ORDINARY JOEA Story by Danny ZilThis is how the precious gift of life turns out for most of us. ORDINARY JOE Ordinary Joe liked winter. The cold. The
rain. The snow. The darkness. You could hide in all that. Become invisible.
Disappear. Ordinary Joe hated summer. The heat. The
blue skies. Endless bright lite. Endless sunshine. Everythin visible. You
couldn’t hide in that. Things had started out fine for Ordinary
Joe. In his teens, they were lookin good. He was a handsome guy, beddin some of
the more attractive girls in his school. Hell, even a few of their Moms. He was
doin well in his studies. Engineerin. He was also throwin quarterback passes
that were attractin the attention of the pros. Yep, everythin was lookin good. Then a motorbike accident left him with a small
metal plate in his throwin arm. Sure he could still use it okay but he couldn’t
make the passes anymore. That pissed him off real bad an his studies
fell away. Then he got one of his girlfriends pregnant
an wound up havin to marry her. They had the kid and he had to give up his
studies an take factory work to support them. Then the mortgage. Then the second kid. The
end of dreams. Friends fell away. The drinkin started. The marriage fell away.
The divorce started. Now Ordinary Joe was in his forties. Livin
alone in a rented tenth floor flat. Hardly any friends. No real interests.
Occasional women but they got canned for one reason or another. Same way he got
canned from jobs for one reason or another. Christ one time he’d been so desperate for
money that he’d worked in one of them care homes for old folks. What a stinkin
job that was. Actually wipin old c***s’ arses for a livin. Changin their
diapers. Moppin their drool. Shovin mulched up s**t into their toothless gobs.
That didn’t last. Now it was a borin repetitive factory job
packin internet orders into boxes. Christ. He could go a whole shift an hardly
say a word to anyone. Not that it mattered. Ordinary Joe had nothin much to say
anymore an hardly anybody interested him. For daytime, the drug of choice was Zanax. For
nitetime, the drink of choice was vodka. Ordinary Joe drank himself to sleep
most nites an drank himself into a stupor at weekends. It would go on that way
till he died. Starin out the window at the downtown scene
on winter’s nites, Ordinary Joe could drink himself into the darkness. Sittin
there, smokin an drinkin, he often thought about how bad it had all become.
Dead end job. Hardly saw his kids. Hardly any friends. Always chasin money. No
hope of ever achievin anythin anymore. He was just another nobody. An ordinary
joe. How good it had all looked when he was
fifteen, sixteen. ‘Christ, if you knew how your f****n life was goin to turn
out there’d be hardly any of us left,’ he often thought. Every day it was the grim struggle. The
grim struggle to keep work. The grim struggle for money. The grim struggle to
stay sane. Convicted criminals were prisoners on the inside. Ordinary Joe was a
prisoner on the outside. He was still a fairly bright guy but the
booze an the drugs an the depression an all the failures were beginnin to dull
that. He was glancin thru a magazine once an he saw a quote from an old German
philosopher an he was still smart enough to appreciate it. Nietzsche. The guy had written, ‘The first
best thing is not to have been born. The second best thing is to die soon.’ Ordinary Joe couldn’t have the first one.
Fingers crossed for the second. © 2013 Danny Zil |
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