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rituals

I could no longer tolerate my harsh, unfair, brutally cheated life. The aspects of my daily trek into town, to work, to eat, to home, repeat, were aspects I could no longer put up with. I felt alone, like an outcast. I felt like a prisoner in the narrow walls of my office. My shoes were too tight. My house no longer emitted a sense of security. My bed no longer blanketed me with undeniable warmth and comfort. 

With the thought in my mind every morning when I would drive down the concrete trail of the freeway, the burning thought that everything I was doing in this perfect society was tainted, redundant. I drive to my office to work for money to feed my car to carry me back to the office to work for money to pay for car food, as well as my food to keep me alive so I can go on doing the same bullshit every day for the rest of my life without blinking an eye. Without taking a moment to realize what I was doing was completely meaningless, I would stick to my ritual, get in my car and drive to my office, where I shuffle between the uniformed stoics and into my office where I can close my eyes and pretend to be somewhere else. Where? Anywhere. 

I used to enjoy going on the internet, escaping the obnoxious rings and buzzes of phones and messages. But now the internet is just as tainted as everything else. Everything in my point of view is completely fucked. The clutches of consumerism. Advertisements and pop-ups and viruses and porn you have to pay for. Ugly billboards, loud commercials. The intimate air we breathe, laced with the excrement of our motors. Hobo's and business men and prostitutes and kids selling candy for church and beautiful women who you lust after and know you will never have. Girls, little ten year old girls with makeup on their fresh faces, masking their youth with synthetic age, making them appear ten years older. Bills, banks, parties, gas stations, convenient stores, malls, McDonald's.  It's all a scheme and everything is revolves around the dollar, the medium of exchange, and when I realized this I wanted to leave. I would no longer return to the fake home where I dwelt, where I endured for the safety of my own personal boredom.  

I thought about this a lot as a kid, living under the house of my father, the only one in my family with a job, who supported us and provided for us. I often thought that his life was meaningless and stupid. He comes home and complains to his wife, my mother, about financial issues and job stress and car problems and overdue bills and money and this and that and food and Christmas and money and this and that and and and and and and...

When I reached the mature age of seventeen I realized that my fathers life wasn't meaningless as I had assumed. His life's purpose was to bring me up, raise me to become a clone of him, a wax figure with a heart beat, a spawn that eventually will be working the same hours of the same day, performing the same duties of the rest of working class America. My fathers job was to make me aware of what he had to do, and what I will have to do. He made me a replica of him.

But me and my father are two different people. I may be working the same job as he did, the same hours, the same pay, the same routine, but I don't have a family to look after. He was forced to maintain his job, obligated beyond control. I have no one. I am alone. I don't even have a cat. I could leave and never come back. The thought of leaving was the first though that blossomed in my mind as soon as my eyes would open and I would awake from dreams of being somewhere else.

Where do I go? Where do I go to be happy, to not have to pretend that I am content. Is there a place where people don't annoy you? Where money is never an issue? Where food tastes real, and isn't served out of cans and plastic wrapping and bottles. Where air isn't laced with poison and you can breathe without thinking about pollutants. Where is there to go? 

On one morning of my ritualistic life, I awoke and showered. I dressed and got into my car. I was low on gas. The radio yelled at me. It was trying to get me to shop at some place. It was trying to sell me this, sell me that, go here, shop there. Then music started to play. Very poor excuses for music. Racket. Noise. Monkeys screaming and beating there chest. Primates trying to imitate Sinatra. Why? I killed the radio. I drive to work. A face on a billboard gawks at me. Really, that's who they chose to promote their business, really? That a*****e? I pass people on the sidewalks. They yell. They flip signs, dressed as chickens or some other dumb mascot. They push carts filled with cans. They push strollers with twin babies in them. They walk around with their dogs. They walk around with leashes on their four year old's.

Where can I go where there are no blatant flaws?

At work my computer wont turn on. I struggle with it for half an hour. I get under my desk and tug at wires and cords and then I finally get it to turn on. The screen illuminates. I let it get settled for a minute, and then I click on the internet icon. Connection problems. Of course. I leave my office. I hear talk among the employees of a football game. I am asked if I'm glad the Raiders won. I don't watch football, I say. You don't watch football? Who are you? Do you have a life?

No.

I don't.

