Soup

By: TVAS

There was this old man that lived by the train tracks in this very small, semi-dilapidated house. He lived with his dog and no one else. He favored cooking his nightly meals outside in a tin coffee can over an open fire, usually a soup of some kind which he always shared with his dog since he never had enough to buy dog food and besides, dogs always prefer what humans eat- or so they say.

By day the old man roamed the area around the tracks and surrounding desolate streets collecting whatever scraps of metal he could find. Once he had exhausted himself and the day’s finds he’d trek on over to the Metal Scrap Company LTD, weighed the day’s catch, collected whatever the going rate was for the day and headed home to his small house and expecting dog. He rather liked the solitude, the quiet around the tracks- those particular tracks were no longer the veins of commerce, several lines still used it occasionally but for the most part the tracks were quiet, cold and unused.

His life went on collecting scraps, selling scraps and making his nightly soup- he thought of nothing but the moment. Until one night while sitting by the fire waiting for his soup to come to a full boil he saw a car speeding towards him, the car barely staying in control while bumping onto the tracks and off the tracks, trying desperately to stay ahead of the pursuing group of police cars. The old man barely got out of the way before getting killed. While the car flew by his side, the occupants threw out a bulky package. The cops must not have noticed, the old man thought; they never stopped and never came back his way. They weren’t very bright, the cops in St. Louis, or maybe they were just too busy with bigger and better deals than what a scrap metal collector could ever imagine.

The package contained several kittens and lots of money, so much money that at first he was too scared to think about what to do with it. He finally settled on a few things he’d like to do; buy the latest Corvette- the 1963 he’d glimpsed while scrounging for metal scraps- and the Metal Scrap Company LTD. He felt he’d spent his life haunted by the place, living for the place, eating because of the place- what better way to spend the money than to buy the Metal Scrap Company LTD?

So he bought the company and made some needed changes; made the payment for scraps fair market value for the ones bringing in the scraps, made it compliant with the latest safety regulations, made the buying and selling of bulk metal a smoother process, and cleaned up staff and warehouse for the safety of all employees. He promoted a few employees that took pride in their work and who respected those that worked for them as well as the metal scroungers.

Once he finished his realigning of the Metal Scrap Company, LTD he decided he’d spend time with his long time friend the dog and the newly added kittens. He’d take the kittens and the dog for short rides here and there on his 1963 Corvette. Eventually his old friend the dog died of old age, reluctantly the dog finally settled by the old man’s feet one night and let out its last breath. The old man was beyond sad, for he had shared his everything and nothing with his friend the dog. He collected some of the best metal scraps from the warehouse and commissioned a magnificent statue of his friend the dog and delivered it himself to his old haunts by the railroad tracks where he’d boiled so many tins of soup to feed himself and the old dog. He placed the statue next to the old train tracks with a small plaque that read, “Dog- dearest old friend.” He then fetched the kittens from the backseat of his 1963 Corvette and placed them all in the big pot he’d brought with him and proceeded to have him the last pot of soup he’d ever have- assorted kitten soup du jour.

Weird

Weirdest dream this was; I running up a rocky hill and a girl pretending to be a guy-bagpipe-player-dude was there while I was being chased by a smelly, horrible, horrible poodle...

Absolute Poison

It had been a while since… a while since I had indulged in reading- no wait, in looking at fashion magazines. It all started at Harris Teeter in Charlotte. I had run out of books and had memorized every add in the Creative Loafing, even the Back Page Adds. And there she was! I saw a People magazine with a huge picture of Angelina on the cover and I had to pay the ridiculous fee for the magazine just so I could look at it closer and see what it is that makes her so beautiful; as if I could gleam the formula off of an airbrushed, lifeless page of the secret of beauty itself. So I bought the magazine, stared at the picture for a while, leafed thru the rest of it- the whole while feeling slightly dirty, except when I was looking at the Angelina pictures- and no secrets were revealed- no alephs came in to sight. Maybe I didn’t stare long enough.

And then the real problem started, the poison was literally free and being offered in bulk and pristine condition. It begged to be taken home. Some neighbor at the condos had graciously left piles and piles of fashion magazines neatly laid out on an old desk by the corner. All I wanted was my mail so I could pay bills within a decent timeline. But the magazines kept taunting me and finally I gave in- I took about 10+ magazines: MarieClaire, Vogue, Style, Cosmopolitan and a bunch of others I can’t remember the name of. And page after page it was the same shit over and over.

