Sanford Loses His Car

 Sanford was perplexed. He had parked his car somewhere, but in the sea of metal boxes it was hopelessly lost. He looked over the shimmering expanse outside Cheerwood Mall. It was a hot day, and the black asphalt soaked up the heat and blasted it back. He began to sweat.

The plan it seemed was to start in the center and work from there. Sanford was a lazy man who was brilliant at avoiding work. At work he was the Prince of Delays, where action items lay dormant until they were no longer action items, which was a secret that Sanford shared with no one.  Through this strategy, it appeared at times that he was doing something when in actuality nothing had been done. Emailed missives on lessening unnecessary requests made it appear Sanford was thoughtful in his negligence.

Here he was, faced with a task that he wanted to avoid, but he steeled himself and stepped out from underneath the jutting shelter outside the entrance of the mall. He felt the nuclear radiance of the heat through the bottoms of his flattened flipflops.

He began down the center, thinking that he had been lucky and found a space near the front. His 2005 Honda Civic in Silver was nowhere to be found, but then again there was a lot of small silver cars parked in the lot, and they tended to blend together. Halfway down the aisle he decided this was fruitless and took a turn to the left, squeezing between the parked cars.

He looked up and down, and four cars down on the left he spotted his car. He was sure it was his, because it was only four cars away from where he was standing, and he didn’t feel like walking any more.

Sanford never locked the door on his car, because that took extra effort, and such was his efficiency. He opened the door, got into the drivers seat, and then hunted for his keys. They were always in his front pocket, but they weren’t there. He then realized that they must have fallen out where he tried on that pair of khakis at the Gap. He rolled his eyes. More effort!

He was careful this time to note where he hd left his car, and trudged back into the mall. The cool blast of air conditioning braced him. It felt great. He entered the mall and went up the escalator to the second floor. At last he was in the Gap. He looked in the changing room, and there they were on the floor. Excellent!

Leaving the store, he had to walk past the food court, so it was time for another round of free samples. He had a piece of mandarin chicken, a bite of marinated steak and part of a spring roll. He then bought a Cinnabon, sat down and ate the whole thing with enthusiasm. Traffic milled about, and Sanford was in no hurry to go back into the blast furnace outside.

After 45 minutes or so, he went back out to his car, and in its place was a Nissan Pathfinder. He was confused to be sure. Someone had stolen his car! He called 911. What Sanford didn't realize was that his car was actually two rows over. If he had looked at the rear bumper, he would have seen a sticker saying "My Child is a Honor Student at Dorchester High". He didn't have a child, or a girlfriend. He had tried one or the other but it was too much effort.

A policeman showed up 45 minutes later. He looked bored while listening to Sanford relate the tale of his car. It wasn’t a really long story, and the both of them were ready for it to end, but in different ways. Officer Santiago would get back in his car, turn the A/C on full blast, and start the process of filing the report. He was the opposite of Sanford, and actually got things done. 

Sanford ended up ordering a Lyft, going back to his condo, and waiting to hear from the police. Meanwhile, his car sat in the parking lot at the mall, where it would continue to sit for three weeks. In the mean time someone would steal the license plate, a homeless person took up residence for several nights, and eventually the car was labelled a nuisance and towed away. Sanford didn’t have a clue what had happened, and true to form neglected to follow up because that would take effort. In the end, his car sat in a lot for a year, was eventually crushed. 

A year later Sanford would be in Pier One Imports, shopping for a lamp. He spotted a lamp that was made from ersatz rusted metal, liked it and took it home. He imagined that the metal in that lamp was recycled metal of which his car had been part of. So, Sanford did get his car back, and minimal effort was expended.

Herbie Hits Velocity

Herbie’s gash on his head was the least of his problems at the moment. Having fallen off his skateboard for the umpteenth time, he found himself wondering why he had decided to take on this enterprise in the first place. The idea of a car towing him down the street while on the skateboard had immediately sounded appealing, and it was, for a brief while.

