Monumental Day

Today I stopped believing in coincidences, finally. It's odd, the more I stop believing in things, the better off I feel. Maybe there is some correlation, maybe I'll make a line graph someday. Prolly not, I don't really know.

But, I do know that a lot of this is artificial, and that irony and coincidences are just our method of trying to incorporate logic once it is superseded.  

Smitty (Fiction)

               Ronnie had a drinking problem; he would be the first one to admit to it. However, he never addressed the issue or tried to change in any way because he frankly didn’t give a shit. Ronnie Smith, better known by his drinking buddies as; “Smitty”, (How original) was 34 years old on this particular day. In fact, it was his first day being 34, last night he had “celebrated” his birthday by having a few too many. Hangovers didn’t use to hamper his lifestyle too much throughout his 20’s. Smitty is a prime example of what one might refer to as a “functioning alcoholic”. And so to follow suit, his occupation was of course, tending bar. It was the only lifestyle he knew, it was just what he did. And although he drank every single day, he seldom drank himself to the point of blackout. Blackouts occur when a person consumes far too much alcohol than his tolerance can allow. Once this happens, the person enters into a parallel universe of consciousness. It is possible to conduct yourself in any type of manner while in this state, while being completely oblivious to it.

               Anyways, Smitty had entered into that state of mind last night and awoke without much recollection of the events which had occurred. According to his lifestyle, this was a very normal occurrence. Therefore, in most cases he would just call up some of the people whom he remembered being with, and just make casual conversation. He did this in an attempt to possibly extract any peculiar information about what may have happened the night before. You see, Smitty never liked to admit to his friends that he had experienced a night in the blackout realm. He always worried about his friends judging him or worrying that he had a problem. So, he just always kept that part to himself.

               Sometimes after a blackout night, Smitty will remember some really bizarre pieces from the night before. But the worst part about blackout nights, was usually drunk texting an ex-girlfriend, or waking up and realizing he had somehow spent an astronomical amount of money. Therefore, because he was so worried about these two things…he shamefully strolled over to his pants that were strewn across his bedroom floor, inside out. That couldn’t be a good sign. As he picked them up and began to turn them right side out, he could feel his wallet and phone in the pockets…it was a huge relief. At least he hadn’t lost either one of those items. It can be very expensive and quite a chore to lose them.

               Anyways, as he opens his phone and begins to scroll through, he finds no drunken texts. The last person he texted was his brother Donald; “Its my figgin b-day and u cant come have 1 with me”? There was no response. Plus, he didn’t remember seeing his brother out the night before, so he quickly assumed that he must’ve been unable to persuade him. There was only 1 phone call that he had made at 2:17 am to the taxicab company. “Thank god I didn’t drive” It said that the call duration was exactly one minute. Those cab drivers must really hate him, he thought. Every time he calls them he is shitfaced and remembers none of it. He vaguely remembers one night when he had got into a screaming match with one of them because they wouldn’t stop so he could get fast food. All the cab drivers were midde-eastern, just like in any decent-sized city. He remembered the driver saying; “Ev-lee tyme bud-dee, ev-lee tyme you spill and I k-lean. I will stop no more! Or else I charge you double”! The cab driver had apparently had enough of Smitty devouring onion-filled cheeseburgers and getting grease on the seatbelts.

               As he continues through his pockets, rummaging for clues and wanting to check what financial damage he had done, he found something very bizarre. He actually had more money than he had when he left that night, a lot more. In fact, he had exactly ten $100 bills that were perfectly wrapped up and separate from his rent/tips/spending/money. He had absolutely no idea how he had gotten it. But he did know one thing, it was fucking party time!

               In typical Smitty fashion, he called up all his friends and set-up an epic party for later that night at his house. He stopped by the liquor store and spent every last dime of his “findings”. In total he had purchased 20 cases of beer, and 20 bottles of liquor. This party was going to be epic!

