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| Acmlm's Board - I3 Archive - - Posts by Toxic |
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Toxic 250 TOX4ADMIN                   Since: 11-17-05 From: I'm keeping a list. Last post: 6299 days Last view: 6298 days |
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| Well I wouldn't go that far. It's the heat of the moment, not that they think they're the shit, although I'm sure they do, but it's not like that flashes before them prior to rumbling.
I mean, I was involved in a similar situation on Thanksgiving three years ago. It was football, not basketball, and high school football, not the pros, but it was the same idea. Some dirty stuff went down, our team retaliated with violence. Nobody thought of the consequences, because we were being macho and defending each other and our school's honor (which, sounds really cheesy, I know, but it's true). |
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Toxic 250 TOX4ADMIN Since: 11-17-05 From: I'm keeping a list. Last post: 6299 days Last view: 6298 days |
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| If AI went to the Celts, like he should have...I would have cared about the NBA.
Now? I'm gonna keep it where it's at, the occasional Sportscenter highlight |
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Toxic 250 TOX4ADMIN  Since: 11-17-05 From: I'm keeping a list. Last post: 6299 days Last view: 6298 days |
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| What's his FG% these days? Cause last time I saw it, it was 89, and it went DOWN after a 6/7 night. | |||
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Toxic 250 TOX4ADMIN Since: 11-17-05 From: I'm keeping a list. Last post: 6299 days Last view: 6298 days |
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| In other news, Matsuzaka shall forever be known as "Dice." | |||
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Toxic 250 TOX4ADMIN Since: 11-17-05 From: I'm keeping a list. Last post: 6299 days Last view: 6298 days |
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Toxic 250 TOX4ADMIN Since: 11-17-05 From: I'm keeping a list. Last post: 6299 days Last view: 6298 days |
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| There is a bit of context behind this, but I want to see what other people think without knowing the context.
In Room 101 of Miller High, a perplexing series of events was unfolding in front of John Joannes. He had just been handed a test titled “Problems on the Intermediate-Value Theorem,” which was apparently a facet of calculus. However, the problem was that Joannes was in trigonometry, and he hadn’t even begun to take pre-calculus, much less the full- blown calc class. He scanned the room, and no one else seemed to notice. All the other students were scribbling away furiously. The test was on a Scan-tron sheet, and so number 2 pencils were provided by the teacher, Mr. Shaw. As Joannes put the pencil to paper to write, it promptly broke the lead on the curve of the first “J” in his name. A symphony of cracks echoed across the room. Every single pencil that Mr. Shaw had handed out was faulty, and all twenty-two students in his trigonometry class taking the calculus test raised their hands in unison to request permission to sharpen their pencils. Mr. Shaw, who was deeply engrossed in Mussolini: The Last 600 Days of Il Duce, did not seem to notice the rush of air created by the wave of hands. A girl in the corner coughed and ventured, “Mr. Shaw, can I sharpen my pencil?” “Me too?” “What about me?” “Can I?” All shot out in rapid bursts at Mr. Shaw, who still seemed like he didn’t notice. After a full thirty seconds of silence, he responded with a simple “No” and that was that. Twenty-one students didn’t seem to mind too much. After all, now they had the next seventy minutes to talk amongst themselves. But sitting directly in the middle was Joannes, who said, “But Mr. Shaw, how are we going to finish the test if we don’t have anything to write with?” Mr. Shaw didn’t hear him, or didn’t care, because he sat oblivious for the next seventy minutes, despite Joannes’ constant barrage of questions. When the bell finally rang, Joannes walked quickly out of Room 101, and nearly bumped into Mr. Hooting, the school’s vice principal. He was a short man, who measured everything in respect. It was rumored that he did actual work, but no one really believed it. For the most part, he wandered the hallways, patrolling for violations of the school’s 463- page rulebook. “Excuse me sir, please take your hat off,” Mr. Hooting said to Joannes. “But Mr. Hooting, I