His friend Chuck had come up with the idea, and like many of Chuck’s ideas, it did not involve him actually doing anything. He was, he would say, just an idea man. And often, his ideas were ill-advised and therefore appealing to the teenage mind. Issues such as mortality and loss of a limb or an eye never entered Herbie’s mind until after these things were over. Chuck was, and would always be, someone who was good at selling bad ideas to other people. He was the Ron Popeil of bad ideas. You could have one concussion, but wait - for this limited time offer you could get a concussion and a small gash on the head, which would bleed much worse than it was.

So they got a rope from the tool shed in the back of Chuck’s house. A sturdy rope indeed. They considered where to tie it, and then Chuck had the idea of popping the trunk, and tying it to the latch inside. It was true that then Chuck would not be able to see out of his rear-view mirror, but then, what could possibly go wrong?

Chuck started slow down the street in front of their house, and as Herbie was pulled behind, he thought that was indeed fun. Chuck was alternately looking ahead and then through the side mirror, hoping to get a glimpse of Herbie, and indeed Herbie was weaving in and out, while picking up speed. At that point, Chuck fished out his phone, and set it to record. He then began to steer the car with his knee, while he turned around in his seat, stuck his head out of the window, and began filming. This would be great on their YouTube channel. Needless to say, this channel often featured Herbie doing some stupid thing that Chuck had suggested he do, such as the time Herbie ran into a telephone pole while riding his bike backwards, coasting down a hill.

At this point, Chuck had some decent footage of Herbie, but it would be even better if he sped up just a bit. So Chuck glanced forward just enough to look ahead, and then at the speedometer. He was going about 4 miles an hour, at his guess. So, he gently pushed on the accelerator.

The problem was that there was a surge. Herbie was a little concerned, but it was even more fun at this point. Great fun indeed. Neither had considered the stop sign coming up ahead, and when they were nearly upon it, Chuck considered running it, but then decided better of it, so he took his foot off the gas, and pressed the brake gently.

Herbie could not see forward, because Chuck’s trunk was open, so he had no clue they were coming to a stop. In fact, at this precise moment, he had flipped around and was riding backwards. Backwards! How cool was that!

But the rope came suddenly slack, and Herbie continued to roll forward, at approximately 5 miles an hour. He hit the back of the car, his head hitting the edge of the trunk, which left a Frankstein-like gash in his forehead. Just like in the cartoons, Herbie did see stars.

He ended up in the trunk, with his skateboard on the ground. Chuck, not thinking to look behind, went through the intersection. Herbie was  a little disoriented by now, and tried to jump out of the trunk, to get his skate board. Unfortunately, the rope tripped him up, and he face planted on the asphalt.

Chuck then realized that Herbie was lying on the ground, and pulled over. The skateboard was in pieces, Herbie was lying on the ground moaning, while Chuck continued filming. Primo footage!

A few weeks later, their Youtube video has gotten 5,000 views, which was their best yet. They even picked up some new subscribers! Chuck had a great idea. Let’s do it again, but I will push you down the street in my car. Herbie’s mind, never thinking about past mistakes, agreed. It would be awesome. Maybe they would get 10000 views this time.

Milo's Arch Enemy

Milo had no enemies. Well, actually he did, but it wasn’t an enemy - it was an ARCH enemy. Milo was a superhero, and all superheroes had to have their nemesis. His was his neighbor down the hall from his apartment. Said neighbor (named Chuck, Charles or something like that) had put out a welcome mat with puppies on it that said “WELCOME”. It was attractive and playful. And Milo hated it, because he had bought the very same welcome mat only 2 weeks before, but had neglected to put it out. Now, he had a welcome mat that he couldn’t use. And the welcome mat was important, as that was the only thing that people could put outside their door to differentiate their apartment from any other faceless apartment door.

Milo had only met Chuck a time or two before. He was scruffy bearded, thin and tall. He wore those skinny jeans that looked like something he had stolen from his girl friend. They had met downstairs while checking their mail boxes, and Milo noticed that Chuck had received a LOT of mail. The box was stuffed full. He wondered what that was about - bills? Junk mail? Fan Mail? One of the letters had hit the ground, Milo picked it up, and it was a handwritten envelope from Japan. Japan?

