Everyone moved to the right side of the bus.
"Sit by the window Frank, and look straight ahead. Don't talk, make faces, or react at all. This will be over soon, we aren't far from the reception center", Leslie said.
Frank didn't argue and moved to the window seat. Leslie peered down the aisle-way to make sure it was clear.
"Charon, we're ready!"
Next to Charon's seat was a long brass lever. He reached down and pulled it a full 45 degrees until it was fully vertical. Immediately, a pleasant tone sounded and then two sparkling gold beams descended from the ceiling of the bus. The beam cut off the driver's seat and the side of the bus where the passengers were sitting.
Leslie spoke up, “Don’t touch the beam Frank. It will cause pain like a white hot burn. It won't actually damage you, but it will put you out of commission for a long time. Remember what I said, keep your eyes straight ahead and don't stare at anyone."
Charon set the air brakes and pulled the door lever. The door slid back and a tall man in a tight black suit entered and stood by the farebox. His muscular form showed through the tight shabby suit. He had long dark hair that was slick back and put in a ponytail. He was very handsome, but had a slimy air about him.
"Good afternoon Charon,How are you today?", the man said trying to sound cheerful.
"I`m the same as I was yesterday Taariq. Let`s get on with it. How many souls total today?"
The man sighed like he was deeply hurt. "I`m sorry I keep thinking things can be amicable between us...I thought since we worked together we could be civil...I have six souls today."
Charon looked up at the man. He squinted his eyes, then paused for a few seconds as if to temper his answer. he finally responded in the way he had developed over years of being a bus driver in Newark. "Listen Buddy, this is as…F----ing polite as you deserve (forgive me Lord.). You savor the pain of others like I enjoy a cold beer on a hot day. Let me fully develop the concept of the level of politeness that you are deserving of from me in story form. You like stories right? Let’s say I went to my favorite diner in Newark, the one down by 33rd street, and I ordered a big piece of peach pie ala mode with a cup of strong coffee from the moody waitress slash aspiring actress. Said waitress brings me a cold cup of weak decaf coffee and a slice of dried up peach pie without any ice cream, I would still be more polite to her than I am to you. Let’s say I made a stink and demanded my ice cream and hot coffee, so she took it back to the kitchen and instead brought me the pie with a big scoop of steaming dog crap on the pie instead of the Brier’s Vanilla Bean ice cream with the same cup of cold coffee but this time she dropped a couple of ice cubes in it, even then, I would still be more polite to her than I am to you. As I left the building, if the dog that had produced said crap came up to me on the street and peed on my shoe and then bit me on the leg, even then I would be more polite to that dog then I would be to you. Finally, (hopefully this makes it crystal clear), if that same scoop of dog crap that had been on the plate of pie was put into a flaming paper bag and put on my doorstep, I would still be more polite to that piece of flaming dog crap than I would ever be to you…I trust this had made the matter clear enough for such a towering intellect such as yourself. You act like you are some touchy feely sensitive sort. We all know you are a pathetic messenger boy who enjoys hunting lost souls down like rats and then hurting them and tormenting them for his own pleasure! You aren’t offended I don’t want to be your forever friend; you’re just in love with your delusions of grandeur and think everyone should kiss your butt. I ain’t stopping you from treating the lost souls the way you are allowed to, but on this bus, it’s my rules. Are we clear? “
The tall man stared at Charon for a few seconds and then nodded slowly.
“Bring your people on the bus. We’re running behind while you and I are flapping our gums about our feelings like a couple of little girls. “
“Very well...”
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Frank's Bad Day Part IX
"Leslie, whats the difference between SMI & Purgatory?"
"Which version do you want?"
"The short version...I`m beggin` ya."
"Oh, since you asked so nicely...", she tilted her head and grinned slyly.
"SMI and Purgatory are both places where people are prepared for Heaven. The difference is that SMI does this by interfering for good in the lives of people on earth, whereas Purgatory uses more 'classical' methods of preparation. I can't go into more specifics than that until you go through orientation."
After making such a big deal of the long explanations, Frank was trying to seem satisfied with this crumb of information. Before he could try to make any small talk with Leslie, the bus slowed to a stop. Charon's voice came from the front of the bus, "Ok everyone, move to the right side of the bus. We have a pick up of some lost souls, you know the drill. Frank, you sit next to Leslie, and you do EXACTLY what she tells you. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, I understand."
"Good man. Nothing to worry about if you do what you're told."
"Which version do you want?"
"The short version...I`m beggin` ya."
"Oh, since you asked so nicely...", she tilted her head and grinned slyly.
"SMI and Purgatory are both places where people are prepared for Heaven. The difference is that SMI does this by interfering for good in the lives of people on earth, whereas Purgatory uses more 'classical' methods of preparation. I can't go into more specifics than that until you go through orientation."
After making such a big deal of the long explanations, Frank was trying to seem satisfied with this crumb of information. Before he could try to make any small talk with Leslie, the bus slowed to a stop. Charon's voice came from the front of the bus, "Ok everyone, move to the right side of the bus. We have a pick up of some lost souls, you know the drill. Frank, you sit next to Leslie, and you do EXACTLY what she tells you. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, I understand."
"Good man. Nothing to worry about if you do what you're told."
Monday, November 14, 2011
Frank's Bad Day-Part VIII
The bus slowed to a crawl and finally stopped at
the waiting group of people. There were eight people in all; five men and three
women. They all carried a black canvas messenger bag and wore a lanyard with an
ID card on it. The men were dressed in brown pants, tan shirts and navy blue
ties. The women were wearing khaki skirts, off white blouses and navy blue
scarves, except for one striking blonde who wore a bright red scarf. It was the
first splash of any real color Frank had seen since arriving, in the drab town.
He couldn’t take his eyes off the scarf; it was like a cardinal in February
when you are dying for winter to end. In
less than a day he had forgotten how much colors add to his world. Frank was
determined that he would get to know this woman and find out why she was
allowed to wear color in this world.
As the people boarded the bus, Charon grunted “Hello” or nodded in a matter-of-fact manner, the same way we do to those acquaintances we all see every day who aren’t friendly enough to be friends, but are part of the daily landscape and must be acknowledged. Frank thought to himself that they had the look of people on a Wednesday; people who were in the middle of a long week without a weekend in sight.
“Good morning Leslie, I’m ok. How are you today? Wearing my favorite scarf today I see.”, Charon softened visibly and Frank could see where he was a smooth operator when he was younger.