don’t have a hat on.” “That’s no excuse, go get one, and put it on, then take it off.” “But then I’d be late for my next period class,” said Joannes. “Is that my fault?” asked Mr. Hooting, “You’re the one breaking the rules, and disrespecting myself and your fellow students.” At that particular moment, another youth passed them wearing a Philadelphia Eagles cap backwards. “Yo, Miztah H-unit, represent!” said the urban youth to Mr. Hooting. “Good afternoon Maximilian,” Mr. Hooting greeted him. “Why didn’t you tell him to take his hat off?” shouted Joannes, enraged at this double standard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, you’ve procrastinated long enough. Come with me to my office, and we’ll work out a plan of discipline for your behavior.” Mr. Hooting reached to his side, and pulled out a state-of-the-art mobile cellular device (considered contraband to students) and clicked a button. The chime of an outgoing two-way sounded, and Mr. Hooting proceeded to shout into the receiver, “Mr. Wally! I have another student for ETPFSINOAD!” ETPFSINOAD stood for Extreme Treatment Procedure For Students In Need Of Advanced Discipline. It was an all-night program that kept students in school from 2 o’clock, when school ended, until 6 the next morning. Theoretically the students had time to go to their houses and prepare themselves for the day, but they were all too tired, after staying up all night. Joannes was no exception, and the next day he stumbled bleary-eyed into his first period class. In a cruel twist of fate, the teacher was out, subbed by a German woman by the name of Frau Braün. By the same cruel twist of fate, she was a very agitated and pained woman, who proceeded to scream and shout at the class until she turned blue in the face and passed out. In an unrelated but equally cruel twist of fate, she was replaced within minutes by her twin sister, who was also on substitute duty. After the other Frau Braün screamed about how incompetent they were for the next thirty minutes, the class stumbled into the hall, thanking the bell for its miraculous powers. At that particular moment, an odd noise caught Joannes’ attention. He whirled around to see the source of the noise, and, to his surprise, saw a huge walrus in a suit and tie waddling down the hallway. It was a massive creature, with big long whiskers bristling as he made his way through the halls like a sloth. Joannes had stopped to gawk at this creature, but upon further investigation, no one else seemed to notice. Not a single person paid the walrus the least bit of attention. Mr. Hooting caught up to it, and began talking with it. Upon even further investigation, Joannes would come to discover that the creature was known as Mr. Wally, and was the principal at Miller High. “Now Mr. Wally, we’ve had a spike in ETPFSINOAD attendance, it’s up by 35%.” One walked, and the other waddled to Mr. Wally’s office, which consisted of a pool with an island in the center. On the island were a few papers, which were splattered with blood from the fish that Mr. Wally caught out of his pool and ate. Mr. Wally proceeded to jump into the water from his perch on the island, causing a large splash and stayed submerged for a few seconds before surfacing. He barked a few times, and pointed his snout to the inflatable ball on Mr. Hooting’s side of the office. Mr. Hooting walked over to it, and tossed it to Mr. Wally, who balanced it expertly on his nose. Mr. Hooting continued, “Now, as you know Mr. Veyder, the superintendent, told us specifically that we need to fail exactly half the student body, if we want to get the grant from the state.” Mr. Wally barked, in recollection, as Mr. Hooting had told him that he would get his very own iceberg with a piece of that grant. “Now, I have an idea for us to get that grant. If you go in front of the school committee, and request special powers to deal with a serious threat to education, then we can implement my strategy.” So Mr. Wally went in front of the school committee, and through a translator, Mr. Hooting, he explained that kids nowadays weren’t actually learning things in school, and that he needed more power in order to save the future. He was given a standing ovation by all present, and was granted the powers. The first thing he did was to make the required amount of classes needed to pass for the year was nine. The schedule employed at Miller High was one that had a capacity of only eight classes. Mr. Hooting figured that hardly any students would even notice the sheet passed out in homeroom explaining this, and even less would take the time to go to classes after