Milo handed the envelope to Chuck, Chuck said thanks, turned and walked to the elevator. Milo followed. He was curious as to what was going on here, but didn’t want to appear too nosy. He smiled at Chuck while they got on the elevator, but Chuck had already opened one of the envelopes and was reading a one page letter. He smiled faintly. Milo was dying to see what was in that letter. He coughed a fake cough, and then said “Letter from a girlfriend?”. Chuck looked up, smirked, and said “Nope”.

At that point the elevator doors opened, and they split up. Milo was vexed. He imagined it was a job offer. Maybe a piece of fan mail? He went through all the options. Milo’s brain whirled like a tire stuck in mud. After a bit, he decided he didn’t like Chuck very much at all. “He could have at least given me a hint” he thought.

So Milo threw away his welcome mat, and bought a new one. This was a “Hello Kitty” one. “Let’s take it in a different direction” he thought.  He put it out. Good. His was cooler than Chuck’s anyway, with the hipster-ironic thing going on.

Two weeks later, Milo was taking his trash out, and walked by Chuck’s apartment on the way to the elevator. HE HAD A NEW WELCOME MAT. It was the same “Hello Kitty” one. Milo picked it up, and got in the elevator, and pushed the button for the first floor. On the way down, there was a small lurch, and the elevator stopped. Milo was perplexed, but he decided to wait patiently for a minute to see if it would start up again on it’s own. It didn’t. Milo ended up pushing the alarm button which rang a bell. About two hours later, Milo finally escaped, with his trash and the welcome mat, which he had rolled up to try to obscure it. But of course, as he got out of the elevator, there was skinny jeaned Chuck talking to a elevator technician. Milo had a moment of panic……and decided to rush on by.

Chuck glanced at him, and saw the welcome mat. “You throwing away your welcome mat? Can I have it?”. Milo was stuck. He handed it over, ran out, dumped his trash, and ran back in to the elevator. Chuck was gone.

Milo went upstairs, and Chuck’s welcome mat was back in place. He went to his own apartment, and HIS WELCOME MAT WAS GONE. So Milo now had an arch-enemy. The battle was on.

Bernice the Cookie Waster

Bernice had enough of the cookies. There they had been, sitting in the break room, for the last three days. Someone had baked them, and everyone had one, but not two. One would guess the noble reason was that no one wanted to be greedy, but the actual reason was that they were dry and had an off taste. No one knew who had made them, and since they were on a disposable chinet plate, there was no opportunity to locate the owner of the plate. The rumor was they were vegan, which meant no buttery goodness.

Bernice had actually eaten three, one for each time she had been into the break room. Yes, they weren’t very good, but she couldn’t resist, even a mediocre vegan chocolate chip cookie that probably had some weird ingredient that was supposedly good for you, but was not very popular, particularly in a cookie that everyone should like. She felt like it was a bait and switch.

She was ready to chuck the whole thing in the trash, as it had been three days. The foil was half off them, so as dry they had been originally, now they were even more so, brittle tan-brownish discs of styrofoam. But there was an unexpressed rule that whoever put a snack in the break room, was the one who decided when it had to go. Mind you, some things didn’t last that long, like the scrumptious tunnel of fudge bundt cake from last week, which was definitely made with butter, or at least margarine. Bernice wondered - is margarine vegan? She wasn’t sure.

She took the last bite of the cookie. It was hard, but at least there was a chocolate chip in it. But who knows, maybe it wasn’t chocolate, but that carob nonsense which didn’t fool anyone.

She then decided to take matters into her own hands, and dispose of them. Right now, indeed. She got up, walked through the maze of cubicles. Alex was leaning back in his chair, staring off into space as usual. She gave him a look and he hunched over the computer, pretending to be busy.

In the break room was the plate of cookies, with three left on it. She picked it up, and threw it in the trash. Done! She had done everyone a favor. Maybe someone would take this as a hint, and bring in something tasty tomorrow.

Later that afternoon came the email from Leonard. The subject line was “WHO THREW AWAY THE COOKIES?”. Bernice groaned. The email had been sent to the whole department, with a terse message about wasting food, particularly delicious cookies that had been brought in for everyone to enjoy. Leonard ended by saying he was disappointed.

