It was a normal winter day in Vancouver B.C. They had been having a problem with biker gangs so bartenders were ordered to not serve to people who look like they have been using drugs. So a bear walks into a bar. On the way in he sees a tasty girl on the payphone and swollows her whole. People see this but no one really cares because after all, he's a bear. That's what bears do. He walks up to the bar.
"Bartender! I'll have a gin an tonic."
"Sorry bear...we don't serve drug addicts."
The bear walked out disappointed. The next night he tried again. He was in town on a business trip and didn't want to let his collegues down. He figured he'd try a new bar. They walk in the door, sit at the bar and order their drinks. While waiting for the drinks, the bear gets up and goes to the bathroom. On the way back he noticed a girl leaving the ladies room. He ate her.
Finally he gets back to the bar. The bartender hands the bear's friends their drinks but didn't give the bear his.
"Hey there pal. I ordered a gin and tonic. Where is it."
"Sorry bud, we don't serve drug addicts."
"you're the second guy that's told me that. What are you talking about?"
The bartender replied, "well, that was a bar bitch you ate."
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Friday, April 20, 2007
the past few days
Once there was a guy who thought it would be fun to write one short story per day for 40 days. After about a week he found himself super busy and was having a hard time finding a two hour block of time where he could sit and write. But he decided he’d keep trying as much as he could.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
The Edge of Existence (part 1)
Mahmoud al-Kamal was born an Israeli Muslim. Being such he was not dealt a very good hand in life. From the time he was born it was engrained in him that the west, America, was the reason his family members died young and he suffered the economic hardships that came with being Muslim in Israel. By the time he was 15 he had no hope of ever succeeding in anything. Around this time, his hope came. He joined a group that offered him dignity and a place in Heaven. He spent the first few years being trained as a militant for a terrorist group in Palestine. This option was promise of great things for his family. As was the reality for many like him, he was terrified that he may someday be recruited to blow himself up as a martyr for Allah. He would do it if it was required of him but something inside of him wanted to live a long life and have a family of his own someday.
Through the years he was never sent on such a mission. His ranking officers saw promise in him. He was smarter than most of his peers and it was decided that he could serve a much bigger purpose.
On his 19th birthday his mission was given to him. He was going to be part of a plot to blow up the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, CA as a signal to the American people of what their organization was capable of and a symbol of his commitment to Allah.
He was sent to the United States. The plan was quite elaborate and would take years of preparing in order to accomplish his task. He was supposed to integrate himself into the extreme liberal society in America. To participate in protests and other movements against the government. The hope was that in being very visible to the U.S. government he would be singled out as a suspected terrorist. Having been involved with grassroots efforts his liberal American friends would come along side him and help the public realize that he was being discriminated against because of his religion. If court cases were successful he would be practically untouchable. It took 5 years but played out exactly as planned.
In November of 2005 he was arrested at his home in St. Paul, Minnesota the day after a labor march. Immediately the ACLU stepped in and through a series of court cases and appeals was released on wrongful charges. The assumption was that he’d still be on a terrorist watch list but since the FBI had tried to take action against him before and lost, it would be bad public relations to arrest him again.
Now that the foundation was laid it was time for Mahmoud to start getting in contact with the other “agents” in the U.S. He had never met any of them, only knew that he was supposed to meet them shortly after he was released from jail.
Something strange happened though. He had moved into this American community and was active in it. His American activist friends had accepted him and supported him in all he did. He hadn’t had many hard economic times since he had been in the States. He was even able to send money back to his family. He belonged and was able to belong without having to kill anyone or fear for his life every day. He decided not to go to Las Vegas and continue supporting his family.
Through the years he was never sent on such a mission. His ranking officers saw promise in him. He was smarter than most of his peers and it was decided that he could serve a much bigger purpose.
On his 19th birthday his mission was given to him. He was going to be part of a plot to blow up the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, CA as a signal to the American people of what their organization was capable of and a symbol of his commitment to Allah.
He was sent to the United States. The plan was quite elaborate and would take years of preparing in order to accomplish his task. He was supposed to integrate himself into the extreme liberal society in America. To participate in protests and other movements against the government. The hope was that in being very visible to the U.S. government he would be singled out as a suspected terrorist. Having been involved with grassroots efforts his liberal American friends would come along side him and help the public realize that he was being discriminated against because of his religion. If court cases were successful he would be practically untouchable. It took 5 years but played out exactly as planned.
