so this space is going away.  nothing personal but that is just how it goes.  if you would like to continue reading this pelthora of verbose ideals please send me a message on this space so i can let you know where all the words have gone.

Of course thank you for reading and mahalo bitches.

If Kerouac can do it on Acid

Then I can do it on caffeine. 

Road trip; Florida here I come.

Once I am settled in to my new digs I will be deleting this page.  The thing I do plan on maintaining is an internet space to hawk my stories and written tomes.  Dont worry faithful readers if you are subscribed here I will hook you up.

My nine-hundred dollar word processing machine is bound for a box, my body is preparing for a journey, my heart and mind are already in Florida and my soul is forever bound in the PHX.

Until next time.

Doc,

The decision to flee came suddenlyor maybe I had planned it this way all along.  Packing the Mako with T-shirts, a tape recorder and enough supplies to make it from one coast to the other in a high speed burst seems like a good idea.  After all; what do I have to lose?

The drudgery of perpetual scorching heat forces me to hibernate during the summer months.  The constant wiping of sweat drenched brows and huffing out a pained disclaimer of yeah but we do this because of January just doesnt carry the same mustard as it once did.  There are at least a handful of other locales where one can weather the sizzling summer months and still maintain a temperate (and snow free) January while the rest of the Northern hemisphere is under a frozen lock down.  Through persistent rumors and whispers from inside sources I have heard that with the noted exception of massive storms called hurricanes the south of Florida is pretty nice this time of year.

In addition there have been some recent legal troubles simmering on the backburner that are now threatening to explode into open combat within the confines of a Maricopa Country courtroom.  I have little faith in any legal system these days and even though I am over confident that my WASP stature and manicured appearance would greatly assist with an acquittal, Im not sure even my legal counsel can help me now.  There is just something purely sinister and ugly about a court liaison reading aloud a list of charges that contain with intention to distribute in the same breath as contributing to the delinquency  This of course is only the setup for as he/she pauses for breath and dramatically concludes with lewd acts upon a minor  Translation: I am totally fucked. 

If the local sheriff passes and enforces some of the harshest DUI laws in the country that lock up someones 71 year old grandmother for a period of ten days for having one too many glasses of Chardonnay at dinner then what chance does a viciously labeled drug running pervert like me have?  None I tell you.  Who cares that her Myspace said she was of legal age and after all possession is 9/10s of the law; no law enforcement officer will ever believe that the pound of weed in the backpack belonged to a teenage runaway.  Fucked DocI am totally fucked.

So thats it then.  Instead of arriving for my court date Ill hire one of the out of work illegal immigrants that only speaks Spanish to show up and hand a note to my attorney daring Sheriff Joe and his posse to come and get me.  By the time the note arrives I should be on the outskirts of Shreveport; fuck em Ive got the time.  No law enforcement agency in their right minds would come and try and snatch me from the grips of the vicious Cuban and Puerto Rican gangs I will be slumming with.  A smart gringo with these kinds of connections can live a long time on Dolphin fish and cocaine.  While Im down there I might as well see if I can find any remnants of Hemmingways Florida Keys and see if there is anyone still around that still remembers a certain Doctor who just recently passed on.  Come to think of it I might as well settle down and leave the days of flying solo.  I bet I can find myself a tasty Latina spitfire to call my own; the Mexicans may have the better food but those Cuban and Puerto Rican girls are much closer to a goddess than this old fool would ever find at Our Lady of Guadalupe church in South Phoenix.

This is it for my west coast tenure.  Though I admittedly wore out my welcome long ago it is hard to let go of something so familiar.  There are too many friends and colleagues to remember fondly and send electronic telegrams to.  Cyberspace is the new underground; you can be no one and every where all at once.  As long as I dont plot to blow anything up, shoot up a high school or prowl for underage whores anonymity is a guise most easily donned.

Storms with water instead of dust, reptiles that live in swamps instead of vast expanses of flash fried earth and mosquitos the size of my fist; this ought to be an interesting trip.  Summer officially started yesterday but it has been over a hundred degrees here for a month straight already.  The upper part of the state is burning and I fear what will happen when we start getting hit with rolling black outs due to the abuse of re-circulated air.  At least when I am down infecting the tip of the Wang any type of massive power outage comes from a Mother Nature induced wallop so severe that the national weather service gives it a name.  Does the fact that someone named Hugo destroyed all of your worldly possessions and killed your pet rabbit make you feel better?  Not me bubba, not me.  For now I can only look forward to putting up storm shutters and lashing myself to a palm tree to get the full effect.  Who knows once my nose has been bloodied I might end up scurrying back to the middle of the devils vacation spot or fuck knows where else; Ive heard New Jersey is nice this time of year

Mahalo to you Arizona.  For security reasons and due to advice hastily whispered in my ear by my already nervous attorney I cant tell you exactly where Ill end up.  But here is a hint.  Grab a map of the U.S. and find Florida (Americas Wang).  Just like an attentive lover run your finger down the east coast and find the very tip.  But before you go down cup the balls and squeeze gently, send me a telegram and Ill meet you on the beach; X marks the spot.  Trust me they made a movie about it once; look it up.  I think it was called Deep Throat.

The sun is finally setting and it is time for me to venture out once more in search of supplies and to collect on a few bets.  After all one can not live on fear alone; it takes a fat bank roll and plenty of supplies to take this ride.

Always remember; take a deep breath, steady your hands, squeeze gently and the gun will do the rest.