Alex peeked over the cubicle. “You threw them away, didn’t you?”. Bernice gave a grimace, and then nodded. “Good, because they sucked. I ate one and had to wash it down with old coffee.”.  Alex then went back to his cubicle, to stare off in space again.

The next day there was a bundt cake, a pumpkin spice one. But  Bernice was now suspicious. Maybe it had chia seed in it? Maybe zucchini? She couldn’t be sure. There was one slice ready to eat. She broke off a piece. Not bad at all, she thought. She picked up the rest of the piece.

Then she turned, and there was Leonard. “I know you threw away the cookies! I had plans for those cookies!.” Bernice shrugged, “Well, they were three days old, and people had stopped eating them”.  “They were perfectly fine, someone may have wanted one, but you had to be Miss Wasteful and throw them away.” “Hey! I’m sorry! I didn’t know you had made them.” Leonard turned pink, and pointed a finger at her “WASTER, WASTER! You are the problem!”. Bernice tried to leave, but Leonardpicked up the bundt cake and threw it at her. She ducked and it hit the wall. Leonard then left the room cursing loudly, kicking cubicles. She could hear him saying “BERNICE IS A WASTEY WASTER. SHE IS THE REASON THIS PLACE IS GOING TO HELL.”

Later that day she saw Leonard carrying a box, accompanied by the security guard who normally did nothing but watch netflix on his phone. As Leonard passed her cubicle, he hissed at her “THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT”.

The next day, there was a plate of cookies in the break room. They were an odd color, brownish with flecks of green. Bernice bit into one. It was kale.

Josef Makes Decisions

Josef felt like a change. The blue socks had to go. It was black for him today. Black went with everything, so the decision to which pants to wear became much simpler. There were dependencies here.

These sort of dilemmas cropped up every day for Josef. His mind was often made up, but only after some deliberation. Nothing was instantaneous; he was the equivalent to slow drip to Starbuck’s instant coffee. He always made a decision in the end, even if the path was not straight.

Crossing the street that day against a red light was not unusual for Josef; he weighed the risks versus the inconvenience of waiting and the decision was clear. It was easier to walk out into the street and let the cars deal with it. It was most logical. He was small, they were big, so it is their responsibility to stop.

So this day, a very temperate 65 degrees, partly cloudy, with Josef just having finished a nice lunch of a roast beef sandwich, potato chips and a coke, was the day that his assumptions were put to the test. Josef wasn’t actually hit by the car. The car was hit by another car when it had to slam on brakes to avoid him.

It was a false causality to link his actions to being hit in the head with a half full can of soda. He did nothing to warrant the driver’s outrage. In fact, he had tried hard to go on his merry way, leaving the scene of the accident.

The can of soda was lukewarm, and it gushed on him with enthusiasm. It left a small dent in his forehead. He says, and there is really no way to disprove it otherwise, that for a second he blacked out, and does not remember the next few minutes.

Accounts say that Josef chased the driver down and kicked him hard, yelling that it was a free country and he was a loyal american. Then he slipped and fell on his butt, got up, cursed a bit and left down the street, hair plastered with sugary liquid. By this point, the police showed up and Josef was dragged back to the scene of the accident.

In the end, nothing changed for Josef. He still crosses the street whenever he wants to. Often, you can see him not even bothering to look. What happened once can never happen again. That is what Josef decided.

Elias Likes to Date

It came to an end for Elias. A complete, grinding - metal on concrete halt. He was at once shocked but also delighted.

His expectations had been different. It seemed to him, waiting this long for a relationship to die was in itself an admission of mortality. We only have so much time, don't we? Elias rubbed his eyes. It was part of the deal, it was expected after all.

Cloe was smoking again. It was a nasty habit that she picked up when things went badly, or sometimes too well. In any case, it was only one cigarette, not a whole pack. It had been a long time, and while it is like riding a bicycle, it takes time for the body to adjust to the cool breeze of nicotine.

