What a Great Job

What a Great Job!

By, Sean Antley

         What a grand decision of mine to move to the city.  I didn’t know a soul, and was having a hard time finding employment.  But, things seem to always have a way of working out for me.  I have no training of really any kind, and I am not the smartest person in the world by any means.  I know I sound like I’m downing myself, but I think I am just one of the most honest people I have ever known.  Which I think is how I landed the job. 

         You see, I am not only honest in a way that, well I will talk truthfully about myself only, but I’m almost trustworthy like a well beaten dog.  I am also a drinker.  I do like to hit the bars after a long day of NOT finding employment.  I’m not saying that I was going to drown my sorrows, because I, at that point in time, had none.  But, just the same, I was at a bar when I got offered my new, great paying, cash under the table job.

          I found this little place that had the familiar appearance of a sports bar.  I am not a fan of the sports style bars, but once again I do like the taste of good, cheap rum.  As with almost any type of bar, there was the runny nose smell of old cigarettes in the joint.  That scent can direct a blind man from the corner of the street to the stool next to me, if he so desires a snort or two. Anyway, I took me a nice ringside bar stool right next to the cherry picker machine and began my drift into numbness.  I was just about to start my sixth rum and soda when a really well dressed individual with about four other men came into the bar.  I thought to myself how they looked like a gang.  Not just a gang, but also a gang of forty-eight to fifty-five year old rough, old bastards.  I laughed as the thought went through my head.  We have all seen enough gangster and mafia type movies, so describing these men would almost be ridiculous.  But, I do need to shed a bit of light on my view of the five.  Two of the men were large bodied leg breaker types and had facial scars they may have earned in some glory day brawl when they were quite a bit younger.  I can’t see them brawling at all now, ha ha, but I do imagine them snapping their fat, sausage like fingers and ten big, mean, motherfuckers attack you, and beat you with your own limbs. (Brawl, I really like that word.)  But, I also need to point out to you that they had the movie look of serious business was about to be discussed. The other two were considerably smaller, but had the snake eyes and pimp-slap-a-ho look about them.  These four followed behind, you guessed it, a boss like figure. 

         The Boss was a well-built person with a look of intent to do something illegal in every sense of the word.  I could instantly imagine him handing over a blood stained gun to one of his “boys”, and saying “Get rid of this little jewel for me.”  I could see him leaning down into a trunk of an older, black Cadillac and passing out samples of high-grade heroin to his dealers.  He would be saying something like, “Sell this as if your own mother’s life depended on it!”  I know I have the imagination of a dopey teen-ager, or maybe I have seen to many movies with this appeal to them, but he just had this air about him as most of the big bosses in the world do. (As if I would know.)  Graying hair, a stout nose, dark skin, and eyes that would put out the warmest fire on any Christmas day. Yes, he was the icing on the cake for this gang of dark ally businessmen.  Movie magic was waiting in the wings with this cast of men on the back end of the law. 

        The sad thing is, I had really know idea of the things men like this are capable of.  I had a mediocre life.  No real exposure to anything.  I had no idea that people can become actual monsters.  Monsters that are hell bent on causing pain, and dreaming up some of the most horrible ways of causing it.  Things that must be experimented with to see if it will work the way they intended it.  And by work, I mean really hurt someone so bad that they will do anything asked of them to stop the pain, or get to a killing instrument so they can end their own life quickly.  I can’t imagine being so full of hate, or not feeling anything at all enough to do what I witnesses first hand at my great place of employment. 

         So things are moving along in the same old way.  I am getting a great fucking buzz, and starting to feel a little indestructible.  But, the hell of drinking is after the first few it becomes a pissfest.  I had to take a leak in the worst way and knew the way to the, I’m totally sure, cleanest restroom in town.  Standing up and slightly leaning forward, I commenced toward the restroom with the agility of a friggin’ dancing Russian bear.  I was happy to see that my destination was a strait line shot, but I was even more pleased that I was going to pass directly by our five delightful friends.  A closer look I wanted to take.  Just like an unpopular kid at school, getting a table at lunch as close to the popular kids table so that he may hear their exciting lives and gossip, I cruised by as near as I could.  Of course, they never noticed me at all. 