Viol con dios Arizona; you need all the help you can get.

Warmest Regards,

Jack Hunter freelance writer, rabid football fan and soon to be Southern Floridas newest outlaw journalistI mean resident.

This space is an addictive void.

It is lacking in even the most fundamental principals of a productive lifestyle.

Read the content of these diary blogs that cater to the part of your brain that craves intellectual stimulation and avert your eyes from the flesh craving demons.

I need not your mouse clicking approval or cyber based friendship.  I dismiss your time consuming surveys and panic inducing rhetoric.

Do as you please but expect not this of me.

All I ask of you is a simple request:

Watch

This

Space

From a distance the city center twinkles with a brightly lit image of
life.  But this assumed pulse is a false one for this city is a dead
man walking.  Saturated with the overwhelming heat from the first
breath of summer I stalk the depths of the concrete jungle as I creep
to the bewitching hour.  The swelter rises from the asphalt long after
sundown and even in the grips of twilight the steel and glass
structures radiate with calefaction hitting as hard as a sledge
hammer.  People move through the maze of multistoried buildings with a
purpose.  Where they go I do not know for none of them stop amongst
the structures that scrape the sky.

This city is a siren where the lights beckon forth the unaware
traveler to a place of destitution.  Upon arrival of these shores
those who journey forth find the spires comparable to a carcass washed
upon a sandy shore; stripped to the bone and only a bleached skeletal
remain of something that once was living.  The fact that the buildings
glassy sides reflect back black at the midnight hour makes it all the
more unsettling.  The few places still fighting for life are scattered
drinking dens, a handful of empty fast food eateries and a lone
twenty-four hour drug store.  Any souls that are found amongst the
abandon steeples are translucent caricatures.  They resemble real
people but take on the dying attributes of the shadows they move
amongst and their vacant stares reflect their ghoulish facades.

The final addition to the pictures of demise is the stench that
accompanies it.  The main thoroughfare has been ripped to shreds and
gutted with construction that is never ending.  In this ongoing
process the very skin of the dying city is torn asunder and ripped open
exposing the very bowels of the place.  The sickly smell of sewage
floats amongst the corridors making it look and smell as if it is
rotting to the core.  The stench stays with me always.

With a deep sigh and a longing glance, it is this place that I escape
from near the bewitching hour.  Even though I am acutely aware of the
carnage I am in the midst of I can't help but angle my journey so that
I swing towards the center of this mess.  When I have gotten my fill
and just as I near the heart of the beast I veer sharply away and run
to the south.

A lone sign blinks in the darkness between street lights.  In an
efficient LED format the first flash reminds me that I am once again
out entirely too late and a few seconds later the second flash reminds
me that even this late at night the outside temperature is still warm
enough that I should probably have my sun roof closed; 12:01AM, 93
degrees.  Except for the brief moment of clarity that goes as quickly
as it came, I ignore this electronic messenger pressing down the
accelerator continuing my flight.

I journey further south slipping past the quiet bergs that line that
mark the perimeter of the dying place.  On a lonely stretch of freeway
where big rigs make midnight runs and busses full of shackled
prisoners trail me down exit ramps I momentarily lose sight of the
beast from which I flee.  With the first jarring bounce of car chassis
against railroad tracks the top of the faraway turrets flicker into
view.

I haste away through a no man's land.  Jet planes roar overhead and I
am momentarily choked and my eyes burn as jet fuel fumes cascades on
the dilapidated structures all around me.  Past the third world
housing developments and razor wire topped prison the putrid odor of
perpetually mixing asphalt, concrete and the rancid smell of diesel
engines permeate the air.  With what seems like sluggish progress
(even though my vehicle tells me that 60 mph is way too fast) the huge
expanses of junk yards, rock quarries and concrete companies
eventually give way to a bridge.

This is a bridge to no where.  Its sole function is to span a
virtually dry river bed that is void of liquid life for nearly 365
days each year.  The sun blasted rocks do nothing to abate the parched
and uncomfortably warm night.  Layers of dust are stirred up as I roar
overhead choking the air with a fine layer of allergy inducing haze.
Just as this nightmare has past the nostrils are assaulted again this
time with the bile inducing waft of saw dust.  The smell of lumber and
plastic baked for weeks on end by an unyielding sun wouldn't be so bad
if my race south weren't postponed by a solid red traffic light.  As I
gag and grimace I once again refocus on the dying city now taking up
the entire view in my backwards looking mirror.  Individual buildings
can still claw at the horizon be; shuddering with revulsion I escape
further still with the blessing of a green light.

Now I can see my destination with clarity.  The mass of darkness
moving ever closer directly in front of me is broken up by the last
vestiges of civilization clinging to the rocky slopes and the angry
red lights topping a menagerie of radio towers. Yet another layer of
third world suburbs passes by faster now and the well lit glow of
civilization are whittled away little by little.

With suddenness that after all this time still surprises me the grips
of the dying city give way with a rush of open space.  Cool air
surrounds me and my frantic escape velocity ceases. It is here that I
stop.  In the shadow of the mountain I turn and face the city that has
faded to a far off skyline.  While the enticing tendrils can still
reach me here the power they wield is easily shrugged aside when I am
not trapped within the heart of the thing.  Cutting the engine the
sound of tranquility is with me and with a blissful smile I inhale
deeply through my nostrils.  The air is clean and free from the
overwhelming deluge of the dying city and the nothingness spreads out
all around me.