In November of 2005 he was arrested at his home in St. Paul, Minnesota the day after a labor march. Immediately the ACLU stepped in and through a series of court cases and appeals was released on wrongful charges. The assumption was that he’d still be on a terrorist watch list but since the FBI had tried to take action against him before and lost, it would be bad public relations to arrest him again.
Now that the foundation was laid it was time for Mahmoud to start getting in contact with the other “agents” in the U.S. He had never met any of them, only knew that he was supposed to meet them shortly after he was released from jail.
Something strange happened though. He had moved into this American community and was active in it. His American activist friends had accepted him and supported him in all he did. He hadn’t had many hard economic times since he had been in the States. He was even able to send money back to his family. He belonged and was able to belong without having to kill anyone or fear for his life every day. He decided not to go to Las Vegas and continue supporting his family.
Monday, April 16, 2007
A Story with Little or no Conflict
Pearl woke up in the morning. It didn’t matter what time she woke up because she was a cat. She rolled over in her bed and there was breakfast all ready to go. She ate until she was full. Then she had a drink of water. For the next hour Pearl cleaned herself. After she was done it was time for a nap. So she took one. When she woke up from her nap she had a little snack then some more water. Over to the window she went. The sun was nice and bright so she went outside. As she lay in the yard for a bit birds flew by. If she wasn’t already full she would have reached out and had another snack. Around dinner time her owner came home. Pearl loved her owner. She was always so nice, bringing home new foods and the occasional pint of milk. She sat with her owner for a while and got a kitty massage. Pearl liked to do this and she felt that it was her duty since she belonged to the girl. Some of the other cats in the neighborhood called the humans their pets or simply caretakers. But not Pearl. She didn’t have a problem being owned by anyone. It was less demanding than trying to control ones own life plus her owner never treated her badly so there was no reason to rebel. Her owner ate and so did she. Her owner watched T.V. and so did she. Then it was time for bed, so she went to bed. It was nice knowing that tomorrow she could wake up and have all the same excitement over again.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
New Life
In the seven years that Tom and Peg had been married they only had two big fights. The most recent was over the name of their first child when it was still in the womb. They knew it was a boy and Tom wanted to name him Robert James, the names of his Grandfather and best friend. Peg wanted to name him Sigmund Milo, something she had wanted to name a child since she was eight years old. Both were dead set on getting the name of their child. At one point they realized how absurd it was that they were arguing so bitterly about a name of a child they were going to love no matter what his name, so thought it best to let someone else name the kid.
Peg checked into the hospital one day before she was scheduled to deliver. Still no name picked. A very pretty young nurse was there right from the beginning. Through conversation over the next twenty-four hours the nurse, Shannon, and Peg had a lot of time to talk. They enjoyed each other so much that when Shannon’s shift was over she stayed a few hours into the night to keep Peg and Tom company while Peg tried to get some rest.
Shannon was a very positive person, but had a very heartbreaking story that brought her to her current occupation. At seventeen Shannon was in a very serious relationship with her boyfriend who had graduated high school two years previously. Right when she was getting her acceptance letters from various colleges she got some other results as well. She was pregnant. At the news, her boyfriend joined the military and said he wanted nothing to do with her. Weighing all the options she came to the conclusion that she must have an abortion. Something she never forgave herself for.
“What were you going to name him if he was a boy,” Peg asked cautiously.
“I’ve thought about it for years. If it were a boy I would have named him Anthony Nicholas. My father’s name,” she said with a sad sort of smile on her face.
Tom and Peg looked at each other. Each was certain what the other was thinking. “Shannon, would you mind if we named our child Anthony Nicholas? And we’d like you to be his god-mother,” Tom said. From Peg’s expression Tom knew that he said the right thing. Shannon was so happy she gave them both hugs as she began to weap.
At 2:00 on the day she was due, Peg began labor. Four hours later Anthony Nicholas Holmes was in the world.
To make room for the new baby, the couple had found a new apartment closer to downtown. The day after Anthony was born Tom and a few of his friends began moving everything in with the hope that it would all be done by the time Peg and the baby were out of the hospital so she wouldn’t have to worry about anything. They moved all the big things first. After that only one of Tom’s friends remained to help him move the rest of the small boxes and things. It was almost midnight and all they had left was the kitchen stuff. It occurred to them that box after box of glass would have been a good idea to move at the beginning of the day before they were both so drained.