“Isn’t this perfectly airbrushed celebrity awesome? Well isn’t she?” yelled the crackling pages as I kept turning them and turning them. And the next page: “Well don’t you want to do something about the wreck that is your face, and let’s not mention that thing you call your body. I mean really isn’t it time you did something about it? For goodness sake you should be shamed to be seen with that sorry excuse of your whole physical thing you insist on lugging around -torturing all those that must look at you while you’re out there!”

And more poison still: “You want to fix it right? Smart girl! Buy this cream, shave here, tweeze there, pluck your nose hairs, sew this in, put plastic there and there, zoom this, tighten that, mud-masque those, pedi that, color these, cut all those, blip the other…..bleach Where?!?” And on and on it goes. Wanna look pretty and yet powerful? “Women of the world unite.” Meaning, “buy this bullshit diamond ‘cause it’ll mean that you are your own woman, ‘cause you’ll make your own decisions.”

“You want to be hot, right? Buy this skirt, and then this brand, those jeans and then that shirt, and of course that belt and don’t forget the ‘It’ bag. And don’t dare be caught without those torturing contraptions we call shoes.”

I had stopped looking at fashion magazines a long time ago even at waiting places opting for a book or just staring into space- which is safer than looking at these pictures that have such a hold and influence on so many people, even me, the great resistor.

Magazines, or should we say marketing is such a powerful tool it manages- thru billions of dollars in hammering away the frail shell of self-esteem, self-respect, self-regard- to dictate living choices for people in a sadly enslaving, dulling way.

And the writers, sorry, contributors for the magazines? While tongue in cheek at times, way too serious at most- with one stating that she doesn’t care how painful, uncomfortable and unhealthy dehairing herself might become; she is completely taken by the illusion that the least-haired of the women are the fairest of them all. That with less hair there is on a woman’s body; the more attractive, powerful, cosmopolitan and in control she’ll be- or something like that. To whom I wonder though? I’ve always wanted to believe that there are better people out there- the ones who are not utterly consumed with counting visible body hairs, wrinkles, gray hairs and all the such that goes with “undesirable.”

I know- there are other poisons we all subscribe to, but still those other poisons aren’t constantly eroding the person you really ought to be. Sure, one poison might be scarring your liver, shrinking it to the size of a wilted lemon, but it brings some benefits while you’re at it, good friends, good times and a good roll in the hay sometimes. If you live in the country. With sheep. And cows. And maybe horses. And a barn where you might indeed need a lot of hay.

Ban Wigs From The Workplace...Please

We work with this lady. She wears a wig. All remote offices have to deal with her at some point each day. She is the epitome of everything that’s wrong within the company, with corporate America for that matter. She, as L eloquently put it, “is too busy to do anything, yet wants to touch everything.” At a moment’s notice she can produce, effortlessly, a venomous communiqué- email, memo, phone call- to tell the recipients in no uncertain terms that they are in fact worthless pieces of rat shit too stupid to live. Yet she can’t be bothered with customers’ concerns and or problems that are sitting at her desk waiting resolution because she is too busy and she is already working most weekends and can’t even ever have a real vacation because her phone rings every two minutes when she is not at the office.

I guess we should look at the bright side and give her points for consistency. Unless she happens to be in a particularly-rare good mood and feels like shooting the breeze and/or sharing how much her “staff sucks;” she is consistent at pissing people off, making them cry, and feel the uncontrollable need to quit. She hired most of her sucky staff. She continues to decrease their level of productivity by constantly berating them and stampeding through the general area while coming or going from her office. She screams often enough her staff pretends they can’t hear her. Her staff, or most of it, has taken their legitimate complaints to her boss, Napoleon, my boss. His answer? “Just ignore her. You need to grow thicker skin.”

All this in plain view and what do the other big whigs do? Let her interview and hire more people of course. Avoid confronting her about her abusive and unacceptable behavior in the office. Avoid disentangling the snare of messes and problems she has created directly and indirectly through her absurd behavior. Did you say we were going public? Great! We’re ready for the big leagues- bring it on!