Closing one eye and cocking my head to the side I squish the skyline
between thumb and forefinger.  Five minutes later I have grown weary
of the fresh air and nothingness.    Being outside the grips of a dying
city is a bore; nothingness might be tranquil but it sure does place
limitations on possibilities.  At least within the grips of the dying
city I have the option of buying maxi-pads at 3AM on a Tuesday.

In spite of the sweltering night I shiver once again alive with
masochistic anticipation.  In the distance the dying city sings a siren
song and I must obey.

Driving to work this morning I was overcome by a sudden urge to make out like a teenager.  Because my intimate moments are at the very tip of what is bound to be a very long stretch of time in which the role of the opposite sex will be played by my right and left hands respectively this type of urge is not surprising.  The raging hormone filled make out sessions of high school aged teenagers seemed like a perfect analogy for my own overly stimulated desires.  This thought might have ended here with nothing more than a mental picture in my head to perfectly describe my state of being, but that wouldnt make a very good story now would it?

Without warning several 2x4 pieces of lumber broke free of a flatbed truck several cars ahead of me.  All but one of these chunks of former trees bounced clear of the roadway thus keeping the vehicles on the road in front of me free of damage, but this sigh of relief ended abruptly.  In a scene right out of Final Destination II (minus the screaming, blood, death, explosions, cool sound effects and minus about twenty cars) that last 2x4 careened into the window of a Chevy Lumina which in turned swerved viciously side swiping a newer model Ford F150.  Yours truly had slowed down a bit in case sudden acceleration and deft maneuvering were in order to avoid obstacles so I got a clean view of the thing.  Much to my dismay I was also the only witness to the accident thus making my participation in the pending emergency call and police involvement a necessity.  In addition to having plenty of time to ponder my rotten luck, it got me to thinking about my initial thought of the day as well.

I first thought back to the days of my teenager years and recalled with a frown how hard it was to find a girl to make out with.  Being a late bloomer with a voice that constantly cracked and a face full of pimples did not help ones self esteem.  There were times when my awkwardness shined through and I always managed to say the worst things and the worst possible times.  The resulting looks of disdain and dismissals left my teenage lust in limbo more often than it resulted in an outlet.

Once I could finally find an outlet the relief of having a female form to lock lips with was short lived.  Performance anxiety flooded any relief away in a tsunami of fear.  Possible situations each more embarrassing than the last peppered my brain.  What if my breath stinks?  What if we bump heads?  What happens if I have my eyes closed and end up kissing her nose instead?  When is an appropriate time to head for second base?  What do I do if I get a boner?  With all these questions bouncing around in my head like a bingo machine gone mad, the results of actual make out sessions were not always up to expectations.  There were long moments of unpleasant silence that always seemed to break when both parties thought of something to say and the exact same time.  Sweaty palms, clearing throats and uncouth attempts to move closer together made the attempts to hit pay dirt all the more complex.  And what happens when one of us finally gets the urge to make a move?  We clonk foreheads together and inevitably I miss her mouth and end up licking the side of her cheek or worse yet sticking it in one of her nostrils.  For two hours of work often yielded little more than a few minutes of make out time and if I was lucky I got to grab a boob.  This is also when I finally understood first hand what it meant when a friend would advise me, man that girl gives me blue balls.

There has been a rash of older men sexing up under eighteen teens and reports of young girls becoming sexually active at ages where I was still playing with G.I. Joes.  Personally I have noted a ton and occasionally viewed a string of Barely Legal and Just Eighteen pornographic videos.  My high school had these girls hidden in some secret class room because I never saw chicks that looked like that.  There were always rumors of slutty girls but even the sluts had standards.  The vast majority of teen aged girls (even the sluts) are far removed in proportions to those that grace the covers of the afore mentioned sex videos.  When given my druthers during these years I would go for the girl that wasnt fat, didnt have bad acne, wasnt a horse face, sported perky breasts and had the perfect ass.  Sadly and truthfully do to the biological changes that take place during these precious years finding a cute girl that was packed, racked and stacked was an impossibility; even the cute cheer leader types had to grow into their breasts.

Finally who could forget the ultimate nemesis in the way of your average teenage make out artist; braces.  Before technology allowed for clear plastics and hybrid polymers a brace faced teen sported a mouth full of tetanus inspiring metal.  In fact so rudimentary were some of these devices that poor families would often rent the mouths of their slumbering children as traps to catch small animals in order to make ends meet.  Anyone who has had a close encounter of the orthodontic kind can relay stories of sliced lips and cuts in some rather uncomfortable places.  A make out couple both sporting these devices is like a suicide bomber in Baghdad; its not a matter of how or why but only a matter of when.

You will forgive me, dear reader, if upon further review I decide to use an all together different euphemism to colorfully describe my urges and instincts to have a hot and bothered make out session with the opposite sex; making out like a teenager just doesnt seem all that it is hyped to be.

Authors Note: The initial attempt at a substitute catch phrase was met with mixed results.  I guess there are just certain types of people this would appeal to so I guess I will curb this terminology as well.  I mean seriously, sucking face until I collapse a lung just doesnt have the same kind of ring to it now does it?

Up next: Making out like a Porn Store might not be nearly as fun as it sounds.