They were both downstairs betting boxes. Tom didn’t recognize one of the boxes so opened it up to examine its contents. It was a punch bowl Peg had got from her grandma a few weeks before she passed away. On the way up the seemingly never ending flights of stairs, Tom relayed the story of the punchbowl to his friend. How it had come with Peg’s grandma from Ireland and survived a family of twelve kids and decades of grandchildren. Peg had always been excited to drink from it when she was a little girl so her grandmother gave it to her when she knew her time was coming to an end. Then he tripped. He had gotten so wrapped up in telling the story that he missed the two steps down into the kitchen. He lay there for a second then rolled over. In the fall the punchbowl had busted into a number of pieces. Four of which poked through the box and were now sticking into Tom’s abdomen.
He arrived at the hospital by ambulance. It wasn’t long before one of the nurses recognized him and told Shannon. Shannon waited until he was about half way through his surgery before she broke the news to Peg. So far the outcome was looking good, but until nothing would be certain until he was in the recovery room.
Peg’s mother Nancy flew in to town to take care of things as soon as she got the news. It would be another three days before Peg and Anthony left the hospital and there was a lot to do to get the apartment ready for them. Nancy, friends, and Shannon on her time off, got busy unpacking boxes and getting the apartment ready and baby-proof.
On the day Peg left the hospital Tom was still in ICU. Before they left, she took Anthony down to see him. As he lay in his bed unconscious Peg put Anthony face down on Tom’s chest to get a picture of how it would be when Tom came home. Among the group of friends and family accompanying Peg home not a single eye was dry.
Tom awoke in the hospital. He was alone. There weren’t any other patients in his room nor any nurses to be seen. Within days he was walking out of there on his own two feet. He felt so lucky to be on his way home to his family.
Entered the room only Peg and Anthony sat there. She was crying as he walked in the door. He went to the couch to sit by her. This was one of those moments where the best thing was silence. Except for the baby. He was cooing like babies do. Tom put his hand by his head. He rubbed his thumb over Anthony’s cheek. Then felt the hair on his head. He was the most beautiful thing Tom had every seen. He just wanted to scoop him up and never let him go but he was so peaceful laying there ruining that would be worse than not being able to hold his son.
It seemed that Peg was holding some sort of resentment toward him. She would yell at him then begin to cry. Tom started feeling bad that he had left her alone for so long with so much to take care of. His accident must have scared her so bad. But she wouldn’t talk to him about it. He felt so helpless.
On the third day he was home, she was gathering up the baby and heading out. It was the first time she had done this since she came home from the hospital. All Tom saw her do for the last few days was answer phones and yell at him.
They picked up Peg’s mom at her hotel. They arrived at a funeral parlor. As they walked in, there was Tom’s family sitting at the front. Everyone was crying. As he walked up to the casket everything made sense. Why Peg had been ignoring him. Why she was crying so much. He looked into the casket and could barely believe what he was seeing.
Peg checked into the hospital one day before she was scheduled to deliver. Still no name picked. A very pretty young nurse was there right from the beginning. Through conversation over the next twenty-four hours the nurse, Shannon, and Peg had a lot of time to talk. They enjoyed each other so much that when Shannon’s shift was over she stayed a few hours into the night to keep Peg and Tom company while Peg tried to get some rest.
Shannon was a very positive person, but had a very heartbreaking story that brought her to her current occupation. At seventeen Shannon was in a very serious relationship with her boyfriend who had graduated high school two years previously. Right when she was getting her acceptance letters from various colleges she got some other results as well. She was pregnant. At the news, her boyfriend joined the military and said he wanted nothing to do with her. Weighing all the options she came to the conclusion that she must have an abortion. Something she never forgave herself for.
“What were you going to name him if he was a boy,” Peg asked cautiously.
“I’ve thought about it for years. If it were a boy I would have named him Anthony Nicholas. My father’s name,” she said with a sad sort of smile on her face.
Tom and Peg looked at each other. Each was certain what the other was thinking. “Shannon, would you mind if we named our child Anthony Nicholas? And we’d like you to be his god-mother,” Tom said. From Peg’s expression Tom knew that he said the right thing. Shannon was so happy she gave them both hugs as she began to weap.
At 2:00 on the day she was due, Peg began labor. Four hours later Anthony Nicholas Holmes was in the world.
