Inappropriate Dress: Scramble-Brained

This is an exercise for a class wherein the writer must write someone inappropriately dressed for the action.

Exercise I: Inappropriate Dress: Scramble-Brained

Dr. Hatz stumbled up the steps toward the door. It was almost time. He was going to be late! He stopped only intermittently to pull up his suit pants; a few feathers trailed behind him. He was breathing deep and heavy as sweat started to break on his brow.

“For Christ’s sake! Why do these government buildings need so many damned stairs?” He sputtered in a half muffled grunt behind a large head piece. 

Half the people around him stared at him while the other half were too busy rushing elsewhere, looking at their phones, and eyes on their destinations off in some lucid state of half existence. Dr. Hatz needed this job. He had already been behind of bills in the past. Pink slips were old news. Late notices were regarded as junk mail. Dr. Hatz saw the note on his door that meant if he didn’t have money by Friday the 18’th, this PhD would be on the street. Today is Monday the 7’th and by Hatz’s -- sorry -- Dr. Hatz’s figures, this would be the final day that he could get a job and get paid on time before the notice went into effect. 

This dreadful notice which hung with contempt in that crimson color. Who was responsible for choosing the colors for urgency? Dr. Hatz had once thought. He thought they must have been insensitive sadists or perhaps more severely were power hungry men and women that experienced a secret and deep sense of sexual satisfaction from the suffering of others; knowing they were on top; knowing their heels were the ones grinding the others flesh into the pavement. Red; the color of blood; the color of Dr. Hatz’s blood was at stake indirectly with the psychological threat of the notice. The words on the notice only drove home the urgency of it all. They read:

FINAL NOTICE OF EVICTION

A Court Order has been issued requiring that all persons and their possessions be removed from these premises unless the current occupant repays all outstanding debt to his/her land owner.

If this is not done by 7am 2/18/2013 Friday,

persons remaining on the premises may be subject to arrest for trespass.

And it was signed by the deputy sheriff with Dr. Hatz’s correct address as a reminder and as verification that it was indeed his apartment under threat.

Today, Dr. Hatz has already been to six interviews. This would be his seventh, however, unbeknownst to Dr. Hatz -- as he scrambles up the stairs to the Crudesville court house ready for an interview as a receptionist -- he is currently sporting the wrong attire. For Dr. Hatz has a separate interview scheduled currently on the other side of town. Dr. Hatz is applying for the position of local sports mascot for the Crudesville Cluck’s; a popular baseball team. During all of the emotional turmoil and stress that Dr. Hatz has undergone within the past few weeks, his natural expression of human error has been pent up after long bouts of inhuman accuracy. 

Dr. Hatz finally reached the doors of the court house in the center of town and flew open the door; feathers flying through the stale air inside that smelled of aged paper and decaying souls. He shuffled past a few well (and appropriately) dressed persons gripping clipped files and briefcases. They looked perplexed but not entirely surprised. They were the kind of people that had never been surprised their entire lives; as if it were not the kind of thing that would ever happen to them even if someone jumped out and shouted bloody murder at them, they would only stare with a downtrodden or vacant expression glazed with disapproval as if thinking, There is never a time for such inappropriate behavior. You ought to act your age and be responsible.

Dr. Hatz’s chicken feet made walking difficult for those accustomed to walking without a giant chicken suit. If one were to attempt walking like an ordinary sober person while wearing such a suit, the individual wearing the suit would soon find the backs of their new feet banging against their touch chicken legs. Dr. Hatz hadn’t much practice walking like a chicken during his 8 years immersed in academia so he quickly had to rush his legs around one another like in an awkward kind of fashion that some people might do (more appropriately) during a cultural folk dance. This made it all too likely (according to Dr. Hatz -- as he had thought about the figures) that his chances of falling and ultimately humiliating himself had increased to an astronomical rate. Dr. Hatz focused on this probability with some hope of lowering that probability as he made his way to the room numbered 138 where his interview would begin shortly had he been at the correct latitudinal and longitudinal coordinates.