Doc,

Its that time of year again my friend, the desert has transformed over night from a cool paradise full of blooming flora to a sun scorched landscape just as inhospitable as hell itself.  In other parts of the country April showers yield May flowers but not in my pat of the world bubba.  The end of April signifies the culmination of the NFL off season with one final burst of testosterone driven broadcasting.  Behind us already is the initial spree of free agency where master less Ronin hawk there services to whichever house is willing to pay the most.  Fistfuls of cash are thrown around like Monopoly money and while there isnt anything as grievous as the Sex Boat Scandal on the radar Im sure an NFL pro or two has quietly snorted a couple of lines of Peruvian cocaine off the backside of a naked hooker in some Las Vegas hotel room.  After all what better place to celebrate your new job when your paycheck now averages $5.2 million per year?  With a drought of real football news from now until training camps open up in July it is only fitting that the famine we are all about to weather is preceded by a gluttonous feast.

Because this is how the real fanatics do it; out Friday night until all hours rambling on with giddy excitement about predictions, picks, trades and which team will be the obvious laugher when it is all said and done.  All manners of stimulants make us all slap happy and I barely remember guiding my Mako Shark back to home base, let alone my head hitting the pillow as the adrenaline wears off and the drugs take hold.  Four hours later the three alarms I set to go off exactly one minute apart pull me out of bed.  Bleary eyed I eyeball the clock and note that I did a bang up job sleeping through these electronic devices; Im already late.  This marks five years in a row that the rabble rousers and I have drowned in a deluge of off season football and being drunk by 10 AM.

Jesus Doc has it been five years already?  It seems like just yesterday you were fighting the good fight in the suburbs outside of D.C. and I was running around like the Marquis De Sade on an opium bender.  Now youre in Ohio as your wanderlust and need for gainful employment propels you to and fro while the desert turns into a suburban gridlock before my very eyes.  Good thing I here about Ohio is that a number of super power ball winners keep popping up there.  If you are a gambling man (and I know you are) Id drop some cash on that cow to see what you can shake out of it.  Myself, well Vegas is calling again and if some lecherous swine can drop a pretty penny on the Steelers in August and see a sizeable return come February; hell Doc Ill take odds like that.  Shit my mind is already wandering off; the temperature is crawling towards one hundred degrees already and Im afraid my brain and body are already moving towards hibernation mode.  As Ive lauded on before seasons are reversed in the desert.  The weather dictates minimal movement and health hazards in June, July and August where as come February instead of shoveling snow from driveways and plugging in cars we are attending outdoor Jazz festivals and laughing at Puxatony Phil; no jumbo sized sewer rat from the North will ever affect our paradise.  Damn it Im off again so before I crack up completely back to the matter at hand.

While attempting to set a new land speed record and keep a beer precariously perched in my lap as I signaled, weaved through traffic, smoked cigarettes and loaded the hash pipe I nearly had a collision with one of the last seasonal immigrant blue hairs that for no explainable reason drive five miles under the speed limit in the furthest left lane on one of the super highways that crisscross the landscape.  I dont need to tell you how much such an instance of vehicle to vehicle impact would have effected my day (not to mention further ruin the rest of what has turned out to be quite the forgettable year to date anyway).  Hauling balls out with the cruise control set at 90mph dodging traffic and wondering how long before some astute law enforcement agent notices the tags on my sun-roofed clad car expired five months ago is not good for the nerves.  I was further and nearly driven to a public freak out when to my dismay I discovered that there are an innate amount of very sober people who decide to do their grocery shopping at 845AM on a Saturday morning.  Who are these cads, these visions of wholesomeness that casually saunter down aisles unaware that a half crazed dope headed football fanatic is barreling down on them muttering incoherently to himself?  As always, the populace is lucky this writer doesnt travel armed to the teeth in public much these days.  Thanks in part to my maniacal driving I was able to relax slightly and procure the necessary ingredients to cook breakfast and arrive even before Houston was officially on the clock.

Oh Doc, biscuits & gravy, chorizo, eggs, bacon, sausage in massive heapsof course an early breakfast turned into a near noon lunch; but you reap what you sow when ingest high grade narcotics cleverly packaged in a gooey, chocolate format.  Drunk with delight and even though we knew the outcome of the first pick already we all nodded solemnly when Mario Williams name was announced.  This immediately began a discussion about what in the hell the Texans were thinking and before we even knew what was happening the narcotics had taken hold.

Im not afraid to say it Doc; Im a Lienhart fan.  I was on the line with one of my contacts at the draft headquarters for my beloved franchise when the Tagliabue announced the pick. Simultaneous roars of joy hit me from both sides; the assembled cronies were dancing and hugging as if we had already won the Superbowl while the crowd at the draft headquarters nearly blew out my ear drums before the line went dead.  Hollywood has come to Phoenix.  With a solid outing from both days (that Pope kid from Georgia is 68; what a monster!) it is with no surprise that Denny was ear to ear smiles.  Hope once again springs eternal in the desert.  A new stadium, big name players and what seems to me as a legit attempt at winning after all has gotten the desert buzzing heartily.  The excitement generated from this day of days has put a temporary ease on the pain from the Florida debacle, but Im afraid Im not going to come out into the light of day and search for my shadow until well into August when the preseason starts.

In the meantime it seems your Romeo has built up a team from the scraps of what that bastard Butch left behind.  I dig the free agent additions that have already made the defense look fierce and the Bill Parcels philosophy; you can NEVER have too many linebackers is something your Romeo remembered from his days of yore.  Even better for yours truly is that the current backs on the roster appear to be what they are going to head into the summer with.  I dont mind telling you that Im a big Ruben fan and the lack of a valid challenger in this situation gives a shot of Barry Bond juice to my fantasy football gambling addiction.  Hope your ready for the Charlie Frye era and I hope the kid is too.  One thing about football in Ohio; folks have long memories.  While Ive heard that Ernest Byner is a stand up guy and made good in his life after football he will always be remembered and never forgiven as one of the key components that help built John Elways legacy and left Bernie Kosar nothing more a faded memory.  Good luck kid, youre going to need it.