To make room for the new baby, the couple had found a new apartment closer to downtown. The day after Anthony was born Tom and a few of his friends began moving everything in with the hope that it would all be done by the time Peg and the baby were out of the hospital so she wouldn’t have to worry about anything. They moved all the big things first. After that only one of Tom’s friends remained to help him move the rest of the small boxes and things. It was almost midnight and all they had left was the kitchen stuff. It occurred to them that box after box of glass would have been a good idea to move at the beginning of the day before they were both so drained.
They were both downstairs betting boxes. Tom didn’t recognize one of the boxes so opened it up to examine its contents. It was a punch bowl Peg had got from her grandma a few weeks before she passed away. On the way up the seemingly never ending flights of stairs, Tom relayed the story of the punchbowl to his friend. How it had come with Peg’s grandma from Ireland and survived a family of twelve kids and decades of grandchildren. Peg had always been excited to drink from it when she was a little girl so her grandmother gave it to her when she knew her time was coming to an end. Then he tripped. He had gotten so wrapped up in telling the story that he missed the two steps down into the kitchen. He lay there for a second then rolled over. In the fall the punchbowl had busted into a number of pieces. Four of which poked through the box and were now sticking into Tom’s abdomen.
He arrived at the hospital by ambulance. It wasn’t long before one of the nurses recognized him and told Shannon. Shannon waited until he was about half way through his surgery before she broke the news to Peg. So far the outcome was looking good, but until nothing would be certain until he was in the recovery room.
Peg’s mother Nancy flew in to town to take care of things as soon as she got the news. It would be another three days before Peg and Anthony left the hospital and there was a lot to do to get the apartment ready for them. Nancy, friends, and Shannon on her time off, got busy unpacking boxes and getting the apartment ready and baby-proof.
On the day Peg left the hospital Tom was still in ICU. Before they left, she took Anthony down to see him. As he lay in his bed unconscious Peg put Anthony face down on Tom’s chest to get a picture of how it would be when Tom came home. Among the group of friends and family accompanying Peg home not a single eye was dry.
Tom awoke in the hospital. He was alone. There weren’t any other patients in his room nor any nurses to be seen. Within days he was walking out of there on his own two feet. He felt so lucky to be on his way home to his family.
Entered the room only Peg and Anthony sat there. She was crying as he walked in the door. He went to the couch to sit by her. This was one of those moments where the best thing was silence. Except for the baby. He was cooing like babies do. Tom put his hand by his head. He rubbed his thumb over Anthony’s cheek. Then felt the hair on his head. He was the most beautiful thing Tom had every seen. He just wanted to scoop him up and never let him go but he was so peaceful laying there ruining that would be worse than not being able to hold his son.
It seemed that Peg was holding some sort of resentment toward him. She would yell at him then begin to cry. Tom started feeling bad that he had left her alone for so long with so much to take care of. His accident must have scared her so bad. But she wouldn’t talk to him about it. He felt so helpless.
On the third day he was home, she was gathering up the baby and heading out. It was the first time she had done this since she came home from the hospital. All Tom saw her do for the last few days was answer phones and yell at him.
They picked up Peg’s mom at her hotel. They arrived at a funeral parlor. As they walked in, there was Tom’s family sitting at the front. Everyone was crying. As he walked up to the casket everything made sense. Why Peg had been ignoring him. Why she was crying so much. He looked into the casket and could barely believe what he was seeing.
Friday, April 13, 2007
A Case for Product Placement
“Good morning Pantene.”
“Mornin Zest,” Pantene replied in his typically mellow tone.
Pantene and Zest were the two oldest inhabitants of the Henderson’s shower. They had something going for them that the other washing products didn’t. They were refillable bottles. At times they felt a little down when their contents were low, but eventually someone would c ome along, usually on Wednesdays and fill them up so they could continue their legacy as the wise men of the washroom. Nobody quite knew, not even these two wise ones, why Wednesday was the cleaning day. It was just one of the many mysteries of the shower. Why did the smaller kids in the house always forget to turn then fan on when they used Sloan. Why did Oral B. Reach last longer than the many Colgates and Crests that came through the joint? Many questions like this were never understood. But what was understood was that some things in the washroom were never meant to be known.
Recently after a day of many new faces in the washroom one boy in the house drastically changed his behavior. It began when one morning he came into the bathroom with a new friend. Bic was his name. The other products had seen many Bics in their days but this one was around for quite a while. He was seldom used unlike Bic who belonged to the father and Schick who was the Mother’s. It was nice that he stuck around so long. His youth brought a sort of rejuvination to the room.