school. He was right, of course. One of the few to notice was Joannes, who read the memo from the administration at MHS like a father reads a telegram informing of a son killed in action. “Nine credits,” he said through clenched teeth, “How am I going to pull that off?” He surveyed the classroom, expecting to see everyone up in arms over this issue, but instead saw no reaction at all. Half the homeroom had crumpled up the paper, and the other half didn’t even bother to look at it. The morning announcements came on, with a special announcement from Mr. Wally. Mr. Wally couldn’t speak English, so he barked, interpreted by Mr. Hooting. “Good morning. This is Mr. Hooting speaking for Mr. Wally. The administration would just like to remind you of some school policies that we feel have been overlooked recently. First off, there is to be no eating whatsoever in the school at any time. What’s that?” Mr. Hooting was heard whispering away from the mic for a few second before he came back. “Excuse me, eating is permitted only during the time allotted at lunch. Next, there are to be no hats, bandannas, handkerchiefs, sombreros, masks, face paint, or any other type of headgear permitted in school. Also, no electronic devices of any sort are to be used during school hours. If seen, they will be confiscated immediately. We feel that these rules have been overlooked the past few months, and hope that you realize why they are being enforced as such.” Joannes didn’t understand why they were being enforced at all. The very idea of banning food and drink and electronic devices annoyed him. The administration had cell phones that they used to communicate with each other, so why should they be allowed to use them and the student body not? “Because administrators need them to communicate with fellow staff members,” Mr. Hooting said to Joannes who tracked him down following the announcement. “But that’s the point of cell phones,” Joannes said, trying to reason with him. “People use them to communicate with other people.” “There will be none of that. Your job here is to learn, not communicate with other students.” Joannes stared blankly at him, before moving on to his next period class, which he spent outside of the classroom. It was room 22, and his teacher for that period, Mr. Kelples, wasn’t the normal occupant of that room. So he had to rely on the actual teacher for that room for the key. However, that teacher had come down with an acute case of pneumonia the night before, and no one had a key to the room. Mr. Kelples sent students out looking for someone with a key, but not a single person had the key to unlock room 22. No janitors were to be found, and all administration were in inhouse meetings all period long. The following day, a massive number of teachers took the day off. Sitting in homeroom, the call for teachers to cover classes was gargantuan, and all the familiar subs were seen looking at their schedules of classes to sub. After three periods of classes without teachers, Joannes found a memo lying on the ground. Teacher sick days had been increased by 25%, and a large portion of the teachers were cashing in on it, not wanting to pass an opportunity like this up. The effect after the first week was staggering. For every teacher that actually showed up, two didn’t. Busywork followed students from class to class. It went on for several weeks, before they began to slowly trickle back after their days were all used up. Junior prom was the next event on the horizon, and the school went into high alert mode. Everyone was frantically scheduling tannings, nail appointments, tux fittings, and buying dresses they'd only use once. Schoolwork itself was for all intents and purposes forgotten. A day before the prom itself, all the juniors were called out of class for an assembly on the prom. As the students filed in, they could see Mr. Wally and Mr. Hooting deep in conversation. Joannes sat in the front, next to two students he had never seen before, or at least he thought. He couldn’t really remember, but before he could attempt to recognize them, Mr. Hooting shouted into the mic. “Now I won’t ask you again. Shut up. You are being highly disrespectful to myself, the school, the school district, Mr. Wally, the state, and education as a whole. And your fellow classmates. Now, as you might have heard, the prom is tomorrow. Mr. Wally has a few words for you.” Mr. Hooting tossed the mic to Mr. Wally, who balanced it on his nose. The auditorium applauded politely, before Mr. Wally flipped it back to Mr. Hooting. “Now, since Mr. Wally doesn’t speak English, I’ll read his speech for you. The