Cleanup on AIsle 10

For Herald, things seemed rather ordinary for a Wednesday afternoon. Walking through the supermarket aisles, he noticed the perfectly stacked containers of breakfast treats and one hundred calorie snack packs.

But these were not simple rows of consumerism and daily specials highlighted in large print. The super market was his gateway to discovery. It was his suburban version of the kind of life that he always read about in those adventure magazines. It was the kind of life that he never dared to pursue in the name of being pragmatic and those Gods of socially acceptable norms.

His worthy vehicle was no four by four jeep that could break through rough terrains and climb over steep topography, rather, it was a shiny super market cart whose front left wheel was tilted in the wrong direction.

Herald did not mind the daily task of grocery shopping. There was so much to be discovered as he passed through the familiar rows. On aisle Nine there was a special on frozen hamburger meat, only $4.99 per lbs. The old lady in aisle four offered free samples of micro waved pizza that tasted like ketchup dough topped off by gummy imitation Mozzarella cheese. Herald waited in line with the rest of them and when the pizza was finally ready he received a perfectly squared piece that fitted well into the tiny plastic cup.

Herald swallowed the pizza bite without chewing, one could say that he drank the pizza or rather inhaled it. When he asked the old lady for another piece she declined on account of the store policy that every costumer only gets one sample.

Herald was not the kind of a man who knew how to handle adversity. Like so many others, he chose to walk away in silence with that lingering feeling of being mistreated by the world. Life is not always fair, he reminded himself as he walked towards the fruit section where he noticed her standing there in between the ripe cherry tomatoes and those mountains of yellow and green bananas that were on store special, only two dollars per pound.

Her name was Dee. Doris if you wanted to get technical. Doris M. Pupnik if you wanted to be precise. Doris worked at the local video rental store. She had long brown hair that curled at its bottoms. Her skin was fair and her smile was reassuring.

Herald frequented the shop where she worked. He loved the old classic movies from the 1950’s, that time in America when things were more simple and people could be trusted.

In the 1950’s he always told her, people could depend on their friends and neighbors. Back in those days, people left their doors unlocked at night and allowed their children to run free through the neighborhood streets. Doris was not the kind of a woman to engage in those kinds of philosophical discussions. Maybe it had to do with the fact that she was born in September, Damn Virgos are always so practical, he thought to himself.

Dee was a southerner who held on to that southern charm. She always listened in an attentive manner and wished Herald a great day as he walked out of store.

Herald grew hesitant as he approached her. This was the very first time that they ran into each other on neutral grounds. This was the first time that he saw he legs. Come to think about it, he never even knew she had legs before. She always stood behind that rental store counter.

But there she was, in all of her flesh and glory. Herald smiled, approached and then ran scared. He simply freaked, he changed his mind, he could not handle the opportunity, he knew not what to say.

But it was too late. she already spotted him as he turned around.

“Herald, is that you?” she smiled.
“Yea, it is me, how are you Dee?”
“I am ok, how are you?”
“Pretty much the same”

Following some meaningless small talk about the rising price of vegetables, the merits of organic foods and some exotic recipes that she offered him for cooking tofu, Herald and Dee walked slowly together towards aisle ten. That was the place where the supermarket proudly displayed their DVD collection. From oldies to new releases, from such classics as Gone With the Wind to the latest Disney animation flick, this place had it all.

Herald felt the need to prove his sense of loyalty to Dee. He positively reassured her that he would never switch over to the supermarket rentals despite the attractive prices that they offered and their flexible return schedule.

“What about you Dee?” He wanted to know. “What kind of movies do you like to watch?”

“I actually don’t watch too much television or waste my time with movies” she confessed. “I find most of it to be beneath me. If you really want to know what I think, then I can tell you that most people who spend their lives in front of the television ultimately become mindless bores who have no true concept of the world. I would much rather read a novel, go hiking or have an occasional roll in the sack with a good looking man.”

Herald was the kind of a man who wore his feelings on his sleeve. In the case of Dee, he wore disappointment. How he ever mistook her for someone who could understood his heart, he would never know. Running away like a frightened child, he knocked over a couple of Coca-Cola bottles that went on special, only $3.99 for a six pack.