“Oh, this old thing?...You're too kind.", it had the ring of an inside joke repeated year after year.
“Leslie, you see the confused looking newbie in the back of the bus? He’s heading to SMI. Could you keep an eye on him? He had a fight with an imp when he got here as it tried to steal his token and he’s having the grey town vision, so you can imagine he’s kind of shook up. He’s a good kid, but could use some extra help. Would you do that for me as a personal favor?”
She smiled and patted his shoulder, “Anything for you, Charon.”
“Thanks Leslie, you’re the best.” Charon said with an almost wicked grin. It was obvious they had that the sort of purely platonic but slightly flirtatious relationship enjoyed by mature men and women; the kind of relationship where you obviously appreciate the opposite sex, but you prize their friendship above anything else.
Leslie made her way down the aisle and finally sat down across from Frank. She reminded him of that unique type of woman that he had encountered only a few times during his life. She was attractive, but still approachable. She seemed to carry herself with that rare form of femininity that is definitely not masculine, but without the little girl silliness that makes it hard to take someone serious. She turned to Frank and smiled and put her hand out to shake his. Her grip was firm. "Hi, I`m Leslie. Charon says you are coming with us to SMI. Welcome to the company. I told Charon I would keep an eye on you for him." The corners of her lips curled just a little like a friendly smirk as she tilted her head towards Charon who lifted several fingers from the wheel to wave slightly as he kept his eyes on the road. "You should know what a compliment that is. He does not give his friendship lightly."
"I can believe that. I’m not sure why he wants to be my friend, but I`m grateful. Especially now, in this place, I’ll need any friends I can get to find my way out of this. "
"The statement you just made explains perfectly why Charon is your friend. There are so many people in the underworld who deny the reality of where they are and whose fault it is they are there. Charon has seen so many come and go that when he sees someone who “gets it” he wants to help them. So many people arrive here and they continue in the what C.S. Lewis called the “grumble that goes on forever “ and takes over all you are. There are people in Purgatory and SMA who have been there for 50-100 years. That’s a long time in human years, lucky for them it’s no time at all in God`s eyes. He is patient, not wanting any to perish, but all to come to salvation. Still, he respects our freedom to make our own decisions. That’s why the underworld… and Hell exists in its present form.
Frank tried not to be real obvious about looking away, like he was thinking deeply as he gazed out the window, but the truth was he was uncomfortable with Leslie`s statements. Frank had always tried to be cool with attractive women, no matter if he had a chance with them or not, so like any man, he didn’t always speak his mind. But suddenly as he thought about everything, he actually burst out and said what he was thinking without engaging the “clutch of coolness”.
“Leslie, is it going to be like this as long as I’m here? People going on and on about judgment, personal responsibility, theology and the nature of God ad nauseum? Because I had low expectations about the afterlife being boring, but this may be a bigger drag than I had previously imagined. I mean, I thought catechism was torture, but I’m dying here!”
Frank’s eyes got big, his nostrils flared and his face reddened. He grinned sheepishly.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to say you’re boring…or Charon…but what I meant was…that…uh…”, he fumbled for words for about 5 seconds before Leslie let out a giggle that would become a full-throw-your-head-back- belly-laugh. It was loud and without guile and was as joyous as her red scarf. The laugh spread to the other passengers, giggles, guffaws and the odd snort until it finally arrived at the front of the bus where Charon let out an uncharacteristic high pitched giggle. Frank relaxed and his face lightened and spread into a stupid grin. It would seem he was not the first person to make this observation. Frank had stumbled upon the national joke of the underworld-everyone is incredibly bored here, but there’s not much they can do about it.
As the people boarded the bus, Charon grunted “Hello” or nodded in a matter-of-fact manner, the same way we do to those acquaintances we all see every day who aren’t friendly enough to be friends, but are part of the daily landscape and must be acknowledged. Frank thought to himself that they had the look of people on a Wednesday; people who were in the middle of a long week without a weekend in sight.
Each of the travelers held their ID card up to a
red light on the coin box and passed by when the box made a cheery “Bing” noise
and then they found their way to their seats in the middle of the bus. The blonde was the last to get on the bus.
“Good morning Charon, how are you today?”, she
tilted her head and smiled softly. “Good morning Leslie, I’m ok. How are you today? Wearing my favorite scarf today I see.”, Charon softened visibly and Frank could see where he was a smooth operator when he was younger.
“Oh, this old thing?...You're too kind.", it had the ring of an inside joke repeated year after year.
“Leslie, you see the confused looking newbie in the back of the bus? He’s heading to SMI. Could you keep an eye on him? He had a fight with an imp when he got here as it tried to steal his token and he’s having the grey town vision, so you can imagine he’s kind of shook up. He’s a good kid, but could use some extra help. Would you do that for me as a personal favor?”
She smiled and patted his shoulder, “Anything for you, Charon.”
“Thanks Leslie, you’re the best.” Charon said with an almost wicked grin. It was obvious they had that the sort of purely platonic but slightly flirtatious relationship enjoyed by mature men and women; the kind of relationship where you obviously appreciate the opposite sex, but you prize their friendship above anything else.
Leslie made her way down the aisle and finally sat down across from Frank. She reminded him of that unique type of woman that he had encountered only a few times during his life. She was attractive, but still approachable. She seemed to carry herself with that rare form of femininity that is definitely not masculine, but without the little girl silliness that makes it hard to take someone serious. She turned to Frank and smiled and put her hand out to shake his. Her grip was firm. "Hi, I`m Leslie. Charon says you are coming with us to SMI. Welcome to the company. I told Charon I would keep an eye on you for him." The corners of her lips curled just a little like a friendly smirk as she tilted her head towards Charon who lifted several fingers from the wheel to wave slightly as he kept his eyes on the road. "You should know what a compliment that is. He does not give his friendship lightly."
"I can believe that. I’m not sure why he wants to be my friend, but I`m grateful. Especially now, in this place, I’ll need any friends I can get to find my way out of this. "
"The statement you just made explains perfectly why Charon is your friend. There are so many people in the underworld who deny the reality of where they are and whose fault it is they are there. Charon has seen so many come and go that when he sees someone who “gets it” he wants to help them. So many people arrive here and they continue in the what C.S. Lewis called the “grumble that goes on forever “ and takes over all you are. There are people in Purgatory and SMA who have been there for 50-100 years. That’s a long time in human years, lucky for them it’s no time at all in God`s eyes. He is patient, not wanting any to perish, but all to come to salvation. Still, he respects our freedom to make our own decisions. That’s why the underworld… and Hell exists in its present form.