All good things come to an end and so too did the first round of this most recent NFL draft.  Long after most of my colleagues had gone the few of us left shared a moment as the sun set far into the western sky; nearly 12 hours had ticked off the clock and we were all still a bit lit up from the potent fudge drizzled confections.  Through nods of agreement and bleary eyed grins of contentment we all agreed that when it comes to American sports and the zealotry of the fan base none can hold a candle to the freaks and geeks who live and die by the National Football League.

Im waiting for my newest unpaid intern to confirm my order for the number 7 Cardinals jersey emblazoned with "HOLLYWOOD" and for a brief moment in time; life is good.

In closing I didnt expect my draft day to end on a couch in a familiar home being licked awake by an overly aggressive 100lb Siberian husky while a looming form I didnt recognize offered me a blanket.  Old Style in any amount of over abundance has the same effect that any other brewed beverage does; only cheaper.  The one thing I must note about the day after is that while the baked goods I sampled were superb, the after affects were not; the intestinal fortitude of this old gray stallion aint what it used to be.  I hear 30 is the new 20 but dismiss such notions as propaganda from sources that I neither know nor trust.

The sun is starting to descend and I feel one more desert sunset is in order before I shun the sunlight for another summer.  Keep fighting the good fight Doc, well have our day yet.  As a writer I still cant decide that when that day does come if it would be best to be "famous" or "infamous", but Im going to go with whichever pays the best.

Mahalo and regards to you Doc.

Your friend,

Jack Hunter

Freelance writer, world renowned brownie aficionado and rabid football fan.

Dear reader,

Thank you all for dropping suggestions, feedback and kind words in regards to my plea for assistance.  As one of my friends pointed out, "dude you are the only guy I know that can get kudos on a blog asking for help"; what can I say, its nice to be liked.  In case anyone is curious after weighing feedback and consulting with my attorney over many, many pints of beer I've selected and focused my energies on "Next Day by noon". 

So with the minimal of fan faire and a little bit of Apu here is the opening shot I've written up.  Drop comments (I promise I will actually post them this time), suggestions, etc and please remember not to rip me too much for grammar and such.  After all this is only a rough draft.  Thank you and Come Again:

Authors note: for some reason the myspace blogging system is removing certain and very important pieces of puncuation.  There is going to be quite a bit of dialogue quoted here in so if anyone digs the content and wants to get emailed with updates to the story, please drop me your email address via a message and I will do my best to comply with a properly puncuated version. 

Next day by noon

I. It has to start some where.

I, thought Jack Hunter, desperately need a new job.  As soon as this thought crept into his head the beep sounded in his ear and heaving a sigh he refocused his eyes onto the computer screen.  Forty-five seconds later it was there again, I desperately need a new job.  The frown stayed on his face long after the beep again sounded and he listened to the mechanical voice state with over emphasized grace, City and listing please  The giggles and guffaws from flipping the male voice card for the female voice card in the device situated next to him had long since lost its magic.  Even the confused voices that clamored for an explanation when he gutturally replied, one moment please in his best lumberjack voice offered him no joy.  The job had gotten so bad that Jack didnt even bother to use the company required closing anymore.  It should be noted that during an optimal phone call the total number of words that he is required to be verbalize often never extended into double digits.  Despite the protests on the phone that he ignored with an expertise that only months of monotony could have drilled into his head, he slurred out a closing remark that sounded like number but lacking the proper tongue and air pathway movements to be classified as an actual attempt at speaking a real word.  He slapped at the keyboard randomly as he gazed bleary eyed at his surroundings.

The place was nothing more than a big box with a massive system of undersized cubicles.  Jack could barely fold his frame inside one of them let alone maintain a comfortable posture for hours at a time.  The computer in front of him was little more than a shell that ran an interface program linked to a database and nothing more.  There was no internet access, solitaire games or even that horrendous mine sweeper thing.  No frills and no perks; just an Access program log in screen.  There were very few individuals that were as skilled as Jack that new how to get into the back section of the computer and those savvy few were rewarded with a DOS prompt to no where.  The computers were so basic in design that they didnt even have mouse interface units hooked up; why install mousse when you have a machine that functions like a Commodore 64?  The only other item on the desk was the despised faded yellow box.  The box had two flat cards fastened by wires and glued to the device that were blue or red to identify gender which at the start of the phone call and after the obligatory ear beep whirred into action giving the representative answering the phone call even less responsibility by lessoning their actual talking by three words.

All the cubicles were gray walled, the paint of the walls of the actual building were gray and even most of the chairs were a dull, colorless gray.  Occasional bursts of color were pinned haphazardly on cube walls reminding of proper voice tones or postures.  Most of these were vandalized, torn down or removed.  Despite the training departments insistence that the bulletins help with morale and infuse a good spirit, the fact remains that most people would rather stare at blank gray walls than a bright neon pink paper advising them to sit up straight.