Leaving her, his groceries and his shiny metal cart behind, Herald stormed out of the supermarket and into that same blue Chevrolet that he has been driving for the past seven years.

She just stood there in silence. What the hell was the problem with these men? she thought. This of course was not the first time she tackled this ageless question to no avail.

The voice of a young Hispanic female rang “Cleanup on aisle ten” across the loud sound system.

Dee saw a woman around her age waking hand and hand with her three year old son. The boy smiled at the woman and simply said "I love you Mama"

It was getting late already. Dee would turn 36 in just a few months and had nothing to show for it.

A teenage boy holding on to a mop cornered off the area with those bright yellow cones that simply read “Caution slippery when wet.”

Dee had no place to go. She did not feel like eating another one of those frozen single serving meals.

After a supersized hamburger, French fries and a diet coke, she walked over to her new Toyota that she got on lease. The scent of new leather was still in the air but that did not make things any better for her.

It was getting late already, she thought, time for her to go home.

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The American Writer by Bukowski

gone abroad
I sit under the tv lights
and am interviewed again
I am asked questions
I give answers
I make no attempt to be
brilliant.
to be truthful
I feel bored
and I almost never feel
bored.
"do you?..." they ask.
"oh, yeah, well I..."
"and what do you think of..."
"I don't think of it much. I
don't think too much..."
somehow it ends.

that evening somebody tells me
I'm on the news
we turn the set on.
there I am. I look pissed.
I wave people off.
I am bored.

how marvelous to be me without
trying.
it looks on tv
as if I knew exactly what I
was doing.

fooled them
again.

from Dangling In The Tournefortia - 1981
Charles Bukowski

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A special place in hell for women

That morning, like most others, was just another ordinary day that offered limited consequence laced with the morning fragrance of routine. She watched the dials of the old wooden clock shift slowly towards west with the partial enthusiasm of another day to come
.
Her hair was long and brown. It required a level of attention that she could not commit to.

Thank God, she thought to herself, that she never adopted that cat that Marcie offered her. Mr. buttercup may have helped cope with loneliness but he would more likely drive her insane. She did not want to turn into one of those single women who lived with cats. She always thought that letting a cat move in was the last step before accepting life’s lonely trail. But at least, cats did not demand as much work as did people.

Men were the most difficult to deal with, she always thought.

Thank God she never agreed to let John move in with her. He would have likely required even more work than would Mr. Buttercup. John was a stale male. As soon as she had her taste of his limited companionship and that five-inched tickle, she felt just as lonely as she did before he came into her life.

She thought about her birthday. June was only two months away. She will turn 38. She felt like 27. Time was always missing. It was a rare commodity in her life. She decided not to think about it. Repression proved to be a useful technique as the years went by.

The long line of people who were standing in line for a morning cup of coffee did not make things any better for her. She stood behind a homeless man who smelled of misery and collective apathy. His kaki jacket was torn at the shoulder. His hair seemed as confused as the rest of it all.

He walked up to the young lady at the counter and asked her for a cup of coffee and for a cup filled with iced water. When she refused to accept his money on account of her being a born again Christian and all, he dropped two single dollar bills into her tip jar.

God bless you and the rest of America, he whispered as he walked away with his distinct pride.

Now it was her turn. Sabrina stood in front of the young Christian girl where she found herself empty of speech.

What can I get you today? She asked.

Sabrina stayed silent.

The Christian girl tried once again, Good morning, Mam, what can I get for you today?

Sabrina remained silent.

Two Wall Street secretaries were standing impatient in the back of the line. They both wore similar cloths, similar shoes and similar hairstyles. Beneath their socially acceptable appearances, they both held on to those same fears that drove so many people into the world of banking-.the fear of being alone in the world.

Hey lady, one of them bolstered, some of us have jobs to get to this morning, can you please hurry it up already?

Sabrina said nothing. She ignored their rudeness as she placed her eyes on the shiny crucifix that hung from the coffee shop employee’s necklace.