Frank tried not to be real obvious about looking away, like he was thinking deeply as he gazed out the window, but the truth was he was uncomfortable with Leslie`s statements. Frank had always tried to be cool with attractive women, no matter if he had a chance with them or not, so like any man, he didn’t always speak his mind. But suddenly as he thought about everything, he actually burst out and said what he was thinking without engaging the “clutch of coolness”.
“Leslie, is it going to be like this as long as I’m here? People going on and on about judgment, personal responsibility, theology and the nature of God ad nauseum? Because I had low expectations about the afterlife being boring, but this may be a bigger drag than I had previously imagined. I mean, I thought catechism was torture, but I’m dying here!”
Frank’s eyes got big, his nostrils flared and his face reddened. He grinned sheepishly.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to say you’re boring…or Charon…but what I meant was…that…uh…”, he fumbled for words for about 5 seconds before Leslie let out a giggle that would become a full-throw-your-head-back- belly-laugh. It was loud and without guile and was as joyous as her red scarf. The laugh spread to the other passengers, giggles, guffaws and the odd snort until it finally arrived at the front of the bus where Charon let out an uncharacteristic high pitched giggle. Frank relaxed and his face lightened and spread into a stupid grin. It would seem he was not the first person to make this observation. Frank had stumbled upon the national joke of the underworld-everyone is incredibly bored here, but there’s not much they can do about it.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Frank's Bad Day Part VII
The bus drove on through miles and miles of the same dreary town, block after block, street after street, the colors, shades and shapes repeated many times over. Frank finally decided to see if Charon would chat.
"So, why is this vehicle a bus and not a ferry boat? Why is there a grey town and no underworld of sulfur and brimstone?"
"Oh, that`s actually easier to explain than you would think. It`s not because anything was updated and modernized. It’s because of the change in human thought, perception and beliefs. What you think you see is based on your own archetypes, desires and values. Only few fragments of the original mythos remain in you. That’s why you still see my oar, and why the coin still resonates. Even though you were trained religiously as a child, you never spent much time considering the afterlife seriously, you probably just hoped you believed right and would not go to Hell, am I right?”
Frank nodded sheepishly.
“Yeah, thought so. That’s why what you see reflected around you is more about your own belief about a world of incredible boredom and quiet, grasping desperation than any traditional ideas about Hell and the Afterlife. In some ways that’s good because your destination is ‘non-traditional’ and you will be able to deal with it easier. “
"Are you saying I can only see what I am familiar with? That I am unable to see things as they truly are?"
"That`s over simplifying it. There is more to it than that. First of all, when adult humans are confronted with multiple things that do not correspond to their worldview, they actually filter their perceptions to see a more familiar world as they become more accustomed to things around them. It’s a mental filter to keep you from thinking you have lost your mind. It’s also because you don`t always have the mental vocabulary, the symbols, to be able to deal with what you are experiencing. If you remember in the book of Ezekiel in the Bible, you can see how the prophet had problems describing the heavenly beings and his descriptions didn`t make sense, because he was dealing with something outside his preconceived notions of existence"
"I guess that makes some sense, but you also said my desires and values had something to do with what I see and experience. Why is that?"
Charon smiled a slightly crooked grin and then proceeded slowly, "For millennia humans have told stories about the afterlife, most of them were just that, stories. The truth is that everyone`s experience in the afterlife varies based on who they are. Their Hell is their own personal torments; their Purgatory is based on cleansing their unique sins and failings. Their Heaven is those things that make them the happiest. Sure, there are some similarities, darkness, fire and demons exist in Hell and angels and streets of gold in Heaven, but after that the experience can vary a great deal depending on the person. Much of that is because of the power of the human imagination and how it rules the development of faith and fear. "
“Ok…So…have you always been the ferryman?”
Charon looked up at Frank in the rear view mirror, “Enough applied theology for one day, eh Frank? Yeah, it’s a lot to take in..."
He paused for about 10 seconds staring straight ahead and then answered the question, "Actually, there have been about 20,000 different ferrymen throughout the ages. We all take the name Charon. We were mortals who take the job as part of the reclamation of our souls, you know, it’s our purgatory. Some of us do the job for many years, others for a few months. I’ve been Charon for 8 years now. It’s a good gig for the most part. I was a bus driver in Newark for 30 years on earth, and I hated it. Hated working, hated people, hated my life. From the time I got back from being a soldier in Korea, there was this big black cloud over my head. I died before I was 50 and the only bright spot in my life was the love of my wife and my family. I still believed in God, but couldn’t get through the hate for some reason. Now, I’ve come to the point where I almost enjoy the work, and I feel like I’m helping people. They say the reclamation of your soul is something that occurs when you don’t expect it, when you aren’t looking for it but are busy being useful to others. You may notice, I still have some rough edges, but I’ve got nothing but time now, and I know I’m gonna see my wife Jackie and my kids…and my Lord soon. ”
Frank looked around nervously. He wasn’t used to people speaking about God like that. He wasn’t used to Charon’s type of brutal honesty, just laying out your life in front of people like meat on a grill for everyone to see. Frank had spent his life much of his adult life with very little beyond shallow conversations. His relationships had been mostly acquaintances, his romances short-lived. Real intimacy with others made him uncomfortable.
Frank's fears were allayed as he realized Charon was slowing down to pick up a group of people at the next bus stop.
"So, why is this vehicle a bus and not a ferry boat? Why is there a grey town and no underworld of sulfur and brimstone?"
"Oh, that`s actually easier to explain than you would think. It`s not because anything was updated and modernized. It’s because of the change in human thought, perception and beliefs. What you think you see is based on your own archetypes, desires and values. Only few fragments of the original mythos remain in you. That’s why you still see my oar, and why the coin still resonates. Even though you were trained religiously as a child, you never spent much time considering the afterlife seriously, you probably just hoped you believed right and would not go to Hell, am I right?”
Frank nodded sheepishly.
“Yeah, thought so. That’s why what you see reflected around you is more about your own belief about a world of incredible boredom and quiet, grasping desperation than any traditional ideas about Hell and the Afterlife. In some ways that’s good because your destination is ‘non-traditional’ and you will be able to deal with it easier. “
"Are you saying I can only see what I am familiar with? That I am unable to see things as they truly are?"