prom is an extension of the school; therefore all rules will be enforced to the letter. As a way to deter students from participating in any illegal activities, Mr. Wally has provided for the school a fully staffed drug lab, complete with a trained set of German Shepards, ex-DEA and ex-BATFE members, and a metal detector. It is sure to deter students from making any poor choices. I will warn you, though, if you act funny, smell funny, eat funny, look funny, breathe funny, dress funny, bring a funny date, count money funny, or question the school, we’re gonna take you downtown, Leroy Brown. You may return to class now.” The prom was being held at a factual imitation of some Hotel de Ville in Normandy. In what was hailed as the first of its kind by the “Fun Committee” of MHS, the prom was in fact a costume prom. Joannes went with Tabitha Dagmar, a 10th grader who was like most of her classmates, educationally challenged. All attendees were required to wear a nametag that read “Hi, I’m…” and the person would fill in whatever they had chosen to wear. There were about 50 “pimps,” even more “gangsters,” and most of all “rappers.” Tabitha had gone as a rapper, more specifically, Kathina Wellington, more commonly known in the world as Krazy Wellz Kat aka MC Suga Funk Lovin’. Joannes had gone as Karl Marx, and had some trouble getting past Mr. Hooting at the door, with his “dress funny” policy. After five minutes of debate, Joannes simply told Mr. Hooting that he was a comedian from the early 1900’s. Joannes didn’t even want to be there. His mom informed him that he would regret it for the rest of his life if he didn’t go. Rather than fighting over it, Joannes just coughed up the $101 dollars to go. For the first ten minutes Joannes danced with Tabitha, but sat down when another rapper came over and asked her to dance. He had a miserable time, and was glad when it was over. The constant thump of the bass from countless rap songs had left his brain pulsating. Mr. Hooting had two chaperones and a waiter taken to the drug lab, where it was later revealed they all were drinking root beer, not Jack Daniels, as Mr. Hooting had previously suspected. A week passed, and then it was time to start preparing for National Honors Society. The requirements had been lowered a little bit, and now a student needed a 1.0 GPA and 5 hours community service. Of the 241 students in the junior class, 15 applied, and 10 made it. Class officers were elected by drawing straws, and Joannes got president of the chapter. They held a practice in the auditorium, barely filling a single row of seats. The rehearsal was quick, and the teacher advisor, Mr. Smith, a gym teacher, informed him he had to write a speech to recite in front on Honors Night. Joannes had no idea what to write, as no examples were given to him of a speech. He went to the National Honors Society website and just copied the “five pillars,” scholarship, service, leadership, character, and citizenship, onto a sheet of paper to work with. Joannes considered himself a realist, and knew that no one actually qualified besides him under the scholarship aspect. He had a 3.6 GPA, and the next highest was a .97. Mr. Smith, the advisor, just signed part of the football team up for the other 9 spots. Then, with service, the only reason some of the football team made that standard was because of prior felonies that required community service. If by character the NHS meant a colorful person, then they had 9 who exceeded the standard in that respect. As for citizenship, Joannes assumed they were all from America, and that’s all he could really ask for. The night of the ceremony, as there were no senior members, the juniors ran the show. The auditorium was packed full of faculty that signed up to escape after school meetings. Mr. Smith introduced the junior members' administration, and asked if Mr. Walrus would come onstage. With some flipping and flapping, he made his way onstage, and since he spoke no English he arfed, and then balanced a ball on his nose, to much fanfare from the audience. Mr. Smith came back and thanked Mr. Wally for that, and asked if John Joannes would address the audience. Joannes brought his speech to the podium, and wiped the sweat from his brow. He was a very nervous person, and behind the podium his legs were buckling. “Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. I’d like to thank our distinguished guests for coming tonight, Mr. Veyder, superintendent of the schools, Mr. Wally, our principal, and Mr. Hooting, our vice principal. If it weren’t for those two gentlemen and one walrus, Miller High School would be a much