One day, the boy was acting very strange. It was two days after the cleaning day. The younger children had come home from whatever it was that they did during they day but the boy was still out. Suddenly they heard a heavy rumbling sound. It got closer and closer then settled close by with a slight squeal accompanying it. Soon after, the boy came into the washroom humming a joyful diddy to himself. He started off with Ivory and Bic then moved for Old Spice, who wasn’t really as old as his name made him sound. Suddenly something new appeared. It was a young product with a strong smell and radical wrapping. His name suited him quite well. Axe!
Axe was a smaller bottle so it was assumed that he would only last a few weeks. Oddly though he was only used on the second and third days after cleaning day. This aided in his longevity.
He was always telling stories of wild antics and shenanigans. No one was sure if they were true, as some were too outrageous to believe, but they were no less entertaining and that was good enough. Axe made the other products feel young again. When Zest and Pantene would get low they’d ask him to tell the story of the ride on the two wheeled cycle called Indian again. This helped them get through the days until Wednesday and by this point Axe had begun to feel accepted by the other washroom inhabitants so enjoyed telling the stories over to see his new friends happy. Back at the store he was surrounded by other products almost exactly like himself so welcomed the newfound relationships.
After a few months of weekend usage, Axe wasn’t much himself anymore. He wouldn’t keep everyone else up at night chatting away. He wouldn’t include the details in his stories that he once had and simultaneously was beginning to lose enthusiasm for even telling them. Everyone knew the inevitable was soon to happen.
They calculated that within two weeks Axe would see his last days. Something had to be done before then. For two nights the old men of the washroom stayed up past the normal time to devise a plan on how to keep their young friend around. They knew that they were stationary products so only could rely on accident to fulfill their plan. Their only hope was that one of the refillable products would be used at some point to add to Axe when Wednesday came around.
But Wednesday came and the group had no such luck.
It seemed that this Friday was the last one they would get to spend with Axe. Until then it was appropriate that they keep the conversation lively and not focus on the coming loss. And so they did. The last few days were full of laughter and singing among all of the friends.
Finally shower day came. They heard the sound of what they now assumed was Indian. In came the boy. He was now on his second Bic. Bic and Ivory had said their goodbyes moments before so they could focus on allowing enough time for the other products to say theirs too. When Bic began his work, he jumped a bit causing the boy to put him down for a second to use a towel to dab the blood from his chin. Everyone had said their goodbyes but the old men. The water was running as Zest and Pantene said their last words to Axe.
He said to them the last words he would ever speak and they were ever so faint, “blrp blrp. Plplprpr. PLLLLLLL!” He was gone.
After a week had gone by many of the products were already starting to forget him. Zest and Pantene couldn’t though. The last few months had meant so much to them. They were reminded of what it was like to be young. They had had similar experiences as Axe but were too old to remember them.
On the second Friday after his passing a sense of de ja vous came over the washroom. It seemed like the same day three months ago when Axe had been brought to them. The younger kids came home but the boy had not. After a long period of chatter they heard Indian in the background. As he got closer they all got excited but weren’t sure why. Finally he was stopped. A loud pop followed by the door opening then shutting created quite a stir in the washroom.
As the boy entered the room he presented a new friend to the group. A familiar friend. No one knew how to react at first. They knew that no product was exactly the same. But this one looked the same and was shaped the same. Finally he was opened. It was official. This was Axe. All his youth and vigor was once again filling the room. It was like an old friend had come back from the dead…that’s exactly what it was like.
“Mornin Zest,” Pantene replied in his typically mellow tone.
Pantene and Zest were the two oldest inhabitants of the Henderson’s shower. They had something going for them that the other washing products didn’t. They were refillable bottles. At times they felt a little down when their contents were low, but eventually someone would c ome along, usually on Wednesdays and fill them up so they could continue their legacy as the wise men of the washroom. Nobody quite knew, not even these two wise ones, why Wednesday was the cleaning day. It was just one of the many mysteries of the shower. Why did the smaller kids in the house always forget to turn then fan on when they used Sloan. Why did Oral B. Reach last longer than the many Colgates and Crests that came through the joint? Many questions like this were never understood. But what was understood was that some things in the washroom were never meant to be known.