"That`s over simplifying it. There is more to it than that. First of all, when adult humans are confronted with multiple things that do not correspond to their worldview, they actually filter their perceptions to see a more familiar world as they become more accustomed to things around them. It’s a mental filter to keep you from thinking you have lost your mind. It’s also because you don`t always have the mental vocabulary, the symbols, to be able to deal with what you are experiencing. If you remember in the book of Ezekiel in the Bible, you can see how the prophet had problems describing the heavenly beings and his descriptions didn`t make sense, because he was dealing with something outside his preconceived notions of existence"
"I guess that makes some sense, but you also said my desires and values had something to do with what I see and experience. Why is that?"
Charon smiled a slightly crooked grin and then proceeded slowly, "For millennia humans have told stories about the afterlife, most of them were just that, stories. The truth is that everyone`s experience in the afterlife varies based on who they are. Their Hell is their own personal torments; their Purgatory is based on cleansing their unique sins and failings. Their Heaven is those things that make them the happiest. Sure, there are some similarities, darkness, fire and demons exist in Hell and angels and streets of gold in Heaven, but after that the experience can vary a great deal depending on the person. Much of that is because of the power of the human imagination and how it rules the development of faith and fear. "
“Ok…So…have you always been the ferryman?”
Charon looked up at Frank in the rear view mirror, “Enough applied theology for one day, eh Frank? Yeah, it’s a lot to take in..."
He paused for about 10 seconds staring straight ahead and then answered the question, "Actually, there have been about 20,000 different ferrymen throughout the ages. We all take the name Charon. We were mortals who take the job as part of the reclamation of our souls, you know, it’s our purgatory. Some of us do the job for many years, others for a few months. I’ve been Charon for 8 years now. It’s a good gig for the most part. I was a bus driver in Newark for 30 years on earth, and I hated it. Hated working, hated people, hated my life. From the time I got back from being a soldier in Korea, there was this big black cloud over my head. I died before I was 50 and the only bright spot in my life was the love of my wife and my family. I still believed in God, but couldn’t get through the hate for some reason. Now, I’ve come to the point where I almost enjoy the work, and I feel like I’m helping people. They say the reclamation of your soul is something that occurs when you don’t expect it, when you aren’t looking for it but are busy being useful to others. You may notice, I still have some rough edges, but I’ve got nothing but time now, and I know I’m gonna see my wife Jackie and my kids…and my Lord soon. ”
Frank looked around nervously. He wasn’t used to people speaking about God like that. He wasn’t used to Charon’s type of brutal honesty, just laying out your life in front of people like meat on a grill for everyone to see. Frank had spent his life much of his adult life with very little beyond shallow conversations. His relationships had been mostly acquaintances, his romances short-lived. Real intimacy with others made him uncomfortable.
Frank's fears were allayed as he realized Charon was slowing down to pick up a group of people at the next bus stop.
Sunday, September 04, 2011
Godzilla Versus the Velvet Underground.
Louzilla from Django's Ghost on Vimeo.
2 of my favorite things...Cheesy Godzilla movies and hot rock and roll. Oh yeah.Friday, August 26, 2011
Friday, August 12, 2011
Frank's Bad Day Part VI
"Frank, you ready to go?" Charon asked.
"I-I guess so."
"Great, put the coin in the box and we`ll be on our way."
The driver had sat down in the driver`s seat and was pointing to the slot in the tall box next to the gearshift. What was different on this coin box was that there were 3 indicator lights under the slot: a green light with the letters SMI, a yellow light with the letters PUR, and lastly a red light with the letters INF.
"Well, where does this bus go? I`ve only got the one coin, so I have to be careful where I go."
"Frank, things are different here. You have only 2 choices: go wherever the bus takes you, or stay here. Look at your coin, you`ll understand."
Frank turned the coin over in his palm. On one side was a picture of a small boat crossing a river of fire with the word STYX under the picture, then on the other side was Frank`s name, date of birth, and today as the date of death. Frank slumped onto the bench at the bus stop and looked around slowly. He looked at the coin again.
"I don`t suppose this is a special commemorative coin from a STYX Reunion Tour?"
"Come on Frank! Whadda ya think this, a personalized concert medallion with your name, birth date and today`s date-your expiration date? Don't be a smart-ass. I don't have time for this. You know what that coin is! You know who I am. You`re worm food now, ok? ", Charon grumbled and shook his head, then finally looked at Frank again and spoke a little softer.
"The thing is this, the fear and dread of where this bus is going is a thousand times worse than anywhere I can take you. You also remember the little creature that you fought 5 minutes ago? He's not the worst thing that you could run into if you hang around here. The rules are this: no coin, no ride for 100 years. I understand It`s a big change, but you still exist, and you need to either man up and put your coin in the slot to face your destiny, or get off the bus and wander the streets of this grey town until you grow a pair. "
Frank didn`t say a word. He stood up, boarded the bus and put the coin in the slot. The three lights flashed on and off repeatedly, cycling through each one for several seconds. Finally it stopped on SMI. Franked looked up at Charon, quizzically,"Where is SMI?"
Charon looked up happily, "Hey, good for you. You don't have to pack your burn cream! Cheer up Bubula, things are looking up! I can't tell you more than that. You'll know soon enough, just know that its probably the best you could do down here. ", Charon closed the door with that happy "swoosh" noise and put the bus in gear.
Frank didn't say anything and took a seat behind Charon. Charon began to whistle a happy tune, then he began to sing in a lovely tenor voice,
"Always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...
For life is quite absurd
And death's the final word
You must always face the curtain with a bow.
Forget about your sin - give the audience a grin
Enjoy it - it's your last chance anyhow.
So always look on the bright side of death
Just before you draw your terminal breath. "*
Frank groaned and rolled his eyes…then began to whistle along. It was the happiest he had felt all day.
("Always Look On the Bright Side of Life"-Eric Idle)
"I-I guess so."
"Great, put the coin in the box and we`ll be on our way."
The driver had sat down in the driver`s seat and was pointing to the slot in the tall box next to the gearshift. What was different on this coin box was that there were 3 indicator lights under the slot: a green light with the letters SMI, a yellow light with the letters PUR, and lastly a red light with the letters INF.
"Well, where does this bus go? I`ve only got the one coin, so I have to be careful where I go."
"Frank, things are different here. You have only 2 choices: go wherever the bus takes you, or stay here. Look at your coin, you`ll understand."