Following a third attempt, the young Christian girl just smiled and turned towards the large coffee percolator. She returned with a warm cup of coffee and a reassuring smile.

Here you go honey, no charge.

Sabrina dropped a twenty-dollar bill into the tip jar and walked away feeling better about the world.

There is a special place in hell for women who don’t help other women, said the homeless man who was standing outside. I could be wrong, but I think that the quote came from former Secretary of State Madeleine Albright.

Sabrina smiled and nodded her head in agreement. She took the old black book out of her crowded purse and disappeared into the hopeful streets of the East Village.

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The Truth About Jeremy Klein

“Yesterday, some guy came in here and told me that he loved me”
“He did what?”
“Yea, I am totally serious. At first, I just thought that he was joking. But he wasn’t. Even after I told him to get lost, he stuck around. He must have lingered around that table for at least another hour if not longer.” She pointed towards the corner.
“That’s kind of creepy.”
“But that is not the half of it. Just as he was about to leave, he once again turned my way and told me that he was a friend of Jason’s.”
“Your Jason? The Jason?”
“The one and only?”
“Ok, this is really strange. How does he know him? Did he say?”
“He did not say much. He just stood there smiling. As he was walking out, he gave me his business card and said that he would be back later on today. What time do you have?”
“It is almost 8pm. This guy better hurry up and get here before Louis closes down.”
The two of them sat around the bar area and waited. Smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee always helped time go by that much quicker. Richmond Virginia was the last place that smokers were considered human beings. Maybe it had something to do with that giant conglomerate that was situated downtown.
Sam thought about Jason. Four years have gone by since they last met. There was not a day that went by when she did not think about him, about them, about the way he used to make her feel alive. Some things in life could not be repaired by time. A broken heart was one of them.
A few more customers walked into the joint while others left. Every doorbell ring made her lift her eyes up in anticipation. A large plate of French fries and a grilled cheese sandwich did not make her feel any better. When 10 pm came around, she greeted Louis goodbye and asked Remy if she would not mind sticking around for just a while.
The two of them, like a tall pine standing beneath the horizon made little sense in the settings of the old neighborhood. So many years have gone by and nothing has changed for either one of them.
They both still worked at that same restaurant where they first became waitresses more than a decade ago. They hung out with those same people who held the same conversations, watched the same television shows and smoked the same menthol smokes that chiseled away at the larynxes of everyone around their side of the street.
Remy did not mind the daily routine. Some people just preferred to live their lives in that fashion. But Mel wanted more, much more.
Jason was the one who opened her eyes. He was the one told her about the word outside of Hull Street. He told her about far away nations, about Laos, Azerbaijan and Bolivia. He told her about those strange kinds of food that people ate, cobra snake stews, lizard pies and hog fat soup. He has traveled the world and has seen it all. His two years down in Highland Springs was always meant to be temporary. Guys like Jason never put down their roots in suburban America. He always viewed corporate malls and gated communities as agents of spiritual devastation.
It was getting late now, nearly 10:45pm. Remy said that it was time to go.
Mel dipped her extended fingernails deep into her warm suede pocket. On the expensive business card, his name was spelled Jeremy A. Klein, Attorney at Law. She did not recognize his name nor could she remember Jason ever mentioning this guy’s name.
Jeremy A. Klein did not show up that night nor did he show up any other time in subsequent days.
Two weeks later, she broke down and called him up. The fine print beneath his name identified his place of employment as the Weinstein and Gad Law Firm (In Manhattan’s financial district is what she gathered). The vigorous secretary transferred her call after a few moments.
“Hello”
“Yes, this is Jeremy Klein, how can I help you?”
“Hello. Yes, hi, this is Mel from the restaurant. You know, you gave me your card.”
“Is that what you best remember me by Mel? Or was there something else?”
“Well,” she laughed “You did tell me that you loved me”
“And?”
“And that you will come back.”
“Yes, I did, I did say that and I meant every word of it too.”
“Which did you mean, the part about coming back or the part about you loving me?”
“I meant both”
“Well, it does not appear like you meant either. You never showed up.”
“So you were waiting?”
“Well, yes, I guess I was, but only out of curiosity.”
“Curiosity killed the cat, did anyone ever tell you that one?”
“Hey Jeremy, you have to admit that this is all so strange. Do you always just show up at places and tell strange women that you love them? That you know their ex-boyfriends? Is that what you always do?”
“Actually, it is not.”
“So what gives?” she demanded to know.
“I will tell you, but not over the phone.”
Six months went by and Mel moved her things into his apartment. When faced with boredom, with a lack of hope and with the feeling that there is no way out, any woman can fall in love with any guy as long as he pays her the right kind of attention. Strange was the nature of human beings.
One the other side of the continent, Jason was working around his garden when the phone rang. The rain around Seattle seemed to be like the wind that came in for a visit every day or so. Sometimes it just said hello, other times it stayed around for coffee. The mention of her name made him pause. He did not hear the name Mel in several years.
Despite numerous girlfriends, he never really did stop loving her even after all of those years and all of the pain involved.
So just imagine how he reacted when he found out that some random guy that he once met on an airplane ride asked his former love to marry him. He almost went insane.
Weeks and weeks of heavy drinking could not take away the pain and compunction.
If he only closed his eyes and went to sleep like he always did on long flights. If he had only watched that movie that they were showing for the twentieth time . If he had only not had the urge to tell everyone that he ever met about that one woman that he left behind, to show them the many pictures of Mel with her gorgeous eyes and perfect figure. If he had only kept the long conversation to small talk like most people did instead of telling that shady lawyer about the small town where he met her and that great restaurant where she worked.
If only life was that much different, he would not have to face the fact that Mel will soon be known as Mrs. Melissa A. Klein. To face the fact that a random stranger had the guts to take Mel to that place where he was always afraid to go.