Recently after a day of many new faces in the washroom one boy in the house drastically changed his behavior. It began when one morning he came into the bathroom with a new friend. Bic was his name. The other products had seen many Bics in their days but this one was around for quite a while. He was seldom used unlike Bic who belonged to the father and Schick who was the Mother’s. It was nice that he stuck around so long. His youth brought a sort of rejuvination to the room.
One day, the boy was acting very strange. It was two days after the cleaning day. The younger children had come home from whatever it was that they did during they day but the boy was still out. Suddenly they heard a heavy rumbling sound. It got closer and closer then settled close by with a slight squeal accompanying it. Soon after, the boy came into the washroom humming a joyful diddy to himself. He started off with Ivory and Bic then moved for Old Spice, who wasn’t really as old as his name made him sound. Suddenly something new appeared. It was a young product with a strong smell and radical wrapping. His name suited him quite well. Axe!
Axe was a smaller bottle so it was assumed that he would only last a few weeks. Oddly though he was only used on the second and third days after cleaning day. This aided in his longevity.
He was always telling stories of wild antics and shenanigans. No one was sure if they were true, as some were too outrageous to believe, but they were no less entertaining and that was good enough. Axe made the other products feel young again. When Zest and Pantene would get low they’d ask him to tell the story of the ride on the two wheeled cycle called Indian again. This helped them get through the days until Wednesday and by this point Axe had begun to feel accepted by the other washroom inhabitants so enjoyed telling the stories over to see his new friends happy. Back at the store he was surrounded by other products almost exactly like himself so welcomed the newfound relationships.
After a few months of weekend usage, Axe wasn’t much himself anymore. He wouldn’t keep everyone else up at night chatting away. He wouldn’t include the details in his stories that he once had and simultaneously was beginning to lose enthusiasm for even telling them. Everyone knew the inevitable was soon to happen.
They calculated that within two weeks Axe would see his last days. Something had to be done before then. For two nights the old men of the washroom stayed up past the normal time to devise a plan on how to keep their young friend around. They knew that they were stationary products so only could rely on accident to fulfill their plan. Their only hope was that one of the refillable products would be used at some point to add to Axe when Wednesday came around.
But Wednesday came and the group had no such luck.
It seemed that this Friday was the last one they would get to spend with Axe. Until then it was appropriate that they keep the conversation lively and not focus on the coming loss. And so they did. The last few days were full of laughter and singing among all of the friends.
Finally shower day came. They heard the sound of what they now assumed was Indian. In came the boy. He was now on his second Bic. Bic and Ivory had said their goodbyes moments before so they could focus on allowing enough time for the other products to say theirs too. When Bic began his work, he jumped a bit causing the boy to put him down for a second to use a towel to dab the blood from his chin. Everyone had said their goodbyes but the old men. The water was running as Zest and Pantene said their last words to Axe.
He said to them the last words he would ever speak and they were ever so faint, “blrp blrp. Plplprpr. PLLLLLLL!” He was gone.
After a week had gone by many of the products were already starting to forget him. Zest and Pantene couldn’t though. The last few months had meant so much to them. They were reminded of what it was like to be young. They had had similar experiences as Axe but were too old to remember them.
On the second Friday after his passing a sense of de ja vous came over the washroom. It seemed like the same day three months ago when Axe had been brought to them. The younger kids came home but the boy had not. After a long period of chatter they heard Indian in the background. As he got closer they all got excited but weren’t sure why. Finally he was stopped. A loud pop followed by the door opening then shutting created quite a stir in the washroom.
As the boy entered the room he presented a new friend to the group. A familiar friend. No one knew how to react at first. They knew that no product was exactly the same. But this one looked the same and was shaped the same. Finally he was opened. It was official. This was Axe. All his youth and vigor was once again filling the room. It was like an old friend had come back from the dead…that’s exactly what it was like.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Martin and His First Amendment
Martin Kellog was never much of a drinker but enjoyed an evening on the town with his friends. Most of the time he was the designated driver and when he was, he took his job very seriously and wouldn’t touch a drop of alcohol all night. He had gotten a DUI once and swore he would never drive drunk again.
This decision turned out to be a good thing. It seemed that almost every night that he was driving his friends around, he got pulled over. Someone would be doing something seemingly unsafe in the back seat or one of the guys drank too much and would blow chunks out of the window. Whatever the event, he would get pulled over and immediately feel relief that he hadn’t been drinking.