In the lunch room later, two women talk about American Idol. They talk about Justin Bieber. They get wet talking about Bradley f*****g Cooper. They laugh discussing The Big Bang Theory. 

In the hall, I pass a gorgeous woman I have never seen before, absolutely impeccable. I get mad and curse myself. I can't stand beautiful women. They make me want to cry.

The day plays out. Phones ring. People talk about their interests, their gossips, and I sit back and watch, completely uninvolved. I leave early and drive home. I get pulled over by a highway patrol officer, who claims I was speeding. I never speed, I never drive past 60. He gives me a ticket anyway and I continue the drive home. I pull into the narrow driveway of my small house. I go inside and go to bed.  I leave the TV off.

At work I try to avoid the extensive antics of my employee Hal, who works as a personal assistant to me, normally getting my lunch and filing papers away, but usually reading Maxim at his desk, and drinking grape soda while playing on his phone.

I was sitting in my uncomfortable chair talking on the phone to someones lawyer, an annoying old c**t who doesn't know when to shut her trap and let me reply. The chair is permanently reclined back, there was no way to pull the back rest forward and I  always find myself slouching in the chair, staring at the ceiling. 

“Do you know how damaging this incident can be to your reputation? Do you know whats going to happen to you when this gets made public? Do you?”

I sighed deeply and shut my eyes tightly until they become numb. “Mrs. Bernstein, please, I understand what your client has gone through, but it was a freak accident, it has never happened before and never will happen aga--”

“But a child was killed! An innocent, young black baby was killed because of the design of your recliner, and frankly--”

“Mrs. Bernstein, listen, the chair was not designed to kill poor little black kids. How was our company supposed to know that a child would crawl under the reclined chair and get killed from the--”

“He wasn't just killed! He was decapitated! Do you have any idea--”

“Mrs. Bernstein, look,” There's a knock on my office door and I sigh again. “I'm going to have to call you back Mr. Bern-, Mrs. Bernstein.”

“I beg your pardon Mr. Callaha--” 

I hung up the phone and closed my eyes. “Come in.”

Hal opens the door abruptly and walks in, shutting the door behind him. He has a facetious grin plastered to his face, it seems to me that his face is always like that. Hal has a piece of paper in each hand and the light reflects off its shiny surface, obviously torn out of a magazine. He sits in the chair in front of my desk.

"Hey Jack, I gotta scenario for you." He says this with a repressed laugh that shows in his eyes. I opens my eyes and give him a blank stare. 

"What is it, Hal? Cant you see that I'm busy?”

"Oh come on Jack it'll only take a second." A laugh seeps out of his lips.

"Alright, lets have it." I lean back in the broken chair and cross my arms. Hal leans forward earnestly.

"Okay, here's the scenario." He holds the two pieces of paper up, one in each hand, his giggling face in between them. They're pictures of women. "Which one would you rather do?"

The picture on the left I recognized as a very attractive model, half naked and breasts nearly visible, and the picture on the right was an incredibly obese woman, guzzling down corn dogs and mustard visible on her face.

"What the hell, Hal?" Hal starts laughing, accidentally spitting on my desk.

"Oh come on, Jack, its just a harmless, hypothetical scenario."

"Will you leave me alone if I answer you're stupid question?

"Its not a question, its a scenario."

"Same goddamn thing." Hal looked at me anxiously, waiting for an answer. "Fine. The one on the left. Obviously."

"What do you mean obviously?”

I don't say anything.

“You don't find my wife attractive?" He shakes the paper on the right gently.

 I had to repress the laugh that formed in my throat and I grin. Without making eye contact I say, "Hal, that isn't your wife, you're not married."

  "You don't know that.”

  "Hal, get the f**k out of here."

"Okay, Jack, okay.” He walks to the door and turns around before opening it. “But what if I were to say the one on the right has a bigger butt?"

My view on life and the world beyond this society was nothing like I had imagined. I dream about rainforests, about places where all that remains is green, grass, plants, trees, not a brick in sight. Not a motor audible. Not a person around.

Hal knocks on my door and comes in with today's lunch. He sets a bag on the table and I don't acknowledge him; I'm on my computer looking at pictures of the forests and jungles of the land of Buddha. Anywhere but here. Hal, aware of my strict private, reserved social life, starts to the door.

“Hal, wait.”