Frank turned the coin over in his palm. On one side was a picture of a small boat crossing a river of fire with the word STYX under the picture, then on the other side was Frank`s name, date of birth, and today as the date of death. Frank slumped onto the bench at the bus stop and looked around slowly. He looked at the coin again.
"I don`t suppose this is a special commemorative coin from a STYX Reunion Tour?"
"Come on Frank! Whadda ya think this, a personalized concert medallion with your name, birth date and today`s date-your expiration date? Don't be a smart-ass. I don't have time for this. You know what that coin is! You know who I am. You`re worm food now, ok? ", Charon grumbled and shook his head, then finally looked at Frank again and spoke a little softer.
"The thing is this, the fear and dread of where this bus is going is a thousand times worse than anywhere I can take you. You also remember the little creature that you fought 5 minutes ago? He's not the worst thing that you could run into if you hang around here. The rules are this: no coin, no ride for 100 years. I understand It`s a big change, but you still exist, and you need to either man up and put your coin in the slot to face your destiny, or get off the bus and wander the streets of this grey town until you grow a pair. "
Frank didn`t say a word. He stood up, boarded the bus and put the coin in the slot. The three lights flashed on and off repeatedly, cycling through each one for several seconds. Finally it stopped on SMI. Franked looked up at Charon, quizzically,"Where is SMI?"
Charon looked up happily, "Hey, good for you. You don't have to pack your burn cream! Cheer up Bubula, things are looking up! I can't tell you more than that. You'll know soon enough, just know that its probably the best you could do down here. ", Charon closed the door with that happy "swoosh" noise and put the bus in gear.
Frank didn't say anything and took a seat behind Charon. Charon began to whistle a happy tune, then he began to sing in a lovely tenor voice,
"Always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...
For life is quite absurd
And death's the final word
You must always face the curtain with a bow.
Forget about your sin - give the audience a grin
Enjoy it - it's your last chance anyhow.
So always look on the bright side of death
Just before you draw your terminal breath. "*
Frank groaned and rolled his eyes…then began to whistle along. It was the happiest he had felt all day.
("Always Look On the Bright Side of Life"-Eric Idle)
Tuesday, August 02, 2011
Frank's Bad Day Part V
The creature spoke slowly since the boat oar was crushing its neck, "Charon...just a... misunderstanding. Trying to help...it thought I was stealing...attacked me first...". "You know, if you were a better liar, you might get a better duty assignment than harrassing the new arrivals. Frank, pick up your coin and wait at the bus stop. As for you, this is your last chance. If you interfere with me picking up my fares again, I will throw you in the river and that will be the end of you for good, are we clear?" The busdriver punctuated the question by twisting the oar to cause the maximum amount of discomfort and then suddenly releasing his grip. The creature rubbed his neck, made a hissing noise and then bolted to the storm sewer grate.
Frank walked back to the bus stop and waited for the driver. The bus driver was about five foot, eight inches tall. He was slightly overweight, but it was obvious that there was some hard muscle under the soft coating of fat. He wore a brown uniform with a light zip khaki jacket. He walked briskly, with a hint of a swagger. He had a face that though it appeared a little stern, it gave you the impression that he was a friendly soul. He carried himself with the bearing of a gentleman, kind to women and children, straight dealing with men of his own caliber, but no patience for fools or mean-hearted people. Frank did not know why, but he instinctively liked him immediately.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Frank's Bad Day Part IV
Out of the corner of his eye, Frank saw something to his right reflect
in the dim light. There, out in the street, was large dull metal coin
lying where he had woken up. It must have fallen out of his pocket
when he got up. Frank began to hurry towards the coin. Meanwhile, a
small black creature, the size of a small monkey crawled out of the
storm sewers. It was about sixteen inches tall and was covered with
greasy fur that went in every direction. It was hunched over and
rested its knuckles on the ground as it watched Frank hurry to pick up
the coin. The creature then started jumping up and down and screaming.
It was a noise that was a mixture of a rabbit dying, and hyena
laughing. An amazing volume of sound came out of this small creature.
Finally, it bolted towards the coin. It was closer to the coin, and
was running at full sprint now. Frank calculated he might not make it
time and prepared to jump so he could tackle the creature to get the
coin. He could hear the bus getting closer in the distance. The
creature got there first and snatched the coin up and continued
running full out. It began chattering something that sounded like a
high-pitched laughing taunt.
Frank leapt into the air and came down hard on the asphalt, only
managing to grasp the creature's tail. The air brakes on the bus let
out a hiss as the bus stopped next to the bench. Frank heard the door
"whoosh" open. The creature shrieked and turned around to attack Frank
with a fury that caused him to forget it was only 16 inches tall. It
was a blur of claws and teeth and the worst smell Frank had ever
encountered emanating from every pore of the creature's skin. Because
of its small size and speed he could not keep grasp it properly
without being scratched or bitten. Frank finally slammed the creature
to the ground and had decided the coin wasn't worth it. At the almost
the same moment it hit the ground a weather-beaten wooden oar pinned
the creature to the ground at its neck. The creature was gasping for
air.
A loud booming voice that seemed attached to the oar spoke slowly,
"You know you aren't allowed here.. let go of the coin and I'll let
you go back to the sewers. Otherwise, I'll split you in half…What's it
gonna be?". The creature let the coin fall to the ground and finally
spoke.
in the dim light. There, out in the street, was large dull metal coin
lying where he had woken up. It must have fallen out of his pocket
when he got up. Frank began to hurry towards the coin. Meanwhile, a
small black creature, the size of a small monkey crawled out of the
storm sewers. It was about sixteen inches tall and was covered with
greasy fur that went in every direction. It was hunched over and
rested its knuckles on the ground as it watched Frank hurry to pick up
the coin. The creature then started jumping up and down and screaming.
It was a noise that was a mixture of a rabbit dying, and hyena
laughing. An amazing volume of sound came out of this small creature.
Finally, it bolted towards the coin. It was closer to the coin, and
was running at full sprint now. Frank calculated he might not make it
time and prepared to jump so he could tackle the creature to get the
coin. He could hear the bus getting closer in the distance. The
creature got there first and snatched the coin up and continued
running full out. It began chattering something that sounded like a
high-pitched laughing taunt.
