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"Come Fly With Me"

Chapter 1

Bitch and Bobble Head

“We’re sorry Calum, but we’re going to have to let you go.”

The words pulsated in my head like the beat from my pounding heart. I’d

never been fired before. The words “let go”were such bullshit—a candy coated

version attempting to make you feel better about the situation. The only ones

feeling better with this verbage were the assholes in front of me right now, the ones keeping their jobs.

“Yes, I can tell you’re feeling bad about it,” I said in my smuggest of tones.

“Well thank you Calum for your understanding. You’d be amazed at the

attitudes of some of the others,” said Elizabeth Hunter, the overweight and

generally grotesque head of Human Resources. Her sidekick Nancy, nodding

in agreement like the little butt kissing puppet that she was. I thought my sarcastic

retort was as obvious as a pygmy in a basketball game, but apparently

not. Their lack of intellectual interpretation almost caused a snigger, but I compressed it to a minor grin.

“I must say Calum, your upbeat demeanor really is refreshing. I’m sure it will

hold you in good stead for your future pursuits.”Again Nancy the retard agreed

in predictable fashion. She could have doubled as a fucking bobble head.

Perhaps if she was ever “let go” that would be a career path worth exploring.

Reality suddenly kicked in, and this could not have occurred at a worse

moment. Everyone in the company knew lays off were coming, but just not

sure who or how many. No doubt my recent personal problems had played a

part in my dismissal. Regular sick days, late arrival and a drop in performance

had been the by-product of my failing marriage.

I was in a world of my own as I packed up what little belongings I had,

throwing in some extra company stationary just out of spite.What would I do

now? The severance package equated to a Saturday afternoon spending spree

at Macy’s by my soon to be ex-wife. It wasn’t official, but in my mind, divorce

was inevitable and likely to cost me considerably.

“We’re going to miss you Calum,” said a faint high-pitched voice.

I turned to see Rachel, our department secretary, with a sad look on her face and her eyes looking very glassy.

“Now now Rachel, it’s not that bad. I was looking for a way out anyway.

Finally going to get a chance to start the home business I’ve been thinking

about for a while.”My upbeat response seemed to alter her appearance. If only I had believed my façade.

“We’re all still sad to see you go Calum. Things won’t be the same here without you”.

“Life goes on though. You safe for now?” I asked quizzically.

“I think so. They haven’t said anything to me so I assume so. You never know with this place though.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine. Carter won’t be able to function without you coordinating

his daily schedule.” Leonard Carter was the department boss. A useless,

middle-aged guy with the organizational skills of the three stoogies on crack.

“Anyway, the team wanted to see if you could meet us for a few drinks

tonight. Nothing fancy, just a little get together in town as a send off for you.”

“Sounds good, I could use a few drinks that’s for sure.”

“Eight o’clock at the Tiger Bar sound OK for you?”

“That works for me. Keep your chin up Rachel, it really is alright. There’s a

lot of people in this world much worse off than me you know.”

“I know, but it still doesn’t make it right. You’re a good man Calum.”

She was very sincere, which was extremely touching. Rachel was aware I was

having a few relationship issues and I could tell she thought it was not my fault.

“Anyway, I’d better get on my way before I’m physically removed. I’ll see you

tonight.” I gave her a wink and she responded with a smile and a hug.

This Company didn’t mess around. No sooner had I walked away from

Rachel but I spotted Bitch and Bobble Head waiting to escort me off the premises.

With them was a sour faced cop wannabe security guard, who obviously

believed he had as much power as the Company CEO.What was it about uniforms

that turned people into complete dicks? I felt like a convict being led to

the gas chamber as I walked with Laurel and Hardy of the Human Resources

world, closely followed by Lieutenant Minimum Wage of our elite special forces

Security team! The Bitch was attempting to engage me in some form of idle chit

chat as we walked, but I was oblivious to it all—just grunting in agreement

every time Bobble Head wobbled her neck like Jay Leno on his late night show.

I climbed into the driver’s seat of the car and closed the door firmly behind me.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I was like Hugh Grant in the opening scene of Four

Weddings and a Funeral, realizing I’d overslept for the big day. What the hell

was I going to do? Things at home were bad enough right now without throwing

another variable into the equation.My overall frame of mind was as fragile

as Nicole Ritchie’s forearm, and I was in no mental state to go through the

whole job interview process over again. Shit, I couldn’t even keep myself

together for the one I’d just lost. I was just glad I’d decided against taking the

company car option, going instead for the five thousand extra on the annual

salary. I would’ve been really screwed then, stranded here in the parking lot,

having to call her to come and pick me up. Then she would have known.

