My name is Johnny Carsweeper. Contrary to what my last name may or
may not indicate, I do not sweep cars. Yesterday on my way to work
I passed a bus full of old retired people. None of the old people
were doing much, except for one. He was reading from an old and tattered
bible. It was labeled “the Good Book.” The bus driver had headphones
on and looked as if she was trying very hard to pretend that she wasn’t
making a living driving old-people-buses. I chuckled to myself as
I listened to Murray and Murray and Phalmington on the radio.
Yesterday at work I began
my new position as a permanent technical assistant to manager of managerial
technicalities involving the transfer of air molecules between complex
B3 and F. Before that, I was the temporary technical assistant to
manager of managerial technicalities involving the transfer of air molecules
between complex B and A.
This new position would
have me working in a new cubicle. I used to work in cubicle #157AB33delta.
I now worked in cubicle #157AB33theta. Not much farther from where
my last cubicle was, but it was still a new one.
In my cubicle was a very nice, new computer. There was nothing
important on my old one. Just some stuff I had downloaded from the
internet. This one had a faster processor and allowed me to download
files at approximately pi times the previous rate (not all computers hooked
up to the Megalom Corp. Network access at the same speed).
But that’s all boring stuff!
Nothing exciting every happens at work, so I will
move on to my activities after work. Before that, though, I called
my girlfriend Stella. She did not know that I live in my car.
I was going to take her out to dinner and an OK bar. This, of course,
meant that my car had to be free of my stuff. I collected everything
in a trash bag and put it under the desk in my cubicle. Then I borrowed
a dust buster from Mel Appeloog and cleaned out my car. The car was
ready for Stella!
At this point in my story,
I will include me telephone conversation with Stella.
“Hello?” said Stella.
“Hi!” I said. “This
is Johnny. What’s up?”
“Oh, hi, Johnny. I’m
fine. How’s your new job going?”
I wasn’t about to tell her
about the spiel with my messy car. Some other things Stella didn’t
know were: my actual position at Megalom Corp. and my salary. Stella
thought I was a computer programmer for Squeechy Zellus, owner of Megalom
Corp. She also thought I raked in a whopping $50,000.00 a year.
But back to the conversation.
“Pretty good, things are
settling in quite nicely. I’ve already put some new matrices into
the mainframe and defractured some drivers.” Stella loved this stuff.
She didn’t understand a damned word of it, and neither did I.
“Wow…” she said, sounding
impressed. “I guess you’re going to be doing a lot of that, huh?”
“Yeah, but I should be done
with everything by six or so. Did you wanna go out and get a few
drinks tonight?”
“Sure!”
“Great! I’ll pick
you up at 6:30. Mind if we eat dinner somewhere first?”
“That’s fine. Oh,
can Niqi and her boyfriend come along?”
“Who’s her boyfriend?”
“I dunno, I forget his name.
Jack Nickels or something. He seems nice.”
“Yeah, that’s fine.
Are they going to meet us at the restaurant?”
“Yeah.”
“OK, bye.”
“Bye! I love you!”
I didn’t tell Stella I loved
her. I didn’t really, to be honest. She was just very attractive.
Why should I be in love with someone I’m lying to, anyway? I’m somewhat
honest.
So I finished up my work
for the day. It mostly consisted of playing solitaire. Sometimes
I played Quake, too, but I had not yet installed it on this computer.
I did not own Quake, but Mel Appeloog did. He’s a nice guy.
With work done, it was time to go get Stella and meet her friends at the
restaurant. The name of this restaurant was Eat at Joe’s. Joe’s
was next door.
My car looked more than
acceptable. It didn’t look like a home anymore. I would have
patted myself on the back but it was a rather small car and would not allow
such motion.
I turned on the radio.
It was playing that new Hanson song, “Kiss of Death” or something.
I changed the station. It was now playing “Uh-uh, Girlfriend!” by
Sas-E Blaq Gurlz. I changed it again. “Oops, I wrote a song”
by Megadeth. Again. “We’re Annoying” by Blink 182. Again.
“I speek gud” by XMD. Again. “My new puppy” by Korn.
And so on. There was never anything good on the radio. I made
a personal note to somehow fix the music world in the future.
I drove all the way to Stella’s apartment in Maple Chunk Meadows
Apartment Complex. She was in complex 3, second floor, suite 302F.
When I knocked on the door, she
answered it, just as I expected her to.
“Hi!” she said.
“Hey, baby,” I said.
I wasn’t sure if that was appropriate, but I didn’t care enough.
“Come in for a few minutes,”
she said, “I’m almost ready.”
“What do you need to look
nice for?” I asked as I walked inside. “You look fine to me.”
I looked around. So
this was an apartment! It didn’t look so bad. It was bigger
than a college dorm room but smaller than a house. Speaking of dorm
rooms, college didn’t help me a damn bit in finding a good life out in
the real world. As you may or may not know, I live in my car.
“What?” said Stella.
I had already forgotten
what I had said to her. She was putting in some earrings. I
tried to fathom how earrings came to be, imagining cave men sticking sticks
and stones through bloody earlobes, but she really wanted to know what
I had said.
“Oh, nothing,” I said.
“Can’t remember. You ready?”
“Yeah.”
Stella told me how nice
my car was. It was actually rather old. When I had received
it for a birthday present six years before, it was brand-new and state-of-the-art.
It was a rich kid car. Now the rich kid was living in his nice car.