         I entered the urine and smoke perfumed room and fucking fell right on my ass.  It was as if the janitor of this joint mopped with water directly from the unflushed toilet, and didn’t pick any of the fluid up.  I was soaked in the ass by, again I’m sure, the most sanitary liquid ever.  As I bitched about the event, I laughed like it was the funniest thing that ever happened to me. I slowly stood and hit the button on the hand dryer, and backed my soggy ass against it. Fourteen button pushes later, I was done.  I don’t think the dryer ever actually dried anything up, but it made me feel as if it had by warming the area, sort of a sanitizing by fire maybe. 

Remembering why I came in the room finally emerged.  I really had to take a squirt now! I began my task and could feel the pressure being released when one of the five men entered to restroom.  I felt the stale air stir as if a breeze from a fan had been turned on. He was one of the smaller, pimp looking fellows.  He didn’t fall.  Of course not, evil people never have shit like that happen to them.  They are carried on air, and even seem godly protected in this life from normal ills.  Maybe that way Hell will be a major trauma to them.  Or so I have always believed. 

        From out of nowhere, I decided to go for broke and speak to the guy.  One clue, it must have been the booze, duh.  It has always been easy for me to start a conversation, and it took no time to pull my topic of joblessness out of the hat.  So I began with a conversation that I wish I had never started.  Why didn’t I just kill myself and converse with Lucifer?  At first, he just looked at me like I was a freak or something when I began with my story of how I had been in town for a while and had not been able to secure employment.  He seemed more uninterested by the second, and I decided it was time to give up this attempt at conversing. Then I noticed him looking at the dampened area of my pants.  I quickly alerted to him that I had fallen in the piss water to try and humor him.  I don’t know what my aim of trying to speak to this man was.  I clearly had an idea of what he was, and why I felt such an urge to tell him my problems is beyond me.  Oddly enough, he grinned and laughed like the snake I believed him to be.  I had even mentally given this man a laugh before I heard it.  Sss, Sss, Sss, he went on for about ten seconds. 

He looked at me seriously for a minute and actually said,

“Are you a fucking cop?”

“Only a fucking cop would do something so goddamned stupid.” He said.

“No, I’m not a cop, I just told you I didn’t have a job and have been looking every-“

He stopped me.

“I know you said that, don’t go over that shit again you boring fuck.”



          Without another word he quickly zipped up and left the room.  Now for some strange reason I actually thought, “How rude!”  Why did I even think for a second this guy was going to say anything in the way of common politeness? First, he was obviously concerned that I was unemployed.  Second, he ended the chat session with a lovely notation of calling me a boring fuck.  So, I finally just let the endless mind trail go.  There was no use in causing my brain anymore damage by trying to psychoanalyze a seeming useless event. 

I slowly walked to he sink and began laughing at myself.  Here I am washing my hands, meanwhile I have eighty-seven shots of pissed liquor on my pants.  As I made fun of the event and replayed the fall in my mind, I saw something reflecting a dark spot in the stainless steel hand towel dispenser.  I looked to where my friend was standing, and there was a nice fat wallet on the ground.  I couldn’t believe the luck!  Not about the wallet, but that this guy even got to stand in front of a urinal that had the only dry spot in the whole restroom.  The wallet actually fell onto this island of six or seven gray tiles.  After I slowly glanced around the room, as anyone would do, I slid over to it and picked it up.  I noticed his shoe prints on the spot.  Now I would have seen the wallet on approaching the area, especially since I got a ground level view moments before.  It was already open and I could feel that sweet weight of cash.  It must be a hard life trying to close a wallet with this much dough in it.  If the wallet was in fact his, how could he instantly not notice his pants being five pounds lighter the minute it had fallen?  I mean I have two dimes and three pennies in my pants now.  If I were to lose even one coin, I would give it a good search to locate which one is missing.  Anyway, I had his wallet now in my possession.  To no surprise, it was full of the big note green.  I counted quickly and roughly about twenty-four hundred in mostly large bills.  Nice! Of course, here in the first card pocket was his oh so photogenic mug on his drivers license.  So, I was right.  It was his wallet, and it was full of cash I’m sure he earned in the most legit of ways. 

          Now, I remember commenting on how honest I am.  Was I this honest though?  I have a good idea of how I could have really use this money, and hell he still hadn’t noticed it missing.  But, what if, just what if this was a game?  I think a lot of my honesty comes first in the form of paranoia.  What if this guy dropped it on purpose?  What if he and his buddies were waiting and watching for me to try and slip out of there with his wad of bills.  As soon as I try, they catch me and beat the life out of me in the street.  I can imagine the whole scene and it’s not a pretty one.  Knowing what I believe these men to be, I can come up with what to me is some major pain.  I decided to return it.