Perhaps I wouldn’t tell her and try to find something new before the lack of

money kicked in.Who knew what to do? One thing was for sure, I didn’t. The

only thing for certain was that I was looking forward to a drink this evening.

"The Crap Shoot"

Chapter 1

Running from the Knees Down

Last night had been a blast—Bachelor parties always were. The group consisted

of mainly married guys, whose social lives had diminished considerably

since their “big day”. As a result, we tended to really let loose when the chance

came around. Last night was no exception. It was beer and strippers galore, but

the after hours Indian meal was definitely a mistake, and taking its toll on my stomach right now.

I ran from the knees down towards the public restroom, but wasn’t sure I

could contain it until then. I chuckled, thinking that the Indian food probably

looked better on the way out. Laughing in my current state was a huge error, as

I almost lost control of my ass muscles. Fortunately they reacted like a coiled

Cobra, and saved a rather embarrassing mess, not to mention an equally uncomfortable trip home on the Subway.

The restroom was located in the public park, situated close to the entrance

area. It was a ghastly looking little building, often frequented by dubious individuals

to say the least. I usually avoided public lavatories like the plague, but

emergency situations require drastic measures. I darted through the entrance,

almost knocking over an elderly homeless guy who probably lived there. The

place was foul, and I mean rancid, and smelled like a shit had just taken a huge

dump. I had no time for the customary bowl inspection. It was normal public

bathroom procedure, whether at the office, a bar, or even this festering joint, to

work your way down each stall until finding one sanitary enough for you to

bare your butt to, followed by stacking the seat approximately four feet high

with toilet paper, but ensuring you left enough to clean your ass with afterwards.

However, that luxury wasn’t even an option. I burst through the first

door, whipped down my pants in mid-stride and landed on the nasty seat, not

a moment too soon. The Chicken Tikka Masala exited like a bull from the

rodeo gates. The relief was indescribable, and easily outweighed the situation

of being perched on one of the nastiest toilets in the country. I was in a cold

sweat. Every time I thought the ordeal was over, another echoing rumble invaded my stomach.

Finally the agony ended, and my head sank with relief into my open hands.

“No fucking way,” I said rather loudly, but it just came out by instinct. I

thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, but to my horror I was miles

from the truth. The agony of seeing an empty toilet roll holder pained me like

I’d just sat on my balls. It almost brought a tear to my eyes. There was no way I

was just going to pull up my pants and pretend it never happened, I’d have a

swarm of flies chasing me the entire way home.

Just as I was preparing to waddle my way to the next stall, I heard the voices

of a father and young son entering the bathroom. The place had been silent—

other than my trumpeting ass—the entire time, but now some dick and his

mini dick son decide to arrive at the most inopportune moment.

“Daddy it stinks in here.” “It’s a public toilet Brian, they all stink.”

He was absolutely correct, it was rank when I first arrived, but I was sure I’d

hiked up the stinkometer a notch or two since then. “Not that one Brian, there’s no toilet paper.”

No fucking way, there were only four cubicles in the place, and now I knew at least two were paperless.

“Yuk, someone’s jammed the roll down this one Daddy,” screeched little

dick Brian. Oh my God, three down, one to go.

“This one has paper son, a little anyway, although there might not be much

left after I clean this seat. Take your time kid, I’ll be right out here when you’re finished, just shout if you need me.”

I wanted to shout for some toilet paper, but couldn’t bring myself to do it.

What was the big deal in asking for some paper? Women would do it without

any problem, or so my wife had once told me. Being a man was different

though, especially in a public park restroom where everyone was a stranger.

The unwritten rule was to say nothing or as little as possible. I prayed that

young Brian wasn’t much of an eater and would only pass a couple of little

nuggets, requiring no more than a sheet or two. “Brian, you OK in there?”

“Yes Daddy. The paper’s finished.” “Is your butt clean?”,“Yes Daddy.”

That little prick, probably one of those kids not trained by their parents to

look at the paper after each wipe. I knew of people who didn’t. How the fuck

do you know when you are clean? You can’t just say, “I always use eight sheets.”

For one, that could be detrimental to the environment if five would have sufficed,

and secondly, the number of sheets required is directly proportional to

the consistency of your shit. There should be a mathematical equation developed,

that is communicated from Kindergarten onwards. I was sure that little

cock could’ve saved a sheet or two.