Currently Jack was staring in the vicinity of a neon yellow sheet that was advising about a company sponsored picnic.  After what seemed by an eternity crept by Jack glanced at the large clock that dominated the wall far in front of him; only three minutes had passed.  With steady determination Jack slowly pulled the garish paper from the cube and crumpled it into a meticulous and aerodynamic ball.  Once the newly formed projectile was molded to his specification and with a sudden blur of movement he spun in his chair, leaned for into the aisle and hurled the missile at the prone form of his friend seated only a few feet away.

The ball of paper rebounded off the head of the prone form with a solid, THWACK and spun high into the air.  For a brief moment several dozen pairs of eyes followed the colorful spinning menagerie before it disappeared behind the gray walls.  The pause couldnt be missed; pure silence reigned for two and one half seconds before the normal drone started back again

One moment please, Thank you heres your number, One moment pleaseone moment pleasethank you heres your number

The form sprawled out across the keyboard shifted slightly and a voice muted from being buried underneath two arms mumbled, Youre an asshole Jack.  The body of Jacks only current friend in the entire work force would randomly press keys with a hand that couldnt be seen.  If anyone were paying attention it looked as if Mark were fast asleep but to those manning the monitoring systems keys were being pressed and numbers were being given out even if he wasnt paying attention to exactly what it was he was supposed to be doing.  The pair had been back from their designated lunch period for only a half an hour and while Mark was heavily sedated Jack was not.

Dude Jack whispered in earnest, Im starting to freak out; I dont think I can take this anymore.  Mark gave no inclination to acknowledge Jacks words so he pressed on.  I know I say the same thing every day but Im seriously to the point where Im going to run screaming out of this place.  Mark still did not respond.  Mark man Im sorry but Ive got to go or Im going to end up in a nut house; I swear to fucking god man.  After failing to move for another full minute Mark finally and with great anguish flopped into a sitting position and peered at Jack with blood shoot eyes.  After another minute of fishing into various pockets he located what he sought and flipped a small pill through the air which Jack caught.  Mark managed a haphazard smile in response to Jacks quizzical and as he descended once again into a prone position atop his keyboard mumbled, Special Kall the kids are doing ityou wont worry about work (or moving at all for that matter) for the rest of your shift.  It works great; trust me.  Before Jack could pry any further Mark had gone back to his random key pounding under cover of his appendages. 

Jack looked at the pill in his hand.  Ketamine a tranquilizer used in Veterinarian clinics to sedate animals for surgical procedures; or in the case of all the kids Special K for short.  Heaving a sigh of pure torture Jack decided that no matter the profile or effects there wasnt a drug known to mankind that was going to help him this day.  After carefully weighing his options he chose the road less traveled and spurned sedation for assistance.  With a grimace he raised his hand.

In this call center world the rudimentary technologies used offered no other way to obtain assistance from a position of authority other than the raisings of one hand and then to patiently wait to be called upon.  It was far worse than any elementary school because the ridiculousness of having adults wait to be called upon by their peers through this manner was admittedly pretty humiliating.  The supervisor that answered his cry (or lack of) for help was familiar to him.  When she finally arrived Jack stated firmly, Mary Im going to lose it; I need a personal.  She eyeballed him skeptically before agree to his request but only under the condition that he sit at her desk and they talked about what was going on.  Anything Jack agreed, to get out of this cubicle; I beg of you.

Once seated at Marys desk Jack let it out in a torrent; the desperation, the monotony, lack of direction and didnt stop until he had ended with, I swear one of these days Im going to go postal.  The only time she interrupted him was when he covered how even drugs werent helping anymore and this was merely to inquire if he had a good marijuana hook up.  To drive home the seriousness of his mindset he gestured frantically in the direction of the cubicle maze.

I mean look at the people here!  You remember that semi-retarded fat couple that we laugh at all the time?  The other day the lady fell down in the parking lot againagain!  Everyone was laughing so hard they couldnt even bring themselves to go help.  And I swear if I see that horrid green Tazmanian devil shirt one more time; I dont know what Ill do.  They share the thing for Christs sake!  Shell wear it one day and then he has it on the next; they dont even bath regularly!

Forget about promotion here; theres no place for me to go.  All the supervisors like you have real world job experience and college educations.  HR and training arent going to take me either and the few random jobs that are obtainable are manned by losers that wouldnt dream of giving up there positions unless by force.

If I have to spend one more week hereIm going off the deep end.

Once Jacks tirade was finished Mary broke it down thus:

Jack you are a very smart kid, with a bright future and it is going to waste here.  This sort of dead end job and the people that work it are far beyond you mental talents.  As a supervisor that truly cares about most of her employees I advise you to find a new job post haste and get out of here before you do something to get yourself fired or worse in serious trouble.  In fact Im going to recommend a place for you to check out that I used to work at.  Some of my old friends let me know just yesterday that they are having a job fair soon and I think you would be a great fit there.  Just remember not to list me as a reference as I didnt leave on the best terms; believe you me Im not overly excited about working here either.

And with just the prospect of an out, the mere possibility of an end to the dreariness of the windowless coffin in which he currently held employment Jack decided he could make it through another day.  Five minutes later he was a mirror image of his companion, slumped over the keyboard and randomly bashing keys as the Special K worked its magic.  Just as he had been lolled into complacency of flurry of movement off to one side caught his eye just as a brightly colored ball of paper rebounded off of his head with an echoing THWACK.  He giggled a little when he heard his comrade in arms mutter, youre still an asshole Jack.