               However, Smitty told his friends to show up around 5pm, and when he got home and unpacked everything it was only 1pm. And so in typical Smitty fashion, he began to “test the waters” a little bit. A few shots here, a few there, and about a 6-pack later…people were finally beginning to arrive. But, Smitty doesn’t remember any of it.

               The only thing that Smitty remembers is a few guests showing up at his house, and now he has woken up in a hospital bed. It was at this moment that he realized that something must have got horribly wrong. He was afraid to find out what he was there for, all he knew for sure was that his head hurt real, real bad. He looks at his watch and it is 8am. Suddenly he is startled by a man sitting in the corner asleep. It is one of those middle-eastern cab drivers. Jesus, those guys must seriously never leave until you pay. What a ruthless bunch of scavengers they are, he thought to himself. But anyways, this guy might have an idea what happened to him. Plus, he just wanted to find him pants to see if he had any money in them to get rid of this guy. Or, better yet, to get a ride home and see how bad his friends had destroyed his home.

               “Hey Bin”! He hollered at the cabbie. Ever since 9/11, him and his buddies have always referred to those guys as Ossama Bin Laden. Prior to 9/11, they were all of course named: Saddam. “Yo Bin Laden man. Wake up”! He hollered this time.

His high, screechy tone had startled the man and awoke him. “I tell you one hundred time. My name Serge, not Bin. Why you still insult? I do everything”

“You do everything”? Smitty sneered back.

“Yes. Everyday I see you drunk and trying to die. And I bring you home. You say you will grow up, but no!”

Smitty laughed. “You don’t save anybody bud, trust me. There are 1,000 cabs out there. I’ll just get the next one.”

“You think 1,000 cab will pick-up man who cant walk? So drunk he cant even tell where he live? And with no money”?

“What”? Smitty responded. “I always pay you guys man. Just like when I find my pants. I cant believe you stayed all night for $20. You could have made a lot more money if you stayed out. Is it a pride thing? You don’t want anybody to get one over on you”?

Serge stood up and walked over to Smitty’s bed. “You never pay me one time for ride. No other cab drivers will take you because they know how you are. The police want to take you to jail, I tell them no. You are young guy. You said I give you $1,000 and you grow up. But no. Americans have so much but you don’t care. I stay here to see if you live. You puke all over my car. Its getting cleaned next door, another $1,000. You puked blood everywhere! None of your friends stopped the party even, they probably still drunk. You are still young, stop being so stupid!”

               He turned around, picked up Smittys pants and threw them at him. Then, he left. Smitty’s pants were covered in blood and disgust. When the dr came in the told him he had alcohol poisoning. When he got home, his apt was a pig sty. Every single beer and liquor bottle was either on the floor, or missing. What had he done? He called up all of his “friends”, but got no answer. They were probably all still sleeping.

               That night was the first time that Smitty ever went to an AA meeting. Granted, he went to the bar after. But he only ordered one beer. And then he called a cab. Sure enough, it was Serge who pulled up. Smitty was thankful because he had so many questions for him.

“Why do you give a shit about me? Nobody gives a shit about me. So be honest”.

“The first time you in my cab, you say you will give my wife kidney if you are donor match. But then you never call.”

Apparently his wife was on her death bed, and Smitty had been drunk one night and promised to go to the hospital to get tested to see if he was a match. Smitty had apparently promised to give a kidney away while drunk and had no recollection.

“I didn’t  sell you my kidney…..”

“No, no, no. You just say. I gave you the money and rides because I thought you were my angel. A stranger who promises to save my wife if you can. My wife is all I have”.

               Suddenly Serge bursts out into laughter and says; “Man, you really need to stop the drink. You believed me that you promised a kidney”! He continued to laugh. “You so drunk so much you no know you sold me your car in your driveway. I need it for my son. I gave you the money, I told you I will come back to get the car today and you are passed out drunk. So, I bring you to the hospital.” He continued laughing. “You need help buddy! Now lets go get my car. You are too dangerous to have car anyways”. His laughing died down.