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A Beer To Match

Not every kind of a woman could get a way with it. But then again, Nancy was not just another woman. She was Nancy. She ignored the television dictated hegemony of socially acceptable bar behavior and ordered herself an ordinary brown bottle of Budweiser beer.

Nancy was no dummy. She had a complete sense of the potential reprocautions that her selections may have on visual representation of her entourage. Like an ugly sore, her beer bottle took away from the magnificence of her girlfriends’ Cosmo martinis and sour apple vodka drinks.

Ever since she was a little girl back in Odessa Texas, Nancy did not quit fit in with the rest of the group. She was the kind of a girl that always sat alone in that back corner of the classroom.

Nancy did not have blond hair and her breasts did not come out until it was just a bit too late. Her cousin Annie had nice supple ones as early as fourteen. Annie’s mom always dressed her up in those tiny summer dresses that made her look like a California princess. Annie’s mom was born out in LA.

Annie was great. That was what everyone in Odessa always said. As for Nancy, of her no one spoke that often. The one was blond and the other brunette. The one a woman, the other was a girl.

It was cold Friday night back when they were younger when Uncle Jim and Aunt Marilyn went out to the dance in the grand ballroom that the two girls stayed back at home.

Nancy never kissed a boy but Annie did much more. Out of the fridge, they snuck a bottle of Budweiser. Nancy was amazed at what Annie showed her. She never even thought that anyone would ever think of doing such a thing to a boy. When Annie told her that everyone already did, she felt inadequate just like she always did with everything else.

At first she placed her lips on the bottle’s tip and then slowly worked her way down.

“Make sure to breath through your nose”, Annie explain “otherwise you may just end up chocking on that thing, and that would be so embarrassing, don’t you think?”

Nancy took her time. It was more than two years later when she met Lyndon Andrews, the only boy to ever have her heart. Lyndon was an unusual boy. He played the guitar.

Nancy thought that he was much bigger than that bottle of Budweiser that Annie used to teach her about those fact of life. She breathed slowly through her nose but that did not always help.

Lyndon was a sweet boy. That was what she always thought when thinking back. She has not seen him ever since he flew out west to play football in Colorado State.

How she ended up in North Carolina, Nancy never figured. She just assumed that life had its own way of working things out.