better place.” At this point, a din rose in the crowd. “These beasts have turned our school into a money making device, more interested in collecting coin than helping collegiate careers. They are out of touch with the student body, and are incapable of enacting a measure to help students. Mr. Veyder, how much did that Lexus you drove in cost? Surely you could have bought a new computer lab with that money? Mr. Wally, you’re a walrus. Why are you the principal? And you, Mr. Hooting, maybe if you spent less time barking at students to take their hats off, and took one look around the building, you would see the sorry state of affairs at Miller High.” The crowd roared at Joannes, and Mr. Smith stepped up and physically moved Joannes from the podium. Through gritted teeth, he managed, “Now to light the Candle of Knowledge.” Mr. Smith pulled a Zippo lighter from his inside pocket, and handed Joannes a Yankee Candle Buttercream. It took three tries, but the Zippo caught, and Smith extended the light to Joannes. With a flicker, the wick burned slowly, and Joannes held it close. Then, with a click, the lights in the auditorium were extinguished. People screamed and yelled, sending janitors scrambling to hit emergency backups. It was no use, as an entire generator had been knocked out. But there was Joannes, standing onstage, arm outstretched, holding the Candle of Knowledge. the context is that the principal of my high school looked like a walrus, and I hated him. mr. hooting was, albeit a different name, one of our VP's, and mr. Veyder was the superindentent that I hated as well of our district. |
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Toxic 250 TOX4ADMIN Since: 11-17-05 From: I'm keeping a list. Last post: 6299 days Last view: 6298 days |
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| I am relieved to see it's not writer's block (that's my writing site's name). | |||
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Toxic 250 TOX4ADMIN  Since: 11-17-05 From: I'm keeping a list. Last post: 6299 days Last view: 6298 days |
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| Hah yeah, Celebrity Jeopardy. Hilarious skit. | |||
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Toxic 250 TOX4ADMIN Since: 11-17-05 From: I'm keeping a list. Last post: 6299 days Last view: 6298 days |
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| I have nothing really interesting to say, besides that Asante Samuel is going to be the next big free agent lockdown corner. I've been fawning over this guy forever, and I bet the Pats are gonna let him go and have Randall "Get Your Hands In There" Gay take over next year. | |||
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Toxic 250 TOX4ADMIN Since: 11-17-05 From: I'm keeping a list. Last post: 6299 days Last view: 6298 days |
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Sweetest Cutest Guy Funniest Nicest Most Fun to Talk to Craziest/Most insane Smartest Most Mysterious Most Witty Shadiest Suave Hopeless Most Unique Most Serious Most Reclusive Best at Advice Most Creative Most Changed Most Understanding Best Admin Best Full Mod Best Local Mod Best Male Regular Member Best Veteran Most Missed Member Most Likely to Succeed Best Post Layout Best Avatar Best Nickname Best Custom Title Best Role Player Best Programmer Best Debater Most Hardcore gamer Best photo album thread picture Best Christmas Layout Most Likely to be driving the Desert Bus Most Likely Best Overall (The Wootest) Male 
Cutest Girl Once again, another successful award season for Toxic |
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Toxic 250 TOX4ADMIN Since: 11-17-05 From: I'm keeping a list. Last post: 6299 days Last view: 6298 days |
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| He has the best nicknames ever. The Pillsbury Throwboy, J.Load, Round Mound of Touchdown, BBQ (Big Beautiful Quarterback)
I've been a firm supporter of him supplanting Eli, seeing has how he'll never be sacked, ergo, he has all day to make the right throw. |
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Toxic 250 TOX4ADMIN Since: 11-17-05 From: I'm keeping a list. Last post: 6299 days Last view: 6298 days |
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| Well it's only his 4th year. If he continues to grow, he's going to be like Bailey essentially, a guy that you just don't throw to that side. | |||
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Toxic 250 TOX4ADMIN Since: 11-17-05 From: I'm keeping a list. Last post: 6299 days Last view: 6298 days |
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| Haha! I love it!