Frank leapt into the air and came down hard on the asphalt, only
managing to grasp the creature's tail. The air brakes on the bus let
out a hiss as the bus stopped next to the bench. Frank heard the door
"whoosh" open. The creature shrieked and turned around to attack Frank
with a fury that caused him to forget it was only 16 inches tall. It
was a blur of claws and teeth and the worst smell Frank had ever
encountered emanating from every pore of the creature's skin. Because
of its small size and speed he could not keep grasp it properly
without being scratched or bitten. Frank finally slammed the creature
to the ground and had decided the coin wasn't worth it. At the almost
the same moment it hit the ground a weather-beaten wooden oar pinned
the creature to the ground at its neck. The creature was gasping for
air.
A loud booming voice that seemed attached to the oar spoke slowly,
"You know you aren't allowed here.. let go of the coin and I'll let
you go back to the sewers. Otherwise, I'll split you in half…What's it
gonna be?". The creature let the coin fall to the ground and finally
spoke.
--
**Visit John Homan's weblog @ http://casadejuanito.blogspot.com ***
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Frank's Bad Day - Part III
Frank sat down on a bench by the bus stop. He was confused and tired and not sure what to do next. At 2:59 pm this afternoon he had stopped at his favorite coffee shop to get an iced coffee on his break from the call center. The attractive hippy-chick barista was there and he had lingered five minutes trying to make some points so he could finally ask her out. As he ran to make it back to the office, he stepped off the curb and directly into the mosquito splattered grill of a city bus. He then proceded to bounce off a Little Debbie delivery van. After that it had went all black for God knows how long until he woke up here... "Wherever here is." he thought.
"I don`t think it`s Heaven, and though its drab and depressing, it doesn`t seem like it`s bad enough to be Hell. It`s nothing like anything I learned in Catechism, or from Sister Mary Margaret at Theology class at St. Jude's High School. Maybe I'm lying in a bed in the ICU at Cook County and am having a Morphine-induced hallucination...still, I've got a pretty good imagination, you'd think I could do better than this. I mean seriously, it looks a civil engineering project between a very drab neighborhood association president and someone from the IRS. Whatever it is, I want out...or at least find somewhere a little less mind-numbingly boring to hang out until this ends. I wonder when the bus shows up around here?"
Frank looked at the bus stop sign for some kind of schedule and found this:
"I don`t think it`s Heaven, and though its drab and depressing, it doesn`t seem like it`s bad enough to be Hell. It`s nothing like anything I learned in Catechism, or from Sister Mary Margaret at Theology class at St. Jude's High School. Maybe I'm lying in a bed in the ICU at Cook County and am having a Morphine-induced hallucination...still, I've got a pretty good imagination, you'd think I could do better than this. I mean seriously, it looks a civil engineering project between a very drab neighborhood association president and someone from the IRS. Whatever it is, I want out...or at least find somewhere a little less mind-numbingly boring to hang out until this ends. I wonder when the bus shows up around here?"
Frank looked at the bus stop sign for some kind of schedule and found this:
NEW-ARTS Bus Schedule
7:30 am
8:30 am
Noon
1:00 pm
4:00 pm
5:00 pm
7:00 pm
9:00 pm
All times are local-please change your watch upon arrival.
Please have your NEWAR token or SMI pass-NO EXCEPTIONS
It was 3:50 pm according to the nearest clock on the street. Frank felt in his pockets, and he had nothing-no wallet, no phone, no change-absolutely nothing. He squinted to the west and could see something moving on the road. The bus was early...
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Frank's Bad Day - Part II
Oblivion is not easily described. Asking someone to describe oblivion
as anything beyond a great void of nothingness seems like a creative
writing assignment given by a sadistic, overly tenured English
professor to wide-eyed freshman. "In 10,000 words or more, thoroughly explore the concept of oblivion, using at least 4 classic sources and 3 contemporary sources, comparing various religious, nihilist and existentialist philosophies. This assignment is due by next Wednesday. It is worth 30% of the grade for this course."
Frank was in oblivion. Besides the utter lack of stimuli, there was no ability to ponder his condition, only a numb sensation that he still existed and nothing more. He couldn`t ponder the passage of time, neither any dimensions of the space that he existed in. It was like he was a baby again and the entire universe was playing a really long game of Peek-a-Boo. Whatever amount of time passed, Frank finally felt a new sensation. He was cold. Not the crisp cold of winter that
energizes you to move, but the kind of cold you feel when someone takes your blanket when you were sleeping comfortably and you begin to wake up earlier than you would like. You lie there hoping you don't have to get up, but not really resting either. You are in a state that does not have the benefits of wakefulness or of sleeping, but simply don't care enough to change. This describes not only Frank's condition, but much of our own lives; between the sweet sleep of death and the wakefulness of a life well lived, we sleepily shiver in mediocrity, not caring, but not satisfied either.
Finally, with nothing else better to do, he awoke. Opening his eyes, Frank stared into a slate gray sky. It seemed like dusk, but without a colorful sunset, just a vague, almost unhappy light reflecting from an indistinct horizon. It was cold, as if it was the end of fall just before winter began in earnest.
Struggling to his feet, Frank tried to determine where he was. He was in the middle of a street, but it was silent, deserted and clean. It led so far into the distance that it looked like an exercise in perspective in an art class. The street was faced by non-descript storefronts painted in the most boring hues of grey, olive and brown. Even those stores with display windows showcased drab wares that only seemed to be available in the same insipid monochromatic hues as the
rest of this world. There were no street lights, no cars, just the odd bus stop with benches and trash cans in the same monotonous palette. The only thing that was close to being out of the ordinary was the large antique brass clocks mounted on dark metal stands on every third street corner. Wherever he was, it was nothing like Chicago, with its cluttered streets, noisy traffic and garish storefronts. It was an altogether depressing landscape that could have sucked the perkiness out of the leader of a high school cheerleader's booster club.
as anything beyond a great void of nothingness seems like a creative
writing assignment given by a sadistic, overly tenured English
professor to wide-eyed freshman. "In 10,000 words or more, thoroughly explore the concept of oblivion, using at least 4 classic sources and 3 contemporary sources, comparing various religious, nihilist and existentialist philosophies. This assignment is due by next Wednesday. It is worth 30% of the grade for this course."
Frank was in oblivion. Besides the utter lack of stimuli, there was no ability to ponder his condition, only a numb sensation that he still existed and nothing more. He couldn`t ponder the passage of time, neither any dimensions of the space that he existed in. It was like he was a baby again and the entire universe was playing a really long game of Peek-a-Boo. Whatever amount of time passed, Frank finally felt a new sensation. He was cold. Not the crisp cold of winter that
energizes you to move, but the kind of cold you feel when someone takes your blanket when you were sleeping comfortably and you begin to wake up earlier than you would like. You lie there hoping you don't have to get up, but not really resting either. You are in a state that does not have the benefits of wakefulness or of sleeping, but simply don't care enough to change. This describes not only Frank's condition, but much of our own lives; between the sweet sleep of death and the wakefulness of a life well lived, we sleepily shiver in mediocrity, not caring, but not satisfied either.