Holding on to her bottle of Budweiser, Nancy smiled and pretended to care about what her friends were saying and what the others were talking about. The bar was crowded but hundreds of men but none of them appeared to have a good heart.

When she opened up her mailbox that very morning, there she found that Christmas card from Odessa Texas. Bob, Annie, daughter Melissa and their six year old son wished her a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Annie’s breasts seemed larger than ever. Her ass grew double in size.

It has been more than three years since Nancy flew back to Texas. There was not much left there for her these days. Nothing left besides those cold brown bottles of cold Budweiser and a smile to match.

Autographed Copy

Never Judge a Book

"You know Jim, there are two types of Cambodian girls" that’s what he said as we stepped off from the platform of the long wooden boat. It has been a long trip from the island of Koh Phangan. The sun was out in full force and the Singha Beers did not help any. My dehydration did not discourage Martin’s enthusiasm as we walked into the territorial grounds of Cambodia.
"As I said," he picked up his backpack from the floor, readjusted its straps and walked on "there are two types of Cambodian girls, there are those who charge twenty five per night and then there is the other type." Then he paused as if he was waiting for me to play straight man.

"Ok, I give in, what is the other type?"

"Those who charge more." You should have seen the smile on his face, he stood there like some kind of a perverted peacock who mistook his record of Asian whore mongering to be a worthy accomplishment for all loyal subjects of the great British Commonwealth.
Martin and I met on a scuba diving trip out in Koh Pi Pi. For any and all of us who scuba as a way of life, there are no better waters that those of the Thai islands.
Martin stood over six feet tall. He was the perfect antithesis to the two American travelers who joined us back in Bangkok. They were young and foul, while he was the quintessential English gentleman.

Martin always said "Thank You" and "No need". Every sentence that came out of his mouth was preceded or followed by an " I beg your pardon". Martin used the right fork with the right hand, he never spilled his beer nor did he ever interrupt a conversation. Even after a long day of diving, he showed up properly for dinner. His pressed white button down shirt was something out of the ordinary around their T-shirt circles.

Martin seemed like the kind of a man that was so proper and straight that he could himself poor the purest Earl Gray tea into Queen Elizabeth’s own tea cup.

But you should never judge a book by his cover that is what they always told me.

Later on, in that small village, right outside of Sihanoukville, we walked into the Smoking Bandit brothel. At least, that was the sign that they posted for the tourists. This was my first time in an official brothel. The prostitutes along the small outside bars on the main drag of the island of phuket do not count.

A short woman around the age of forty welcomed us into a well decorated room that was furnished with bamboo and red cloth.

Her name was Jorani and she explained in broken English that it meant beautiful jewel. Lady Jewel did not speak much. The only words she knew referred to drinks, women and money to be collected.

A couple of Angkor beers did the trick and we were ready to go.


Jorani walked us into the other room were we had to choose. Each girl went for about Cambodian Riel, the equivalent of ten American dollars.

Miki and John took their time and then selected their woman. Miki liked them taller. John was looking for a bustier woman, which as we all know, is a rare commodity around these parts.

Then it was Martin’s turn. We all waited to see who the great English gentleman was going to select. I suspected that he would take that one girl from the left who seemed to be just a little more classy than did the rest of the prostitutes.

But Martin was full of surprises just like the many other characters that I met along my travels.
First he chose Lin and then Min and then Ling. But he could not stop. Six women walked into the bedroom with the great English gentleman, Queen Elizabeth’s tea steward, the great emblem, satisfaction and delight of the United Kingdom of St. George and the rose.

There were three women left but I selected none. I went outside and smoked another cigarette as I waited for the boys to complete their task.

Twenty minutes later, I grew bored and paid Jorani fifteen American dollars for a massage. Her hands were experienced and worth every penny I spent. At the end, she gave me a short hand job, just to make things right.

Two cigarettes later and Miki reemerged.

"So what do you say about his Martin character?" He laughed as he inquired.

"What do I think about this Martin character? What do I think about all of us? Well Miki", I inhaled another breath of cigarette smoke and then smiled "I guess that you can never judge a book buy its cover."



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