I won't even address any of the previous grievances against the Gators in these forums, I'll just let it be. |
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Toxic 250 TOX4ADMIN Since: 11-17-05 From: I'm keeping a list. Last post: 6299 days Last view: 6298 days |
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| All the announcers kept blabbing about how Ginn got hurt. That was the only game I saw this year of OSU...so, is Ginn like their focal point on offense? I thought T. Smith was just this huge playmaker, and Ginn going down wouldn't really hurt them more than it appeared (and the announcers claimed) to? | |||
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Toxic 250 TOX4ADMIN Since: 11-17-05 From: I'm keeping a list. Last post: 6299 days Last view: 6298 days |
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| Haha, it doesn't matter to me. I'm a Florida fan (my mom went there, and was actually in the marching band, in the U on the field I think), and to be 100% honest, I did not expect anything remotely close to this outcome. After Ginn's TD in the first 5 seconds or whatever, I was not really that optimistic. But from then on out, FLA dominated, and there wasn't much to it.
Now it's two years in a row with the Heisman winner losing in the Championship. Wonder how long that can keep up for. |
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Toxic 250 TOX4ADMIN Since: 11-17-05 From: I'm keeping a list. Last post: 6299 days Last view: 6298 days |
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| Hi.
I was on the same flight to Providence, RI as Rodney Harrison. I tried to say hi, but he was listening to his headphones. As for this new bullshit about how the Pats were disrespectful: The argument given is that they need to act "like they've been there before." Nobody does that anymore, because that's how sad our culture is nowadays. Shawn Merriman doing that stupid spasmatic dance 17.5 times this season. He didn't act like he'd been there before, but nobody said anything to him about it. The Pats won an exciting, and extremely close game, and danced in their logo at midfield. Hello? Did any of the Chargers play football in fucking high school? That's all teams do, and nobody cares. They just said those guys are pricks, and we'll beat the shit out of them next time. (edited by Toxic on 01-16-07 10:24 AM) |
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Toxic 250 TOX4ADMIN Since: 11-17-05 From: I'm keeping a list. Last post: 6299 days Last view: 6298 days |
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| The comic was ok. I didn't think it was anything fantastic, but this is going to be a pretty good popcorn type movie. | |||
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Toxic 250 TOX4ADMIN Since: 11-17-05 From: I'm keeping a list. Last post: 6299 days Last view: 6298 days |
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| I felt that they revealed too many things that should have been kept mysterious, and when they did reveal them, they were too silly, or didn't really fit right.
For example, the Others. Supposed to be this bizzare, bloodthirsty pack of vagabonds roaming the island. Now they're a gated island community that has book night. As for calling it quits, I think that's waaaay better than having the writers sit around and be like, "ok, what can we do on an island today?" and just have some mundane shit air on TV. This means every episode will count for something. |
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Toxic 250 TOX4ADMIN Since: 11-17-05 From: I'm keeping a list. Last post: 6299 days Last view: 6298 days |
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| MW - 9-9:50 Intro To Fiction
10-10:50 Critical Practice 2-2:50 Solar System Astronomy 4-5:15 Communication, Culture and Rhetoric TR - 9:25-10:40 Academic Writing 2 I won't mind only having one class on tuesdays and thursdays though... |
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Toxic 250 TOX4ADMIN Since: 11-17-05 From: I'm keeping a list. Last post: 6299 days Last view: 6298 days |
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| This is another short story I wrote, maybe a year ago.