II. The Windup

Jack Hunter called in sick the very next day.  He felt bad leaving Mark alone; after all they had custom requested their shifts to work on the same days and have the same breaks so they could maintain their drug induced sanity.  Fuck him, he can deal rationalized Jack, if I find a good gig I can always con him into coming along.  He didnt even bother giving a proper explanation to the control staff when he called out and rebuffed their attempts to con more information out of him with a dial tone.  With an updated resume in hand he made his way through the suburbs and true to her word (and directions) he found the place that Mary recommended.

He immediately was impressed with the building as unlike his current windowless prison the entire faade was top to bottom windows.  Unlike his current job the intercom system was functional and was answered by an honest to goodness front desk persona instead of one of the shlubs that manned the sick line.  Once inside he waited for the woman staffing the front desk to locate an application and he took a few moments to glance around.  There were trees growing in an atrium, a wide staircase leading to a second floor, conference rooms abound, a dedicated break room and from his position even the far off cubicles looked spacious.  The few people that scurried past were friendly, cheerful and moved with a purpose.  With the vast contrast from his current job and Jack was certain he had found his new pace of gainful employment.  With a spring in his step he accepted the application packet and headed home.

Upon arrival at his apartment stead the wind deflated out Jacks sails.  Among the standard application paperwork was a separate attachment detailing additional conditions for the hiring process.  The first memo he could deal with; a release for a background check.  His squeaky clean record and lack of a criminal past made this an easy one.  The second memo and release form was an entirely different matter all together.  Or as is his current unemployed pot dealing roommate said with a sarcastic laugh, Jack dude it would take you months to pass a drug test.  This particular development in addition to an immediate crest fall in attitude made Jack ponder a myriad of quandaries.  Most important of the batch were:

1. How in the fuck am I going to pass a drug test?

2. What exactly kind of job am I about to apply for.

Later that night Jack got the answer to those questions when he swung by Marys place to drop off the bag of weed she requested.  The toxins in the drug added to her state of amusement as she laughed for ten straight minutes at his inquiry and predicament.  Or as she summarized, Oh Jack you are in the process of applying for a company and you dont even know what they do?  She found this sore subject too precious for words even though Jack was certain he could assign a monetary value to this ordeal with negative numbers.  Mary rolled up a second joint and with only fits of coughing as an occasional interruption broke it down.

III. The pitch

The company he was applying to was a major player in the global shipping industry.  While the volume and customer base for most companies paled in comparison to the U.S. post office anyone that did business overseas that knew a thing or two knew better than to use the Post office when shipping out of the country.  That is where this particular corporate giant and its several competitors came into play.  Jack would be applying for a universal customer service agent in one of the main call centers for this entity.  Seeing as how he had exactly zero knowledge of the industry she gave him some rough ideas of what the responsibilities would be.  In addition Mary coached him to concentrate on his strong suits of call center etiquette and this along with his charm should easily land him the job.

Jack and Mary were sharing a post burn out cigarette and sliding towards sedation when he remembered the drug test problem.

Shit Mary I shouldnt have smoked that shit with you! he exclaimed bounding to his feet and instantly wrecking his buzz and severely harshing Marys.  He began pacing frantically upsetting Mary even more.

She cooed to him, Relax Tiger mamas got it covered in a voice he deemed extremely inappropriate for the clearly defined relationship.  He declined her even more ambitious attempt when she patted the couch in an effort to have him sit down.  Jack stood puzzled for some time before she abandon her Mrs. Robinson efforts and disappeared into a back room.

When she returned she held in her hand a bottle of what looked like vitamins, but the label ready Niacin.  She mad the vessel rattle with a tiny shake and before he could even ask the question.

Niacin is sort of like a vitamin or an herbal supplement.  Current drug tests technology (unless you are talking spinal taps) revolves around testing for impurities in the body.  Your common marijuana, cocaine and amphetamines when used up flush out just like anything else toxic in your body; out the pee hole.  Because drug addicts were getting savvy to the thing and using stuff like golden seal and other masking agents, the tests now include most of that stuff too.  Now Niacin here you can buy in the regular old grocery store and in all honesty I have no idea what you actually would take this stuff for.  What these babies do is open up the pours on your skin and out come the toxins.  Unlike coke or speed which you can wash out clean by not doing it for a few days, the THC in pot sticks to your fat cells and slowly dissipates over time.  Your average Joe will need about a month to flush clean and even hyper-active-metabolism driven freaks like you will still need about three full weeks.  This shit here will knock you clean in only a few days. 

I sat pondering Marys mini-atomic bomb; drug free for me in only three days?  Which is of course when she dropped the big one on me.

So heres the catch Jack my boy.  Unless you are dealing with time released Niacin this isnt exactly friendly stuff.  In addition to causing some pretty weird hot flashes the other most common side effect is not pleasant.  Basically why the stuff runs the gambit called your circulatory system and it works its magic it will probably make you break out in some bright red rashes.  Because this stuff is working over your fat cells the most common place and the worst of the rashes you will get is going to be on your ass.

After this I wasnt sure gainful employment was necessary.  The thought of having an uncontrollable rash assaulting my body was one thing, for days on end I might be able to handle, but my ass looking like I had been spanked by a team of pissed off S&M dominatrix was another matter all together.