He turns and looks at me. There are food stains around his lips and he has his hand on the door knob, half turned.

“Sit down.”

“Okay, Jack. What's up?”

“What if I were to say I am leaving and never coming back?”

“I would say, Give me your job.”

Hal laughs quietly and I smile vaguely. I turn the computer around and show him the images.

“You're going there?”

“Yes. I think I'm going to leave tonight.”

“Where is that?” He points to the screen.

“I'm not sure exactly. Asia, I believe. Far from here.”

“What are you going to do about your job? About your home?”

“I don't really care.”

“But what about your life? What about your friends, family?”

“I have no friends, no family. I don't really have a life.”

“What about me?”

“What about you?”

“You provide me with this job. Where will I work?”

“I'll promote you.”

“You will?”

“Maybe.”

“But, what--” He struggled to find words. “What about Breaking Bad? You won't know how it ends.”

“I don't watch Breaking Bad.”

“WHAT.”

“Hal, listen. I'm leaving because I am sick.”

“Like you have cancer?”

“No. I am utterly sick and tired and disgusted about this generation. This snippet of time I was born into. This ugly place were there is no peace. No quiet. No escape from the annoying commercials and loud people and the violence and the a*****e cops.”

“BUT BREAKING BAD!”

“Hal, shut up.”

“You don't watch Breaking Bad? What's wrong with you?”

“Hal, get the f**k out of here.”

“But Mr. Callahan,”

“GET!”

He leaves. I stand up from my broken chair and stretch. I hear the sound of talk. I hear phones ring. I hear cars honk. I hear dogs bark. I see ugly people. I see violent minorities. I see beautiful women I will never kiss. I smell cheap cologne. My cheap cologne. 

I get home and find that my house has been broken into. Or maybe I just left the door unlocked. There are things scattered everywhere, broken and out of place. My television is gone. My radio is gone. My CD's are gone. They took every electronic. Drawers are opened and empty. In my bedroom the safe is on the floor sideways, and there are dents and bruises on it. Metal clashing metal. They couldn't get it open. Haste sent them elsewhere. They should have just taken it with them. Open it later. Stupid, stupid thieves. They can't even steal right. The entire house is trashed. I walk into my library and it is completely untouched. I laugh to myself and decide I want a drink.

In the kitchen there is food on the ground, there are more drawers opened, some of them empty some not. I open the alcohol cabinet to find it bare. Of course they took the alcohol. They need to celebrate. 

Back in the library I lay on the carpet and breathe in the smell of books and literature, the smell of time and the past and brilliant people long gone, a society extinct and to never return. I close my eyes. They took all the things I don't need. Just another reason to leave. 

In my bedroom I open the safe and take out all the money, my passport, all my legal documents. I open a suitcase and throw whats left of my clothes in there, along with the money. I take the single suitcase to my car and get in and take one last glance at my home. My place of quietness, and privacy. My shelter of loneliness. My box of all of my things. Or, rather, what remains of my possessions. I sigh and then smile, a forced smile, I believe. 

I drive to the airport. I park my car next to a BMW. I carry my suitcase in my left hand and in my right I hold the potential to leave forever. There is a small line, and I patiently wait while s****y music plays from invisible speakers. Finally the line is concluding, I smile at the airline clerk. A pretty woman, with glossy lips and shadowed eyes. For some reason she reminds me of a bird. I hand her the money in my right hand and tell her I'll take the next flight out of America. But don't tell me where. I don't want to know where I'm going.

Reviews

[Naraly Godinez]

It was insanely witty and funny as always it made me laugh in the gloomiest moments .
Almost a sympathetic laugh for the guy. Loving the themes you have been choosing its easy to digest considering modern day dilemmas. Yet fun and exciting to read , somehow very uplifting.

[Naraly Godinez]

Staring blankly at my white ceiling ...focusing on nothing but dots... Life is a scenario don't you think one big scenario turned into a reality by the choices that occur some made by us others by those who surrounds us the majority by people we don't know choices we pick out of a bag , one with no caution tape no guessing no suprises. A child safe bag. One big scenario.. And sometimes that what keeps us from advancing and we have this belief that everything that presents itself in front of us is merely a possibility one outcome and never a chance to expand or grow into something biggger. We believe ... BELIEVE that we are a simple jack in the box , with a scruffy itchy costume jumping out to please only when we are commanded to.