Their relationship (such a word) consisted of trips to concerts, movies, things that two people do while surrounded by many more people. It was to her as if he lacked the ability to go beneath the shell. It was all superficial with him, not in a sexist way, instead emotionally plastic. She felt sometimes like he was on TV talking to her, a link that worked mainly one way.

Fortunately it had been brief. It was something to remember to forget. She watched the brown veins of tar on the cigarette as she smoked it, and imagined it was doing the same thing to her lungs. Elias was just ash.

Elias was working out while listening to Giorgio Moroder soundtrack music. The pulsing synths and thudding disco beat matched his breath as he did his sit-ups, his push-ups and pseudo-yoga posturing. The music guaranteed that the kind of peace that Elias felt was warm, soft and bland. It crowded out the details of the world and gave him elemental simplicity.

He fixed himself a drink, and settled into the chair in front of the computer. He tapped out the address, and found himself on one of the dozen different dating sites he belonged to.  He looked at the choices, and felt like he was in a candy store. Sweet and not a bit nutritious. Just his style.

Fritz Goes There

Fritz went there. It seemed like the right thing to do, in the flashpoint of the moment, where there was no rewind, undo, command z. The camera would spin around, for then it could be seen the reactions of both Fritz and Ann in an instant.

Fritz had made the mistake of saying the obvious - "I told you". It never really serves any purpose, after all. It isn't even that satisfying on reflection, when the fallout settles in. Ann was so thinned skin anyway. Comments never bounced off of her; they would bruise her ever so slighting, and sometimes she would nurse them back to health, but she was really a bad nurse - often her concern would make it bigger than it was, which meant that it was always big. This was, for Fritz, the biggest deficit in their relationship, inside his mental spreadsheet.

They had a cat. Had a cat. Sentra (the cat's name) was a rogue. He was cagey. He pissed in Fritz's closet, so Fritz put a litter box there. Peace was then achieved, but like North and South Korea, peace was really just a term for un-war.

Things would get knocked over. They found a dead mouse lying on their bed. Fritz flashed back to "The Godfather" for a moment. When either of them left, Sentra would be there, ready to jet out.

It was a slice of freedom, and he did indeed escape. Fritz had warned Ann about this many times, because it was he that would have to chase him down. Sentra was smart, or maybe just so dumb that he really couldn't quite be understood by humans. Cats are like that.

Ann had come home from Trader Joe's, with her two bags of frozen stuff, and the brownie mix Fritz liked. She had fumbled for the keys. The obvious thing would have been to put the bags down, but no, as Fritz would point out, she didn't do that. Unlocking the door, she pushed it open with body, and in doing so, saw the gray blur of Sentra out the door.

Ann had not had much luck with finding him when Fritz showed up to help in the search. Their townhouse was a sea of many, with varying faces, but ultimately clad in a shade of vinyl. Fritz thought, if I had the brain about the size of a walnut, I would get lost too. Or maybe just not care. At least until dinner time. And even then, that could be a bug, or maybe a rodent.

Fritz thought these thought while wandering through the complex, occasionally looking underneath rows of parked cars. There was no point in calling Sentra's name - first, he would feel like an idiot for doing it - people would think he had lost his car, and was calling for it - and second, it was doubtful that Sentra would even acknowledge him.

Later than night, the discussion incrimination interrogation would begin, and the eventual "I told you" would surface.

Ann at that moment narrowed her eyes. She had moment where she thought of Sentra out there , wandering around, and then she was out the door too.

Sentra, on the other hand, had already moved on. Three streets over, in the late afternoon, Nicolette found Sentra grooming himself on the sidewalk in front of her town home. When she opened door, Sentra zipped in before her. Nicolette decided that this was a sign.

Sentra, on the other hand, didn't really care one way or another. Humans were these big, mobile meat-things - too big to eat - really just there to provide a warm place to sleep, food and cleaning up crap. Nicolette decided this was a fair arrangement.

Fritz, on the other hand, had to work really hard to get Ann back. It took two days of pleading, going by her parent's house, waiting out in the cold for her to come to the door, having messages relayed that she wanted nothing to do with him. This was an unfortunate side effect of both of their brains being bigger than walnuts….at least that was what Fritz decided in the end.