One advantage to that is that people tend to feel awkward about breaking
into a car that someone is sleeping in. Some people don’t, though,
so I had a gun in the glove compartment. I didn’t even think Stella
might find that. I knew she wouldn’t like it. I cursed myself
for not putting it in the trunk. Putting it under my desk at work
would have been an awful idea!
Stella turned on the radio.
It was playing “Oooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, baby, baby” by the Kandee Boyz.
She turned it back off.
Stella and I did not talk
on the way to the restaurant. She fixed her makeup and I whistled
a lot.
It was now 7:30. We
had arrived at Eat at Joe’s. We didn’t need reservations, just a
lot of patience. It was that kind of restaurant. Niqi and her
boyfriend were already waiting in that tiny little cubby that restaurants
like to call a waiting area. I had never met Niqi, nor had I met
her boyfriend.
“Hey, Niqi, this is John
Carsweeper. Johnny, this is Niqi and…”
“Phil Pennington,” said
Niqi’s boyfriend. Oh no!
Phil and I exchanged hateful
glances and then proceeded to look in other directions.
“Do you guys know each other?”
asked Niqi.
“Um, no,” we both said,
looking away.
“BLASPHARX, PARTY OF FOUR!!”
squelched the P.A. That reminds me that I hate P.A.s. I hate
restaurants that use P.A.s more.
“That’s our table,” said
Niqi. Duh.
As would be expected, we
all got up and walked over to our table, then we all sat down. It
was non-smoking. That was fine with me. I’m allergic to cigarette
smoke.
For dinner we all had an
awkward time. Phil and I said nothing to each other, and Stella and
Niqi kept trying to get us to. The food was OK.
After dinner, as we had
planned, we went to Gus’ Drinky for a few drinks. This was where
things got really bad. Niqi suggested we play some sort of drinking
game, but I suggested that someone should drive us all home and that I
didn’t want anyone throwing up in my car.
“Oh, what’s the big deal?”
said Niqi, “it’s not like you live in your car!”
I let that one slide.
Stella at least agreed with
me, but Phil did not. Phil knew I lived in my car. I did not
trust Phil, and hoped to God he might have some sort of sympathy for other
human beings, like me, trying to date pretty women, like Stella.
“So, Johnny,” said Phil.
He knew I would hate that. I only allowed Stella and my parents to
call me that. “Where do you work?”
“He works at Megalom Corp.
Isn’t that great?” said Stella.
“Really? Me too.
I’m a temporary technical provider of details to the production manager
of brown cardboard boxes marked ‘THIS SDIE UP.’”
“Wow,” said Stella, pretending
to be impressed. “Johnny’s a computer programmer for Squeechy Zellus!”
“Really…” said Phil.
“Actually, not that you mention it, I thought Johnny was had a different
position.”
“Like what?” I said.
“Shouldn’t I know what my job is?”
“Oh, yes, I’m not arguing
that. I was trying to say, though, that I saw a little bulletin from
Mel Appeloog, on the bulletin board, congratulating you or someone else
with the same name as you for a promotion to permanent technical assistant
to manager of managerial technicalities involving the transfer of air molecules
between complex B3 and F.”
“Not my Johnny,” said Stella.
“You’re a liar,” I said.
I should note at this point
that we had all had some drinks. Some of them were beers. Others
were light mixed drinks. We were as a result more honest about personal
opinions.
“Johnny, be nice,” said
Stella.
“I’m no liar,” said Phil,
“I know I saw that bulletin. And in addition, I remember a Johnny
Carsweeper harassing me via e-mail about that very position. I asked
to meet in person and discuss the matter like adults. So he said,
‘meet me by the printer!’ But he printed off eighty papers that said
‘Phil Pennington Sucks!’ And this was all for a crappy job as permanent
technical assistant to manager of managerial technicalities involving the
transfer of air molecules between complex B3 and F! That job is a
joke, Johnny!”
“Johnny,” said Stella, after
a brief moment of awkwardity, “is this true?”
“Yes!” shouted Phil Pennington.
“Shut up you lying bastard!
She was talking to me!” I shouted back.
Niqi was drinking her drink
and pretending to be interested in something on the other side of Gus’
Drinky.
Then I got an idea.
I grabbed Stella by the arm.
“Come on,” I said, “we’re
leaving. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a lying bastard.”
“But Johnny!”
I didn’t allow a struggle
from Stella. I half-dragged-half-led her all the way out of Gus’
Drinky and into my car.
“If you want to ho home,”
I said, “I’ll take you.”
“Why are we leaving?
Was Phil really lying?”
“No,” I said, “I’m taking
you home because I’m a lying bastard.” I was and still am a lying
bastard. It’s embarrassing to tell people you live in your car, you
know.
“What’s so bad about having
that other job Phil was talking about?”
“The fact that it’s not
important and that it doesn’t make me enough money to live anywhere else
other than this car.” I thought it was about time Stella and I broke
up.
“You live in this car?!”
“Yes. I lied when
I said I had an apartment in Crestfallen Village.”
“Why?”
“Because…” I couldn’t come
up with anything other than “so you would sleep with me,” so I said it.
“What?!”
As stated before, I thought
it was about time Stella and I broke up. She agreed by now.
“Take me home, Johnny.”
“That’s what I was planning
to do.”
Perhaps I should mention
here that the fact I screwed things up with Stella wasn’t a rarity.
I frequently encounter situations in which I destroy some sort of nice
relationship or display one of my many socially unacceptable personality
traits.
So I took Stella home and
drove to where I usually parked: the Megalom Corp. parking lot.
The next day, Phil Pennington
found another eighty papers in his mailbox that said “Phil Pennington Sucks!”
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