

I enjoyed your story very much.

[Marie]

I liked it. Great job.

[Rain]

Having never read any of your longer work, I am amazed by how well written it is. It is captivating, you made his character so believable. I liked him immediately. To me, an unskilled reviewer, I read for what a piece makes me feel, or does it make me feel, and this piece engulfed me. I want more!!! Incredible write. Rain..

[Kenji Light]

Interesting idea playing with a self-obsessed and self-proclaimed "literati." Not entirely sure it works though...I don't always pick up on the satirical elements, if that is what this is meant to be; instead I tend to read it as overly emotional and cliche...If it's meant to be sarcastic, find some way to make that evident...otherwise readers may just think you are an overly sentimental and less-than-original writer...none of which is true. Good beginning, but I think your other piece is more workshop ready.

Concerns:


What's with the funky name spelling? Is he foriegn? Or are we just bored and attempting to be "creative" and "clever"? Reminds me of a name from a SF novel...a regretfully sterotypical one. Details and clarification might help this.

" "Lemon Lime Gatorade�check. Cool Blue�got it. Let's see�Bug Juice, Bug Juice�where's the box of Bug Juice? There it is! God, it's cold in here. I want to get outta this place," thought Aleksandr Fairholm as he folded his arms tightly across his chest. He shifted his weight from one side of his body to the other in a desperate attempt to find warmth." (edited. This applies for all your internal monologues. They should either be in quotes or take the "he said/thought" if you want to keep them in italics. Mixing the two doesn't work very well).

"The man stooped down to pick up a large cardboard box filled with two liter bottles of Dr. Pepper." The man? What man? Be specific.

Cut "as was his duty"

No "Oh Apollo"...shudder...

"You know, I'll just wait until one slot gets dangerously low, then, I will invite whoever takes the last drink out for coffee so I can discuss with them my brilliance! Ha! Then we'll see if there are any intelligent, cultured people left in this town," Aleksandr declared with a defiant nod. "Boy, I hope it's at least a girl that I get to take out. Maybe I can woo her with my recitations," Aleksandr said with a slight laugh, though he secretly hoped that he was that fortunate.".... Are you trying to be sterotypical and cliche? Is this supposed to be satrirical? Right now, it's just irritating me...

His eyes went to his lap? Hmmm...maybe they should go somewhere less....provacative...

"He looked through the empty row and saw a dazzling beauty with hair the color of a raven's wings and turquoise eyes with little flecks of grey and darker blue." Romance Novel 3.0. "dazzling beauty" "raven's wings"....NO.

Your character is a little two dimensional and hard to relate to. WHo is he? What are his motivations? Where has he gotten the impression that he's a literary genius? What does he CRAVE? GIve me a reason to care about him and to like/dislike him.

Again, all of your "cliches" can work if your using them to make fun of this character and his overly Romantic ideals...but you need to bring that out a little more. Right now he just sounds like a somewhat whiny and sterotypical kid who thinks he's "too good" for his small town because he's "too smart"; in reality, he - at this point in time - seems just as trite as the rest of them.

- M