I was weighing the merits between insanity and self-inflicted masochism when Mary dropped stipulation number two on me.  She was standing before me with a crazed look that I had never seen in the eight months of employment with her.  She was still holing the bottle and swinging it to and fro making the pills rattle with a fixated stare that I was starting to dread with each shake of the plastic container.  She must have made some sort of internal decision because she nodded to herself, pulled the silk cord holding her kimono closed and hit me with it, you know Jack

Seduction via an older woman had always been a teenage fantasy of mine and one that I will easily admit has stayed with me into my budding early 20-somethings.  The problem with this particular illusion was that said seduction would come at the hands of a Bo Derek or Sophia Lauren look alike.  In my wildest of dreams I wouldnt have fathomed that my first brush with MILF greatest would come from an extremely wrinkled, slightly pudgy, over tanned and very unattractive pot head named Mary.  After catching the briefest glimpse of what was hidden by her head to toe garment I quickly agreed to swap the bag of grass for the pills and ate the Andrew Jackson out of my own pocket.

Her parting words of if you change your mind I still use in conjunction with mental picture of her naked body in times of great need with restraint is an absolute must.

IV. Jack Bats the cycle.

By sheer look of call center scheduling magic I was blessed with one day at the cavernous call center without Mary undressing me with her eyes and then three consecutive days off.  As soon as work ended I dashed over to the glass enclosed call center and crossing my toes turned in my completed packets and application.  On my way home per the directions I popped one of the pills and swallowed it down with a full glass of water chaser and my self inflicted torture began.

The serious side effects didnt hit me until mid afternoon the next day after pill number two had been consumed.  The flush touch of slight feverishness overtook me the night before and I was slowly growing accustom to sweating profusely in a 70 degree air conditioned cooled apartment when the itching started.  At first I wasnt certain if it was withdrawal symptoms from lack of marijuana intake as of sunrise I was starting on day number two of being drug free.  I glanced at one bicep and noticed a red tinge, pulling up my shirt I found a larger splotch on my stomach and thats when I remembered Marys stern warnings about the other side effect.  By the time I ventured out of my room in search of ointments and ice to ease my suffering both feet were bright red and I could feel a rash creeping up one side of my neck and onto my face.  The unemployed dope dealing roommate took one look at me and set off into giggles, Jack dude did you roll around in some poison ivy or something man; your turning fucking pink.  True to his words the bathroom mirror spoke volumes and showed me breaking out into one gigantic bright red splotch with varying degrees of intensity across all of my visible body.  Shutting the door and taking a deep breath, I dropped my drawers and mooned the mirror and to my completely and utter horror (and morbid delight) both cheeks were glowing a rosy red.

Thus began two days of hell.  I couldnt leave the house as I looked like I should be in the decontamination ward of a local hospital or at the very least an emergency room bed.  My only attempt came when I dashed to the local grocer for Calamine lotion, massive doses of Benadryl creams and several gallons of water to help with the flushing process.  Such were the looks of disgust at my constant fidgeting and itching that I was certain I would be escorted out of the building as a health threat.  This was thankfully not the case and even though I could barely sit on my rash encompassed backside for more than a few seconds without trying to scrape it like a worm infested dog I made it safely home with nary a traffic mishap.  It was moving towards five oclock in the evening on the second day when from the depths of yet another Calamine filled bath tub that I heard the house phone ring.

Through my itch filled dazed I heard the unemployed, dope dealing roommate answer and after a few stanzas left his lips terror sent a shudder down my spine; he was taking a message for me.  As I scrambled from the tub the conversation unfolded far too quickly:

Oh yeah sure he was telling me about that place.  Yeah it sounds like a great place to work; you guys have a benefits package?  Uh-huhuh-huhcool!  So its an inbound call center, no sales?  Uh-huhuh-huhcool! Say let me ask you something; do you guys drug test?

NO! I wanted to scream but as soon as my lips formed the words by lotion soaked feet skidded on the tile and I went down hard landing awkwardly all which ended with a very unpleasant squelching noise as I hit the floor.  By the time I had recovered my senses and my balances enough to wrap a towel around my naked and gooey body I flung open the door in time to see him press the talk button and put the phone down.

Oh Jack dude he beamed at me in a stoned stupor, man I didnt even know you were here!  He scrunched up his eyebrows in concentration and then remembering what it was he had already forgotten brightened up once again, so hey some lady called about that place you applied at and they want you to call them back to schedule an interview; congratulations dude!

For several moments I stood dripping pink residue on the hallway floor breathing like a bull ready to let loose ninja style in a china shop.  When I finally found the words they came out accompanied by spittle droplets of rage for added emphasis, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! 

The unemployed, dope dealing roommate was of course confused by my outburst.  What is your problem man, I took down the number, got her name and I even remembered to tell youand they dont even drug test!

I caught him off with a curt snarl and with a calmness I didnt knew I possessed advised him, The person I live with asked the job Im applying for if they drug test.  You know Im in the process of trying to purge this shit out of my system.  You know the place pays more which helps us both out.  You know this is important and you go and try and fuck the whole thing up with your idiotic and badly time questions

It took almost the entire content of my speech to come flying out between foam flecked lips before it registered what he had said.  Wait...did you just say they dont drug test?"

Yeah man he replied never losing his grin, I asked the lady cuz I though about dropping in an application with you and she said they dont drug test cuz it isnt cost effective based on how few negative tests come back and because the job doesnt involved driving or flying or some shit.  She asked if it was a problem but I told her I was just curious cuz I hate people watching me piss.  He glanced at my semi-nude and obviously depressing appearance and added, Hey man I think this means you can stop taking those pills and come take a bong rip.

With joy lifting my spirits I banished the pills to an unused medicine cabinet shelf and happy danced my way for a refreshing and ice cold shower.  Despite knowing I wouldnt have to pee in a cup, I declined the celebratory bong rip.