James Day was falling. He has been aware of this for quite some time, but cannot stop his descent. He sat in his driveway, staring at his house, and sighed. It was Tuesday and Tuesdays are board meeting days. He sighed again, and turned the key in the ignition. “I fucking hate Tuesdays,” he said to no one in particular as he backed out of the driveway. James Day hated his job, his wife had not spoken a kind word to him since their honeymoon, and he could not feel any farther away from his kids. James Day was balding, pushing forty, and his career had yet to go anywhere. In short, he was the worst nightmare of every middle aged working man. Driving down route 6, he couldn’t help but notice gas had gone up once again. It had cost him almost forty dollars to fill up the other day, and that didn’t even fill the tank all the way up. This was not good news for Day, as his wife had an unquenchable thirst for spending despite the hard times they were going through. Day went home time and time again to find his wife with a new purse, new pillows for the guest bedroom, another lamp from IEKA. He had tried to talk to her, and she always said the same thing. “Oh, I’m sorry for trying to spruce this house up a bit, give the family some class. Maybe that’s why you aren’t going anywhere with that job of yours? Maybe if you bought some new clothes, and looked presentable in the office…” Traffic was bad on the Benway Bridge, and Day would probably be late for work again. Sitting in the traffic, he had a strange desire to open the windows, even though it was raining. The local oldies station was playing the Grateful Dead, and it just seemed like there was something better outside. There was something worthwhile and meaningful in the river under the bridge, or in the woods running along the banks. James Day arrived thirteen minutes late to work, but was not worried, as he had seen a fellow co-worker’s car in the traffic, and wouldn’t be the last person into the office. Strolling casually into his cubicle, Day was met by his boss waiting for him. “Jim, how are you?” James Day hated bullshitting, and his boss was a king bullshitter. “I’m doing well Mike, how about you?” “Oh, hanging in there, you know.” In fact, Michael P. F. Rhys-Davids was not simply hanging in there. During the past six months, after a series of layoffs, his stock had increased over thirty seven percent, and he was a finalist for Business Today’s Top Small Corporation Owners. Michael P. F. Rhys-Davids had a new house, a small mansion actually, in upper Fairview, a trophy wife, a new BMW, and a salary that was rapidly approaching seven figures. Michael P. F. Rhys-Davids was doing slightly better than he previously alluded to. “Listen, Jimmy, we have to talk about your attendance.” In a very slow and deliberate manner, Michael P. F. Rhys-Davids pulled his sleeve back, revealing a brand new Rolex. “It’s now 7:46; you were supposed to be at your desk and working sixteen minutes ago. This isn’t the first time either. I’ve tried to be lenient with you; you know what a laid back guy I am.” James Day, in fact, did know how lenient he was. On one particularly memorable occasion, Michael P. F. Rhys-Davids had lifted up an office PC, and thrown it clear through a wall, because “The internet was acting up.” Michael P. F. Rhys-Davids was a pretty laid back guy. “Listen, I’m really sorry Mike,” said James, “but there was serious traffic on the Benway. You know how it is during the morning. Just ask Todd, I saw him stuck in it too.” Exactly twenty two seconds prior, Todd Jeffries had stumbled in the door, and noting where the boss was, quickly got to work, and blended in quite well. “Alright Jimbo, I’m gonna let it slide this time, but this is it. You gotta answer for your actions from now on.” Breathing a sigh of relief, James Day went to work, punching away at his computer. He worked quietly for a few hours, before taking his lunch break at 12:30. Sitting in the cafeteria, he opened his brown bag, and took out his sandwich. Without thinking twice, he took a huge bite, and came up gagging. It was bologna. James Day fucking hated bologna. Ever since he was six years old, and a neighborhood bully called him “Bologna Breath,” he had loathed the prospect of eating the meat. It crossed his mind to go out to McDonalds or Wendy’s to get something, but it only made him feel worse, thinking he’d be taking money from his family. Closing his eyes, he had hoped that his wife had got it only because it was on sale. Realizing how ridiculous this thought was, he bitterly ate the rest of his sandwich, and went back to work. James Day worked late, not only because he wanted to get back on his boss’ good side, but because he loathed going home. Only the cleaners were still in the office when he left around ten, and he highly doubted that his boss even took note of the hard work he had put in. The commute home was cathartic. Blood, Sweat & Tears poured their silky smooth rhythms and harmonies from the speakers. There was no one on the Benway, but James Day took his time going over it. The Fenale River ran underneath it, and provided its own concert of water gently running over rocks, producing bubbles, and a faint gurgle. He could see the evergreens on the banks of the river swaying gently in the