Walter (Fiction)

Walter Sr. died because his health insurance didnt cover an expensive surgical procedure deemed necessary by his physician. At least, according to Jr. his father/idol would still be alive if it weren't for the selfishness of that greedy insurance company. "Real Health Insurance" - "Allowing people to achieve real health." That was their motto. Jr. resented that company with every single fiber of his being. He often fancied walking into the lobby wearing his fathers old army fatigue and medals, while strapped in explosives. All he had sacrificed for his country, and this was his reward? Suffering to death because this insurance company valued money over humanity. What a crock.

As the 'healing process' went on, and the lonely days passed, Junior only grew with fury. He had been to multiple psychotherapists prescribed by his physician, but he only argued with them. The walls in his home, his fathers home, has scattered with punch-holes. It had become an almost daily ritual. Junior would drink away the pain and then destroy things. This is how he "coped" with the situation.

He went to his physician again because his physical and mental health had become very poor. He was told that he has to learn to "let it go". He chuckled at the thought and began to argue with the doctor. "Who do you care about most"?

The doctor seemed flustered; "Listen, I don't think that this type of conversation is going to resolve anything".

"Answer the question", Walter spoke sternly and with his eyes glued into the doctors eyes. 

"My daughter"?

"Empathize with me for a moment. What if it was your daughter...."

The doctor cut him off, "Id kill em. Ok? I'd fuckin kill em if anybody hurt my daughter ok? Is that what you wanted to hear"? He let his professionalism go right out the window. He understood the point but there was nothing else left to say. The doctor was tired of Walter.

As Walter left the office, he realized that there was no next step. The dr had not prescribed any plan of action or pawned him off onto the next dr. He was basically prescribed to "just deal with it". He was lost. And so he had absolutely no idea what to do.

After a few more drunken nights, he decided to take the drs advice after all.

After doing some research, he found out who was responsible. The President and CEO of Real Health Insurance was Donald Rosensweig. He decided that he would make him pay. Vengence was the only form of justice that existed. It was only anger that he was concerned with. If justice were impossible, he would create his own.

And so Jr began dedicating his life to shadowing Mr. Rosensweig. It was important to learn his patterns in order to achieve his task. A task that was simple. Rosnsweig represented the face of the company who destroyed his life. Therefore, he would destroy Rosensweig. 

One typical Tuesday morning while on his way into the office, he was met in the parking garage by Jr. There were no words exchanged but Jr shot Rosensweig with an animal tranquilizer right in the chest.

Next, he loaded him into his van and took him back to his fathers home. Next, he duct taped his arms and legs to an ordinary wooden lichen chair and he waited. And and he waited for Rosensweig to awake he stewed with anger. He had so much to say and yell at this man about. After all, he was the cause of all of Jrs problems. 

After about an hour of waiting, Jr filled up a bucket of cold water and dumped it over his head. Still nothing.....that always worked in the movies. He quickly felt for a pulse just to make sure, Roaensweig had to be in his late 60's.

His plus seemed fine, so he started screaming at him and finally he awoke. However, still looking half asleep. It took another 15 minutes for him to realize what was going on.

"You killed me dad u greedy bastard. And now I'm gonna kill u"

"I didnt kill anybody. I just run a business"

Well ur business ethics valued money over my war hero dad. And now ur gonna pay."

"I just did my job, maximize profits. If I don't do everything I can to maximize profits I will get fired. Even worse, the share holders will sue the company. That's how big business works. If a company is not doing everything it can to maximize profits, it gets sued by its shareholders."

Suddenly, Jr realized that it was the greed of the world which was to blame. It wasn't Real health, or Rosensweig...it was the greed of humanity who was to blame.

Suddenly, he apologized and released Risensweig. He walked up to the top of a large bridge and swan dove off, eager to see his father.