         Upon making this decision, I thought about how I would approach the man.  I already had a feeling that this guy thought I was a freak of a loser, and that I was coming over to pester him some more.  I knew that whatever I did needed to be quick and to the point, so as not to live out the visions of beating I had in the restroom.  So, I took a good deep breath and headed straight for their table.  I slowed my walk some on the way.  I didn’t want any of them to get the idea that I was coming a little to fast for their taste.  I mean that was the last thing I wanted was to see them jumping and pulling out some heavy irons to blast a poor shit like me away.  As I neared the table, none of them even noticed me again.  I was actually happy about this.  Buzzing or not, I felt like I could glide over quickly and give the guy his property and keep on going.  I was also glad to see that he was one of the men facing me.  I tried consistently to make eye contact and hold the wallet up so he could see it, but only one person was speaking at the table.  The boss had these four entranced with what he had to say, and no fool in the place was going to break their attention away.

         Well, I finally got a single second’s glance from Mr. Snake.  I don’t know if it was that he recognized me, or the fact that a person was coming up behind his boss in a direct streak, but he stood swiftly.  One hand went into his jacket with the velocity of a pocket thief.  I stopped.  I stood frozen and scared half to death.  He could tell, I think, that he had frightened me to the point of adding my own wetness to my pants.



He opened his thin lips and said, “If I were you, I wouldn’t dream of moving right now!”

“What the hell do you want, and it better be quick?”



I was, as anyone would be, in the middle of having a freakin’ stroke out.  It was definitely one of those moments when you are hoping you have been a good person in life; if you know what I mean.  I took a quick sip of air and said in the most monotone of voices, “I found your wallet in the restroom sir.”



He withdrew his hand from his jacket and his look eased slightly. 



“So, where the fuck is it?” he asked.

“Here,” I nervously replied and slowly handed it over.

“Well, aren’t you the honest one?”

“Unemployed and still return a guy’s wallet, can you believe this guy?”



One of the other men at the table cheekily replied, “Maybe he knew what would happen to him if he didn’t.”

         They of course laughed at this, and that I wasn’t about to make any move that suggested I was unhappy about the comment.  I just smiled an anxious tight-lipped smile.  I thought as they laughed, how I couldn’t wait to get back to the bar and have a few shots try to attach to what was still lingering in my system.



He shook his head and laughingly said, “Thanks pal, you’re alright with me.”



          He motioned to the bar tender and loudly informed him to charge how much and whatever amount of what I wanted on his tab.  He again thanked me and I nodded as if I was his loyal servant.  I mean, what else was I to do?  I wanted out of there so goddamned bad! It was one of the only times I didn’t feel great about being so honest.  To feel that I was demeaned for doing what I thought was right.  I was still so nervous as I unlocked my stare, but I managed to back away and make a straight for my former stool.  I quickly ordered, without argument, two rum and sodas and a shot of tequila.  When the drinks hit the table, I had the shot in me so fast I swear I felt it go to work like Novocain. 

          After several drinks, it was as if nothing had ever happened.  I was back on a good ride to la-la land.  I caught myself glancing back in the direction of the five men.  I knew it wasn’t the greatest of ideas, but I was starting to feel indestructible again.  They all seemed to be a lot less serious, and my “friend” glanced sometimes in my direction.  I guess he could tell by the speed at which I was putting the booze away, I was riding this tab to Pluto and back.  So for a good while nothing happened, unless you think the occasional bum coming in asking for change is interesting.     

After about an hour and a half passed, Mr. Snake stood and headed my way.  I thought, “Oh shit!”  It took me awhile to feel any fear though, and I’m sure we know why.  He was beside me before I knew it.  He put his hand on my shoulder and asks me my name.

 

  “Sean.” I quickly answered.

“Well Sean, I want to tell you something.” He said lowering his voice to a low mumble.

“ I have been watching you for awhile in here.” “You seem to be the honest type guy that I could trust in an easy job right now, unless you found one in the bottom of that glass somewhere.”  He gave a little hiss, hiss in his humor.  (NEED TO FINISH and EDIT}