breeze. The ride home was the best part of James Day’s day. When James Day arrived home, his wife was gone. There was no note, no messages on the cell phone or answering machine. His son, when pressed, revealed that she was “out.” The worst part was that this was not uncommon for his wife. James Day secretly thought that his wife was having an affair, but was too ashamed to actually believe it. He felt it was just his way of getting back at his wife for all the things he had done. James Day lacked conviction. Most people wake up every morning to go to work. James Day wakes up every morning for the five minutes spent passing over the Benway Bridge on his way to work. James Day woke up feeling a bit different. His wife’s spot next to him on the bed was empty, the sheets untouched. Out of habit, he reached over and looked at his cell phone. One new message, from his wife. “Listen James, we’re through. I’ve found someone else.” There was a rustling in the background, and someone was speaking in what sounded like a different language. “James, don’t try to find me, I’m taking Donnie with me, don’t come looking for me, because you won’t find me.” After hanging up, James Day checked for his son, finding his room bare. Apparently, he left in the middle of the night with his mother. James Day did not shout out in anger, or cry tears of sorrow, but simply got ready for work, and set out the door. Once again, traffic was bad on the Benway, only today, there was something different. He wasn’t agitated about being late, or looking for other people that he could use as a buffer. Looking out across the river, he couldn’t help but stare intently at the beauty that surrounded the Fenale. James Day sighed, but there was something different about it. It was a content sigh, a sigh of relief. Weaving his way through traffic, James Day pulled his car off to breakdown lane, and got out. He stood behind the barrier, gazing out across the river. James Day stood there for a full thirty minutes, until footsteps brought him out of deep thought. He turned to see a woman standing next to him, in obvious distress. “What are you gonna do it for?” she asked, looking at him with such sad eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.” James Day tried to explain to her. “I lost everything,” she said, “I took out a mortgage on my house, sold my car, everything in my house that wasn’t nailed down. You probably saw me on TV. I thought I was gonna win it all. I thought I was gonna get lucky.” It suddenly occurred to James Day that this woman here was planning to commit suicide. “So why are you here?” she asked again. “Well,” began James Day, “for starters I’m thirty nine and I haven’t gone anywhere with my job. I still have the same salary as I had when I first started, as a hotshot straight out of college, not a care in the world and my whole life ahead of me. My boss will probably fire me within the month because I get stuck in traffic every morning on my way to work, and always misses the fact that another coworker of mine comes in even later. My wife, excuse me, my ex-wife left me yesterday and took my child to some foreign country. Oh, and I forgot to pack a lunch.” The woman simply stared at James Day, who said nothing else, and stared out across at the Fenale. “So I guess I can see why you wanna do it,” he said to her, “with all the problems you have.” “Yeah, I don’t really see the point any more. I got nothing.” “Do you have any family?” he asked her, still not taking his eyes off the river. “Yeah, three little ones, and my husband, Donnie. Next month will be our 15th anniversary.” “And you’re about to kill yourself?” James Day said, now staring through her, as if she were invisible. “You say you have nothing, but you have your family. You always will have your family.” The woman said nothing, and just looked at James Day. “My son was named Donnie. I don’t even know where he is right now, or if he’s even ok. I mean, I guess I wouldn’t mind if whoever my wife ran off with was a good father to him, took care of him, taught him how to be a man…” James Day broke off, and looked down at his feet, and his tattered shoes that he had for five years. “I never got to play catch with my son, and you want to jump off a bridge because you lost your money on the lotto.” The woman opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing. “If you’re gonna do it, get on with it.” James Day said in a harsh tone, “At least I’ll have a reason to be late for work,” he said without remorse. With a sigh, he looked off into the forest, and spotted a fox weaving its way through the brush, in search of its prey. It’s grey fur shone brightly across the river, and revealed its muscled body. It stopped for an instant, and looked up at the bridge, and at James Day, who gave the smallest of nods. The fox did not return the gesture, and darted off back into the woods, trying to regain the trail of its foe. James Day stood for another thirty full minutes, before he became aware that the woman had left. Without saying another word, he simply walked back to his car. He turned the ignition, and sighed. It was Wednesday, and Wednesday’s were Productivity, Planning and Performance meetings. James Day fucking hated Wednesday’s. |
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