My liquid mess was a definite ten to twelve wiper. Even if there had been five

or six pieces left, I could have attempted the delicate procedure of wipe, fold

and wipe again. It was usually a little messier and required the touch of a surgeon,

but was bearable as long as you thoroughly washed your hands and

underneath your fingernails afterwards. Knowing my luck, there would’ve

been no fucking soap either—not that it mattered now. I had to figure out what I was going to do.

To my alarm, more voices entered the bathroom. It was apparent they

must’ve been shady looking, as “Daddy” ushered Brian outside at lightening speed.

“Come on Brian, let’s go. You can wash your hands when we get home.”

Whoever came in really must have looked like trouble. Telling your young

kid to leave the crap on his fingers until they got home was strange to say the least.

“Keep watch dude, and don’t let anyone in here until we do this,” said one of the new voices.

Keep watch? Don’t let anyone in! Until they do what? My heartbeat

increased dramatically.What a day this had been so far, and it wasn’t even midday yet.

“This is some good coke dude,” said voice one.

I think it was a fair assumption he wasn’t referencing the soft drink.

“Dude, there’s someone in that toilet, I can see their fucking feet,” said voice

two in a real thuggish tone. Crap, I had to think fast.

“Hey, who the fuck’s in their dude?” said thug one, banging on the door.

Everything was “dude” with these guys. I felt like I was in a scene from Bill

and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. Perhaps there was a deleted scene somewhere,

where a “dude” with diarrhea dripping from his crack, embarrassingly gets his

ass beaten by the two wasters. In my best stereotypical retard sounding voice, I replied.

“I’m going poopy. Do you like going poopy?”

“It’s OK dude, it’s just some fucking retarded dude,” said dude one to dude two.

If anyone sounded retarded, it was these guys. They were incapable of delivering

a sentence without using their favorite word at least twice.

After some fine chopping and snorting sounds later, Bill and Ted headed on

their bogus journey. I was alone again and had some decisions to make.

Perhaps I could take the cardboard roll, tear it into smaller pieces and try using

that. It probably wasn’t very absorbent though—would likely just spread the

shit around as opposed to wiping any up, so that was out. Maybe I could jam

my butt into the bowl as far as possible and flush it a few times, might have a

similar affect to a French bidet. This place was a festering haven though.Who

knew what dangerous bacteria were living in that bowl—the thought turned

my stomach. I’d rather be pursued to the Subway station by that swarm of flies,

than leave here with a clean bottom only to wake up in the morning with an

asshole infection. There was only one solution, I had to sacrifice my Calvin

Klein underwear. Jockey-shorts in hand, I started to wipe.

Oh come on, not more fucking people, not now. Their voices were deliberately

whispering, but were close enough for me to interpret.

“Twenty for a hand job and thirty for a blow job.”

The seller sounded a fairly young guy, but the buyer appeared to be older. I

think I got a brief glance at some grey hair through the very fine seam of the doorway.

“Let’s go with the blow job, I can’t give myself one of those.”

What kind of place was this? Firstly, class A drug taking, now there was gay

prostitution.What was next, bestiality?

It sounded like they went into the end cubicle. I was surprised they hadn’t

noticed I was in here or at least checked for the presence of somebody, before

going headstrong—so to speak—with their illegal rendezvous. I had to get out

of here. I restarted swabbing my ass crack with my CK’s. The wiping rate accelerated

with every cock slurping sound coming from my new rent boy neighbor.

It was almost making me gag.

Finally I wiped and looked at the underwear. Sweet, that one didn’t leave a

mark. However, my bright white Calvin’s were now looking back at me like

someone had been throwing chocolate at them. I tossed them on the floor like

the piece of garbage they’d now become, and bolted out of the place like a cheetah.

Like little dick Brian, I wasn’t hanging around to wash my hands either.

I continued running until I got to the duck pond. The park itself was a very

quiet and peaceful place during the day, but I hadn’t been at night before.

There were several nature walkways as they were called. People loved to run,

jog and walk their dogs, especially in the morning. It was a real friendly place,

except for the bathroom as I’d discovered.

In my case, I just liked the park for the tranquil environment. Its serene

nature enabled me to think clearly and be at my creative best. I loved people

watching also, it was a lot of fun, so many different looking folks, unusual

mannerisms and other little intricacies that fascinated me. I was a writer—a

struggling one to say the least—so anything that could contribute to the development

of a character was generally jotted straight into my notebook. Today

was not one of those days. I’d come to the park for a walk, in the attempt to

clear this hangover. I had to get out of my apartment, the more I lounged

around there, the worse my headache became. I just wish a couple of my buddies

had come along, I could’ve used the support back at the nasty assed restroom.