It was spring and all of his buddies were in the mood to go out for a fun night. He and his roommates jumped in the car and picked up two friends on the way to the bar. His roommates of course had started the night well before they left, as did the friends they picked up. And of course, the night wouldn’t begin until they had the traditional 40 ounce challenge behind the 7-eleven on the way downtown. With the pre-party complete, they were on their way to town.
Just before they got off the freeway Marin saw and ambulance coming and pulled to the side of the road. Once it had passed he began to merge, only to see a highway patrol car coming. So again he pulled over. But the cop car didn’t pass. Martin wasn’t too worried about this though.
One thing Marin had learned was that whether or not he had done anything wrong, cops usually decided if they were going to give you a ticket by the time they got out of their car, so he might as well have fun with it. As the cop sat in his car behind him, Martin popped in his favorite Ministry CD and cranked it as loud as he could. As the cop approached the car Martin put on his best smile and rolled the window down.
“Turn your music down!” the cop yelled
“What?” Martin replied.
“Turn your music down now sir!” The cop was obviously frustrated.
“Sorry sir, I can’t hear you. Let me turn the radio down!” At this, Martin was satisfied that he had successfully pissed the cop off.
The cop didn’t actually have anything to pull the guys over for, he just saw one of Martin’s friends “making room for the rest of the night” out the back window and wanted to make sure everything was all right. On they went.
For the most part it was a typical night at the bar. With the exception of running into a few friends they hadn’t seen in a while, things were uneventful. Before they called it a night, they wanted to stop off at the country bar on scenic route home, Monty’s Log Cabin.
Monty’s was one of those places that was buys from the time it opened in the morning until the state mandated closing time. If it wasn’t for the law that they had to close for a certain amount of time each day some of the neighborhood regulars would probably never go home.
Going into Monty’s was always a bit of a self-esteem boost. No matter what kind of day you were having, you knew for a fact that you were having a better day than at least half of the people in there.
After a few more rounds it was time to go. One of the guys had to visit the boys room, so Martin went out to pull the car around front. When he pulled up to the front door all but one guy got in the car. The other one was holding on to a light poll. Every few seconds he’d take his hands off the pole, take a step or two, then retreat to the pole like it was a lifeboat. When Martin went to help him in, one of his roommates jumped in the front seat pretending that he was going to take off with the car, hoping to give Martin a little scare. With perfect composure, Martin walked up to the driver’s door and threw his cell phone down in the joker’s lap. Doubled over in man pain, he moved to the back seat.
He got in the car, put it in gear and before he could pull on to the road a cop was pulling him over. Now, he was frustrated. Twice in one night was just ridiculous.
“License and registration please.” Without protest Martin handed it over. “Sir, have you been drinking tonight?”
The first thing that popped into Martin’s head was a comment his dad used to say when he was younger. The phrase that he was thinking of was something his father used to describe Martin as; “boy, you’re as dumb as a day old nigger.” You must take a second to understand Martin. In no way was he racist. In fact, he once lived with a guy for two months before he even noticed the guy was black. Of course he understood what kind of meaning a comment like that carried, but to him it was an ambivalent phrase.
For this case, he was changing ‘dumb’ to ‘sober’. So he began, “No officer, I’m as sober as…” Right then he realized something. It didn’t matter how he viewed the comment he was about to use, what mattered what how the half black cop standing outside his window might view it.
The internal monologue began. He was trying to think of things that are sober when first born. Geese, babies, kangaroos, Irish people…nope, not Irish people. Ah! He had it! Muslims are supposed to be sober their whole lives!
“…a day old Muslim,” he finished the sentence with a nervous grin.
“Excuse me son? A day old Muslim? Are you making a comment about my color? Do you assume that all people with dark skin are Muslims? Do I look like Muhammad Ali to you?”
“Actually, I don’t think Muhammad A…”
“You shut your mouth right now! Get out of the car and put your hands on the hood.”
The cop took a full hour to call for backup and led Martin through a rigorous drunk test before letting him go on his way. As he re-played the night over in his head, Martin found it funny that even though he tried to make sure not to offend the cop, his plan managed to backfire. It reminded him of the time when radio host Don Imus made an ignorant comment and a bunch of people, mainly the news media and Al Sharpton completely over reacted and got the poor guy fired.
THE END!!
This decision turned out to be a good thing. It seemed that almost every night that he was driving his friends around, he got pulled over. Someone would be doing something seemingly unsafe in the back seat or one of the guys drank too much and would blow chunks out of the window. Whatever the event, he would get pulled over and immediately feel relief that he hadn’t been drinking.