The air was quiet except for the dull hum of a tired air conditioner. It was a small-ish room; a perfect cube in dimension. Toward the front of the room was a desk where a woman resembling a praying mantis sat upright; her hair put up in a tight bun wearing outdated pair of reading glasses with an equally out-dated chain attached to them ensuring that they stay put on her face. Her arms were angular and wrists hung off of her forearms as she typed -- hence the praying mantis description. The woman’s sharp features struck Dr. Hatz has he stook a moment in front of her. She didn’t look up.

“Eh-Excuse me?” and then something happened.

Until now, Dr. Hatz had been spending his time furiously making sure that every action he underwent had been absolutely precise to a flawless tee. At this moment, Dr. Hatz realized that while spending so much time successfully extending dates, organizing numbers and times, constructing a map of the city (where he had only just recently moved within the past year), and lining up the perfect clothing for each individual interview with separate resumes and contacts he made his first mistake. Dr. Hatz had written the wrong destinations down at the correct times that corresponded with one another. Several beads of sweat ran down his face at a dead silent instant that seemed like far too long to be an instant. In the moment that it took for the woman to begin raising her eyes to Dr. Hatz as he stood awkwardly clad in a chicken suit, Dr. Hatz made his second mistake. His embarrassment followed his initial mistake that brought him this far and led him into a series of incomprehensible line of dialogue that went something like,

“Dr-ehhhhh-Mrs.-uh-uh-uh-uh-I mean to say-I am-you are-I’m sorry, miss was it? Ssssssssssssssss,” was the last sound he made like a shameful balloon that deflated apathetically after realizing that it was naked. At this, Dr. Hatz began to fight tears as he had absolutely no idea what to do next aside from wait for a reply.

Unbeknownst to Dr. Hatz, this woman behind the desk (whose name plate read, Deborah Tuning) was to be replaced after a couple weeks before today had turned in her two weeks notice. She had saved up enough money at this point in her life to retire peacefully though not wealthy financially and decided to pass down her old position to who ever walked through the door first. Her boss trusted her as she had been there for more than twenty years and saw more than three bosses over her while retaining all the data necessary to keep things moving smoothly. Dr. Hatz just happened to be the first person to walk through the door that day. Being a woman of humor in spite of her appearance -- that was her ruse -- Miss Tuning thought it would be entertaining to give her position to someone who least expected it no matter how incompetent or incoherent. Deborah reasoned that anyone who wanted to be a receptionist must be desperate for money like she and the other receptionists in the building were when they first got their positions. She knew that if they were really dedicated, they would apply themselves in the midst of their position and gain the same wisdom that the others had in the building; that wisdom that only comes with necessary and scheduled work ethic. 

Deborah Tuning stared at Dr. Hatz for a moment and wished she had a mask to hide her impending smile with. She took off her glasses in a very neat fashion and said as she had prepared to say, “I have left all the necessary notes for my replacement here. You won’t need anything more to get you going. That is,” she paused, “if you still want the job. I would like to hear a hearty cluck on my way out though. This job, while having its perks here and there -- birthday parties, casual Fridays, holidays, etc.  -- is still a bit uninspired at times like today. I should like to be at the least bit entertained since you have come so equipped.” Dr. Hatz was in absolute shock but had no choice but to agree or else his potential chance of loosing this position would increase and could very well go to the penguin that would be sure to follow him in. He had no clear reason in his mind. Everything was absurd chaos. Dr. Hatz had short-circuited. 

Miss Tuning arose and began to walk out the door carrying a modest box of things and Dr. Hatz -- feeling more elated than he had felt in a very very long time -- gave a long and hearty, “BA-GOOOOOOOOOOOOOCK!” as Miss Tuning exited her once perfect little cube of a position to retire at home with her other interests. She smiled a wonderfully toothy smile that couldn’t have been imagined upon her face after Dr. Hatz’s initial impression of her.

This was the beginning of Dr Hatz’s climb back to the top. Had he done it, truly? Could he have done it or was it chance? Probability? Or, perhaps, it was unpredictability; unfiltered, unassuming, irregularity; in a word, chaos.

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