Finally, with nothing else better to do, he awoke. Opening his eyes, Frank stared into a slate gray sky. It seemed like dusk, but without a colorful sunset, just a vague, almost unhappy light reflecting from an indistinct horizon. It was cold, as if it was the end of fall just before winter began in earnest.
Struggling to his feet, Frank tried to determine where he was. He was in the middle of a street, but it was silent, deserted and clean. It led so far into the distance that it looked like an exercise in perspective in an art class. The street was faced by non-descript storefronts painted in the most boring hues of grey, olive and brown. Even those stores with display windows showcased drab wares that only seemed to be available in the same insipid monochromatic hues as the
rest of this world. There were no street lights, no cars, just the odd bus stop with benches and trash cans in the same monotonous palette. The only thing that was close to being out of the ordinary was the large antique brass clocks mounted on dark metal stands on every third street corner. Wherever he was, it was nothing like Chicago, with its cluttered streets, noisy traffic and garish storefronts. It was an altogether depressing landscape that could have sucked the perkiness out of the leader of a high school cheerleader's booster club.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Frank's Bad Day Part I
Frank had never really contemplated the size of a city
bus.
Sure, he saw them as he walked the streets of Chicago,
but he normally drove everywhere, insulated in the
white noise of his XM radio and air conditioning in his
sensible mid-size sedan from the sweaty masses that
frequented public transportation.
However, today when Frank absentmindedly stepped off
the curb onto the busy street, he thought about busses
in a very concrete way as he was hit by bus 304 on the
Crosstown Express.
In the milleseconds that followed the impact, Frank
sailed through the air, entering the intersection of
Lakeshore and Michigan. During this time, Frank
pondered the mass, size and speed of the bus. If the
bus had been an animal it would have been as fearsome
as a T-Rex, but instead it was as domesticated as some
giant aluminum dachsand on wheels.
Before Frank could further ponder the anthropomorphic
aspects of the bus that hit him, his skull and spine
came into contact with the side of a Little Debbie
Cakes delivery truck and he crumbled to the asaphalt
like a rag doll. Frank had a secret love for Little
Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pies. He would get one after
spinning class at the Y every Wednesday, so the irony
of this was not lost on him. Before his eyes rolled
back into his head and he blacked out, Frank looked
up at the side of the truck and thought,
"Well, I always knew they were bad for me."
bus.
Sure, he saw them as he walked the streets of Chicago,
but he normally drove everywhere, insulated in the
white noise of his XM radio and air conditioning in his
sensible mid-size sedan from the sweaty masses that
frequented public transportation.
However, today when Frank absentmindedly stepped off
the curb onto the busy street, he thought about busses
in a very concrete way as he was hit by bus 304 on the
Crosstown Express.
In the milleseconds that followed the impact, Frank
sailed through the air, entering the intersection of
Lakeshore and Michigan. During this time, Frank
pondered the mass, size and speed of the bus. If the
bus had been an animal it would have been as fearsome
as a T-Rex, but instead it was as domesticated as some
giant aluminum dachsand on wheels.
Before Frank could further ponder the anthropomorphic
aspects of the bus that hit him, his skull and spine
came into contact with the side of a Little Debbie
Cakes delivery truck and he crumbled to the asaphalt
like a rag doll. Frank had a secret love for Little
Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pies. He would get one after
spinning class at the Y every Wednesday, so the irony
of this was not lost on him. Before his eyes rolled
back into his head and he blacked out, Frank looked
up at the side of the truck and thought,
"Well, I always knew they were bad for me."
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Frank's Bad Day: An Introduction
| Frank`s Bad Day started as a silly dark story about a guy who gets hit by a
bus. Somehow I wasn`t content to let him lie in the street, and decided to send him on a trip through the afterlife. I felt it was necessary to express that this
story bares no relation to my own theologic views. As an Evangelical
Protestant, I do not believe in Purgatory, I think that faith in the sacrifice of Christ
on the cross was enough to get us to heaven. That said, I was drawn to writing about a different version of Purgatory after I read the C.S. Lewis book, The Great Divorce, about people who could take a bus ride from Hell to Heaven and stay in Heaven if they wanted to. Lewis used the story to make some very good points about sin and human nature and essentially that people choose their eternal destinations, it's not thrust upon them. There was also a portion in The Christmas Carol that gave me an idea for this story. So I'm stealing from C.S. Lewis and Charles Dickens, which I'm sure you will agree are very good people to steal from. I really like writing fiction with dialogue because its like writing an essay but letting the thoughts develop through the story instead of just trying to convince someone by rhetoric. One of the interesting things about this story is that I write it on mainly on my new phone (it's got a qwerty keyboard-like a Blackberry) and then I email it to Blogger when I have a chapter done. I had heard about a lady in Japan who wrote a book this way and thought it was a good idea. Hope you like it, if not, I will certainly understand, but I may be tempted to think less of your literary taste... (not really). John |
Click here to read part I
Friday, June 17, 2011
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Sunday, January 02, 2011
Frank's Bad Day Part 16
"Yoo hoo...Sleeping Beauty? I say, perhaps you could endeavor to join us for a moment?"
The voice entered the oblivion of sleep Frank had been enjoying for an unkown period of time. It was a British voice, thick with sarcasm and a lower middle class accent. Frank had spent a summer with his aunt Daisy in the south of Great Britain. She had always described herself as "dead common", but she loved to make a game of "playing posh" when they would go shopping or out for tea. She would act like an Earl's wife from Cornwall and introduce Frank as her nephew from Barcelona and he would speak what little Spanish he learned from his Mom and Grandma, and they would have a great time. They would laugh when they fooled people and laugh even harder when they were found out, generally by a sharp-eared Cockney that noticed that Aunt Daisy's "aitches" were not up to standard. After a summer with Aunt Daisy Frank could pick out the most common accents in the UK like an intern to Professor Henry Higgins.
"Do wake up now, please. We need to get started."
Frank had hoped the voice would go away, but after several minutes it returned. Most put-on accents start to show little cracks in their uniformity and this voice was no exception.