It was spring and all of his buddies were in the mood to go out for a fun night. He and his roommates jumped in the car and picked up two friends on the way to the bar. His roommates of course had started the night well before they left, as did the friends they picked up. And of course, the night wouldn’t begin until they had the traditional 40 ounce challenge behind the 7-eleven on the way downtown. With the pre-party complete, they were on their way to town.
Just before they got off the freeway Marin saw and ambulance coming and pulled to the side of the road. Once it had passed he began to merge, only to see a highway patrol car coming. So again he pulled over. But the cop car didn’t pass. Martin wasn’t too worried about this though.
One thing Marin had learned was that whether or not he had done anything wrong, cops usually decided if they were going to give you a ticket by the time they got out of their car, so he might as well have fun with it. As the cop sat in his car behind him, Martin popped in his favorite Ministry CD and cranked it as loud as he could. As the cop approached the car Martin put on his best smile and rolled the window down.
“Turn your music down!” the cop yelled
“What?” Martin replied.
“Turn your music down now sir!” The cop was obviously frustrated.
“Sorry sir, I can’t hear you. Let me turn the radio down!” At this, Martin was satisfied that he had successfully pissed the cop off.
The cop didn’t actually have anything to pull the guys over for, he just saw one of Martin’s friends “making room for the rest of the night” out the back window and wanted to make sure everything was all right. On they went.
For the most part it was a typical night at the bar. With the exception of running into a few friends they hadn’t seen in a while, things were uneventful. Before they called it a night, they wanted to stop off at the country bar on scenic route home, Monty’s Log Cabin.
Monty’s was one of those places that was buys from the time it opened in the morning until the state mandated closing time. If it wasn’t for the law that they had to close for a certain amount of time each day some of the neighborhood regulars would probably never go home.
Going into Monty’s was always a bit of a self-esteem boost. No matter what kind of day you were having, you knew for a fact that you were having a better day than at least half of the people in there.
After a few more rounds it was time to go. One of the guys had to visit the boys room, so Martin went out to pull the car around front. When he pulled up to the front door all but one guy got in the car. The other one was holding on to a light poll. Every few seconds he’d take his hands off the pole, take a step or two, then retreat to the pole like it was a lifeboat. When Martin went to help him in, one of his roommates jumped in the front seat pretending that he was going to take off with the car, hoping to give Martin a little scare. With perfect composure, Martin walked up to the driver’s door and threw his cell phone down in the joker’s lap. Doubled over in man pain, he moved to the back seat.
He got in the car, put it in gear and before he could pull on to the road a cop was pulling him over. Now, he was frustrated. Twice in one night was just ridiculous.
“License and registration please.” Without protest Martin handed it over. “Sir, have you been drinking tonight?”
The first thing that popped into Martin’s head was a comment his dad used to say when he was younger. The phrase that he was thinking of was something his father used to describe Martin as; “boy, you’re as dumb as a day old nigger.” You must take a second to understand Martin. In no way was he racist. In fact, he once lived with a guy for two months before he even noticed the guy was black. Of course he understood what kind of meaning a comment like that carried, but to him it was an ambivalent phrase.
For this case, he was changing ‘dumb’ to ‘sober’. So he began, “No officer, I’m as sober as…” Right then he realized something. It didn’t matter how he viewed the comment he was about to use, what mattered what how the half black cop standing outside his window might view it.
The internal monologue began. He was trying to think of things that are sober when first born. Geese, babies, kangaroos, Irish people…nope, not Irish people. Ah! He had it! Muslims are supposed to be sober their whole lives!
“…a day old Muslim,” he finished the sentence with a nervous grin.
“Excuse me son? A day old Muslim? Are you making a comment about my color? Do you assume that all people with dark skin are Muslims? Do I look like Muhammad Ali to you?”
“Actually, I don’t think Muhammad A…”
“You shut your mouth right now! Get out of the car and put your hands on the hood.”
The cop took a full hour to call for backup and led Martin through a rigorous drunk test before letting him go on his way. As he re-played the night over in his head, Martin found it funny that even though he tried to make sure not to offend the cop, his plan managed to backfire. It reminded him of the time when radio host Don Imus made an ignorant comment and a bunch of people, mainly the news media and Al Sharpton completely over reacted and got the poor guy fired.
THE END!!
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