My head was almost clear, and although I’d left the notebook at home,

threw around a few ideas for a story. I needed to publish something of substance,

money was tight, and the immediate future didn’t look much fucking

brighter.My wife Debbie was a nurse at the city hospital, and even her measly

salary trounced the pitiful income from my pathetic column in the local newspaper.

It was time to write a novel with some zest to it, or at least a large multiepisode

article for a national newspaper or magazine. Maybe my disastrous

experience from today could be used to create something appealing? I gave it

some thought as I headed towards the edge of the pond and finally washed my hands.

"Burning with Silence"

Chapter 1

Phantom of the Opera

It’d been six months since the accident and I wasn’t dealing with the outcome

very well. Therapy had helped a little, but I didn’t like exposing myself to a

stranger, so I quit. It was time to face the world again—that would be my real

therapy.What the hell was post-traumatic stress disorder anyway? I loathed the

way my therapist referred to it as PTSD and assumed I knew what it meant. In

my case it was apparently some kind of psychiatric disorder as a result of my

accident. She said there was a good chance that my trauma would go away over

time, but there was a possibility I could have stressful reactions that would prevent

that or in fact make it even worse. It was getting worse, and the more sessions

I had with her were only adding to my stress. It was probably my doing,

but I couldn’t bring myself to open up to her.

I’d never been well liked, even as a child.Why I felt the need to conceal my

childhood issues from the therapist was beyond me. Maybe I didn’t want to

expose any potential red flags.My early anger and violence issues were surely a

thing of the past, but I didn’t need them entering my mind again, especially now.

I just needed to jump back on the horse. Like a new haircut, people notice a

difference at first, get used to the change and stop talking about it. They would

likely go back to treating me as they did before, or so I hoped. Nobody liked

me, but I was fine with that. Business was business, and I wasn’t there to make friends.

My life before the accident had been in shreds. I loved my wife and kids, but

the feeling wasn’t mutual, especially from my wife’s perspective. I’d treated her

badly and was now paying the consequences.When they moved out I started

to spiral even further down the staircase of unhappiness. I hadn’t seen or heard

from them in over a year and had no idea where they were, so assumed they

were gone for good.Why I’d thought alcohol was the answer remained a mystery,

but the evening of the accident would haunt me forever.

It was one night when I was home alone, feeling sorry for myself and working

my way through a bottle of Scotch like drinking was being outlawed the

following day. I could feel myself getting sleepier by the sip, but continued on

unperturbed. I didn’t usually smoke inside the house, but didn’t give a shit

anymore. The kids weren’t around, so I didn’t need to hide the fact. The more

I reflected, the sleepier I became, and I must’ve passed out almost coma like

into a dream, which became the biggest nightmare imaginable.

I was awakened by an extreme burning sensation—I was on fire. As drunk

as I was, the sobering effect was unbelievable. The armchair and my clothes

were in flames and I was in a panic like I’d never experienced before. I couldn’t

think straight, but any delays in my actions would only lead to further damage.

I tried to put out the fire on the chair, but the pain was excruciating. I rolled

around on the floor, but it was no use. I darted outside to the patio area and

jumped into the pool. The relief was astonishing, but there was no time for

complacency. I charged back into the house and grabbed the mini fire extinguisher.

The fire alarms were going crazy and probably had been for some

time. There wasn’t a moment to lose. I let loose with the extinguisher, and fortunately

managed to control the flames, collapsing onto the floor as the last of

the fire was quenched. I sat in disbelief before finally calling 911. I needed to

get to the emergency room quickly. I knew smoking was bad for me, but always

thought the cancer aspect was the danger, and never envisioned it would be the

cause of such an accident.

As I lay in the ambulance on the way to the hospital I started to sob.What

had become of my life? I was a mess and it was all my doing. Maybe this was

God’s way of paying me back for being such an asshole over the years.

The paramedics were treating my injuries as carefully as possible, but the

pain was verging on unbearable and I must’ve been in shock. They had

removed my clothing and were applying some kind of cream to the affected

areas.My entire right side was stinging, but my face appeared to be their main

concern. The vision in my right eye was blurred to say the least, but I hoped it

was just a result of the treatment applied. I couldn’t tell how bad things were,

but from their levels of anxiety I knew it wasn’t pretty.

Copyright (c) 2006 Gary Vint. All rights reserved.