"Oy! Ah'm talkin' to you, mate! Wakie, wakie!"
The voice punctuated the last phrase by poking Frank's nose, not in a hard or painful way, but incredibly annoying nonetheless.
"I'll wake up if you stop poking me!", Frank groaned.
"There's a good man! Can I get you a cuppa'?"
Frank raised himself to his elbows and paused while the pain subsided.
"A cuppa?...Oh, yes, tea...Sounds great, two sugars, no milk please" , Frank propped himself up in bed and took a cup and saucer from the grey haired man sitting next to his bed. The man had long unruly white hair, pulled back in a pigtail, but little wisps of hair had broken free and hung limply on the side of his head. His skin was very pale, as white as Frank had ever seen on a living person. He wore a three piece charcoal pinstripe suit. It was showing its age, but was well taken care of. Attached to his vest was a long, jangly chain, presumably for a watch, but the links were as thick as a chain you would use to secure an enthusiastic junkyard dog to steel stake buried in cement. The man had shiny black shoes with large brass buckles and a hint of white silk stockings.
"Right-o, sorry its not proper tea, just packets down here...probably won't matter that much to you, being an American."
"I've had proper tea before, but I prefer coffee. Mmmm, that's pretty good for packets."
"Thanks. Horrible stuff coffee, in my day it was only drank by nervous Frenchman and rich layabouts trying to seem more Continental than British."
"I don't know about that, but coffee gets ya goin' faster than tea... Maybe that's not always a good thing though. I spent my life rushing around. I don't have much to show for it. Maybe I should have had more tea and more chats, more friends and less earthly success."
"Yes, rather...Good thing that, giving thought to your ways. Shame we didn't do more of that while we were on earth, what, what? Might not have ended up here, eh? You got it right enough to end up here instead of the fiery furnace. Lack of real tea is the least of those poor bugger's problems...ah well, good chat, lets get to business then. I am Mr. M, or simply M for the overly casual Americans. I've given up some measure of decorum since so much of my work force is polluted", he grinned a slightly wicked smile and winked. Frank immediately liked his new boss.
"I'm Frank Hernandez, Mr. M. I'm glad to meet you." The two men shook hands firmly.
"I'm afraid I have no resume or application to hand you. You'll have to ask me any questions you may have about me."
"Mr. Hernandez, SMI is actually part of Purgatory, so we have access to their sources of heavenly information. I have already spent some time looking at your files. We have looked at your history, accomplishments, failures and have a fairly good idea of who you are and where you can fit into our organization."
"First off, if you know everything about me, please call me Frank. Of course, I will still call you Mr. M. Secondly, are you going to give me a summary of what you have discovered about me so I can understand why I'm here, and what I need to do to leave here?"
"Of course Frank, we'll start with that first off."
The voice entered the oblivion of sleep Frank had been enjoying for an unkown period of time. It was a British voice, thick with sarcasm and a lower middle class accent. Frank had spent a summer with his aunt Daisy in the south of Great Britain. She had always described herself as "dead common", but she loved to make a game of "playing posh" when they would go shopping or out for tea. She would act like an Earl's wife from Cornwall and introduce Frank as her nephew from Barcelona and he would speak what little Spanish he learned from his Mom and Grandma, and they would have a great time. They would laugh when they fooled people and laugh even harder when they were found out, generally by a sharp-eared Cockney that noticed that Aunt Daisy's "aitches" were not up to standard. After a summer with Aunt Daisy Frank could pick out the most common accents in the UK like an intern to Professor Henry Higgins.
"Do wake up now, please. We need to get started."
Frank had hoped the voice would go away, but after several minutes it returned. Most put-on accents start to show little cracks in their uniformity and this voice was no exception.
"Oy! Ah'm talkin' to you, mate! Wakie, wakie!"
The voice punctuated the last phrase by poking Frank's nose, not in a hard or painful way, but incredibly annoying nonetheless.
"I'll wake up if you stop poking me!", Frank groaned.
"There's a good man! Can I get you a cuppa'?"
Frank raised himself to his elbows and paused while the pain subsided.
"A cuppa?...Oh, yes, tea...Sounds great, two sugars, no milk please" , Frank propped himself up in bed and took a cup and saucer from the grey haired man sitting next to his bed. The man had long unruly white hair, pulled back in a pigtail, but little wisps of hair had broken free and hung limply on the side of his head. His skin was very pale, as white as Frank had ever seen on a living person. He wore a three piece charcoal pinstripe suit. It was showing its age, but was well taken care of. Attached to his vest was a long, jangly chain, presumably for a watch, but the links were as thick as a chain you would use to secure an enthusiastic junkyard dog to steel stake buried in cement. The man had shiny black shoes with large brass buckles and a hint of white silk stockings.
"Right-o, sorry its not proper tea, just packets down here...probably won't matter that much to you, being an American."
"I've had proper tea before, but I prefer coffee. Mmmm, that's pretty good for packets."
"Thanks. Horrible stuff coffee, in my day it was only drank by nervous Frenchman and rich layabouts trying to seem more Continental than British."
"I don't know about that, but coffee gets ya goin' faster than tea... Maybe that's not always a good thing though. I spent my life rushing around. I don't have much to show for it. Maybe I should have had more tea and more chats, more friends and less earthly success."
"Yes, rather...Good thing that, giving thought to your ways. Shame we didn't do more of that while we were on earth, what, what? Might not have ended up here, eh? You got it right enough to end up here instead of the fiery furnace. Lack of real tea is the least of those poor bugger's problems...ah well, good chat, lets get to business then. I am Mr. M, or simply M for the overly casual Americans. I've given up some measure of decorum since so much of my work force is polluted", he grinned a slightly wicked smile and winked. Frank immediately liked his new boss.
"I'm Frank Hernandez, Mr. M. I'm glad to meet you." The two men shook hands firmly.
"I'm afraid I have no resume or application to hand you. You'll have to ask me any questions you may have about me."
"Mr. Hernandez, SMI is actually part of Purgatory, so we have access to their sources of heavenly information. I have already spent some time looking at your files. We have looked at your history, accomplishments, failures and have a fairly good idea of who you are and where you can fit into our organization."
"First off, if you know everything about me, please call me Frank. Of course, I will still call you Mr. M. Secondly, are you going to give me a summary of what you have discovered about me so I can understand why I'm here, and what I need to do to leave here?"
"Of course Frank, we'll start with that first off."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)