Predator Press
[LOBO]
It's bad enough I'm stuck in traffic trying to get Lars Arson to the airport. But it suddenly dawns on me Lars has chosen this moment to give me some professional criticism.
Fuck.
"You think you know everything, don't you?" he asks.
I laugh. "No."
"You need to stop answering me on reflex."
"What does that mean?" Lars and I are pretty comfortable as friends, but occasionally I forget he is one of my bosses.
"I asked you if you knew everything."
"Of course not. But if there's something I need to know, I know how to learn out about it."
Lars pauses. "But how do you know you need to know something?"
Am I being fired?
I think about these questions carefully.
"A circumstance occurs," I says, stalling words by pretending to be preoccupied by unmoving traffic. "And if I find a problem, I'll seek a solution."
"That's reactive," says Lars. "Can you be preventative?"
I'm a little stunned. "I'm not sure."
"I don't think you can."
Trapped.
"I could prevent this conversation by driving into oncoming traffic," I reply, despite the fact that oncoming traffic is stopped, and within arm's reach.
"That's reacting to this conversation," Lars replies.
"So what are you getting at?"
"You're swimming with sharks now," he replies. "Reactive animals don't fare well against sharks."
I'm getting angry, but I don't really understand the implications of what he is saying.
"I've spent three years being beat to a pulp for virtually nothing-"
"Relax," says Lars. "Nobody knows better how much of a life-imploding experience this has been on you. But you showed up."
I really can't tell where this conversation is going, but I am weirdly tearing up. This is just a really, really excruciating way to get fired.
"I've always been pretty prudent about the company," I says. "Am I going to get a decent reference?"
"You were 'prudent' before your divorce," Lars replies. "Now I'm not sure. And I'm retiring soon. I suggested you to replace me."
???
"But I hate flying."
"That," replies Lars, "is a 'reactive' problem."
Thursday
Tuesday
Al Dente Inferno
Predator Press
[LOBO]
I woke up annoyed that, for the third day in a row, something went wrong on the coffee pot timer.
The coffee didn't start, and I would have to undergo the arduous task of pressing a button and wait fifteen minutes. So I jump in the shower sans caffeine, consciously suppressing screaming obscenities into unsympathetic porcelain tiles.
My brain, well-advised against starting a day like this, tried to head me off.
"Relax, man," it said. "It's not like anyone died."
-And this kinda worked, until it added the afterthought:
"Eventually, everybody dies at the end of this story."
That thought threw me into an utter crippling existential funk. I started thinking about everyone I knew, friends, loved ones, children, pets ... all finally dying, and worse, kinda taking guesses at what Fate had in store for them.
I am supposed to take Lars Arson to the airport for his flight back to Illinois, but I don't know what time he is supposed to be taken to the airport. The couch has a wide defensive perimeter of In-N-Out Burger wrappers, video games and controllers, and Corona bottles.
Rachel yawned as she entered the kitchen. As far as I can tell, she is only wearing an oversized t-shirt.
"Are you working already?"
"I'm trying to," I says, honestly seeking distraction. "But I can't figure out if I'm supposed to log in under A01, A07, or A10."
"Go warthog," she says. "Hey, this coffee is terrible."
She didn't know I was at the show last night, because, well, she bombed pretty badly. I raced home unsure if my presence would only have somehow made things worse. The decision of who got the guest bedroom was left for my guests to decide (Lars was predictably gracious), and I retired for much-needed sleep probably long before she arrived. Call it cowardice.
"Look," I says. "If you are going to stay here for open mike nights, why not just move in? I have plenty of space, and I could use the help."
"Because the coffee is terrible," she smiles. "But thank you for letting us stay."
Us? She picked someone up -and slept with him in my home?
"Cindy came to the show," she says.
-Okay, now I am depressed and have an erection.
[LOBO]
I woke up annoyed that, for the third day in a row, something went wrong on the coffee pot timer.
The coffee didn't start, and I would have to undergo the arduous task of pressing a button and wait fifteen minutes. So I jump in the shower sans caffeine, consciously suppressing screaming obscenities into unsympathetic porcelain tiles.
My brain, well-advised against starting a day like this, tried to head me off.
"Relax, man," it said. "It's not like anyone died."
-And this kinda worked, until it added the afterthought:
"Eventually, everybody dies at the end of this story."
That thought threw me into an utter crippling existential funk. I started thinking about everyone I knew, friends, loved ones, children, pets ... all finally dying, and worse, kinda taking guesses at what Fate had in store for them.
I am supposed to take Lars Arson to the airport for his flight back to Illinois, but I don't know what time he is supposed to be taken to the airport. The couch has a wide defensive perimeter of In-N-Out Burger wrappers, video games and controllers, and Corona bottles.
Rachel yawned as she entered the kitchen. As far as I can tell, she is only wearing an oversized t-shirt.
"Are you working already?"
"I'm trying to," I says, honestly seeking distraction. "But I can't figure out if I'm supposed to log in under A01, A07, or A10."
"Go warthog," she says. "Hey, this coffee is terrible."
She didn't know I was at the show last night, because, well, she bombed pretty badly. I raced home unsure if my presence would only have somehow made things worse. The decision of who got the guest bedroom was left for my guests to decide (Lars was predictably gracious), and I retired for much-needed sleep probably long before she arrived. Call it cowardice.
"Look," I says. "If you are going to stay here for open mike nights, why not just move in? I have plenty of space, and I could use the help."
"Because the coffee is terrible," she smiles. "But thank you for letting us stay."
Us? She picked someone up -and slept with him in my home?
"Cindy came to the show," she says.
-Okay, now I am depressed and have an erection.
Sunday
Wolves v Sharks
[LOBO]
A badly sunburned Lars Arson stumbles into the campsite about 9pm. His Hawaiian shirt is tattered, and he is wearing only one flip-flop.
He has been missing for seven hours.
Music is playing, glow sticks are flying, the grilled food smell wafts through the air, and a naked woman is working a hula hoop by the bonfire.
"We were playing 'Capture the Flag!'" he gasps between gulps of water.
"Right," I says, pulling a blue rag from my back pocket. "Here. You win."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
-
LOBO - Predator Press "I can't believe the woman giving the MRI was flirting with you right in front of me ," Wendy growled.... -
Predator Press [LOBO] Yes it's totally true. There is now, in fact, a $14.95 Bionic Ear . And I'm not even going to g...
