Clever Trends

His Favorite Hobbies

I don’t want to talk about it. No one does. We are all fortunate. We all have the resources to do great things. I’m thankful to know that I am fortunate and I see no reason to go any further than that.

         I sink into the cushions of my couch while I let my thumb guide my train of thought. I can think of about a million other things that I could be doing rather than staring at a television. I could go lift some weights or I could get some homework done. I have a few tests coming up and my grades are definitely not up to par. Plus, I can’t afford to take another semester off of school.
         The direction my life is currently heading was determined by one simple question. I should tell you that this question came up in a conversation I had with my friends when smoking pot out of a tobacco pipe in my mom’s basement. The question was this: What do you major in when you want to be rich in the future, but you don’t want to work too hard to get there? After giving a great deal of consideration to this “question of questions,” it turns out that business school was my best option. Who would have guessed that a business management degree would be so much work?
         I take another drink from my Captain and Coke and turn on the tube. At 1:30am, your options of what to watch on the television are very limited, despite the satellite dish and a $60 monthly bill. It’s not as difficult to cope with this when you’ve had three or four strong rum and cokes. This allows me to settle with watching reruns of stand-up comedy specials on Comedy Central, just like I have for the last three nights. I’m watching the Gabriel Iglesias again and I almost laugh when he describes the benefits of eating birthday cake in a humorously high-pitched voice. I honestly find more pleasure in watching the Girls Gone Wild commercials more than I enjoy seeing the reruns again and again. It is truly a ridiculous ritual, if you choose to call it that. I think I just do it so I don‘t feel like I am sitting alone in the dark.
         I remain on the couch for two more hours solely due to the fact that I have no desire to get up to go to bed. It’s a pretty far walk and I am pretty drunk. To be honest, I wish I could just pass out on the couch, but I have to take my pills. They live in a little orange bottle that sits on my nightstand. After about three more of Gabriel Iglesias jokes and a Girls Gone Wild commercial, I gather my strength and make the walk to my bedroom. I think about how tomorrow will be a long day of lecture and boredom and I pass out on top of my comforter.

Her Exceptional Work Ethic

I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but what control do I have over what I am feeling? I’m better off just trying to satisfy every urge and insecurity that I can. I’m a realist. And I’m a realist that is willing to take initiative.

         I shut the door to my locker and stuff my shorts, water bottle and my sports bra into a gym bag. The gym is almost completely empty except for two body builders lifting free weights and a blonde on a treadmill with an amazing body. I hope that I have abs like her soon, I would kill for that stomach. I have lost 5 pounds in my first week of my new workout/diet plan and hopefully I can drop ten more pounds in time for beach season. I would love to be 120 pounds again. Maybe I should get some laxatives to speed up the process.
         I step into my Jetta and I put on my favorite post-workout play list on my iPod. I am a little worn out from my workout, so I really want to get home and get a good night’s sleep. As I am turning out of the parking lot, some ass hole snakes me. I hate bad drivers. I seriously think that anyone over sixty should have to retake the driving exam. I hate that some people just don’t know how to drive. I flip off that ass hole. He’s talking shit about me to somebody on a cell phone and laughing hysterically. What an ass hole. I turn up the radio and roll down the windows. The spring air is such a relief.
         I am beginning to really enjoy these trips to the gym. Working out not only gets me into shape, but it relieves the stress and gives me a chance to feel good about myself. Trips to the gym are really good for my self esteem because I have found that I can go faster on the treadmill than most of the members at the gym. Hopefully I will look good in a bikini by graduation so I can go to all the beach parties and bond fires without totally being self conscious and embarrassed.
         I am one and a half months away from graduating high school and I haven’t picked a university to attend in the fall. Many of the schools that I want to go to are out of state private schools and I can’t decide whether or not I am comfortable with leaving my boyfriend. We’ve been together for eleven months and sometimes I feel like he wouldn’t care if I stayed or left. I am just his source of sex and promiscuity, but I love him.
         I arrive home a few minutes later and the light is off in my father’s room. Sometimes I wish that he would go out every once and a while, but he has pretty much isolated himself since my mom left him. I climb up the stairs and set my stuff down on my night stand. I wash my face with some products I bought at the mall last week, light a few candles and get into the shower.

His American Dream

         As it turns out, even my favorite downloaded ring tones are the last thing I want to hear at seven in the morning. This is especially true when I am hung over. I’ll never drink rum again.
         I turn the alarm off and go back to sleep.
         I wake up again at 9:17am, and this time I wake up naturally and pleasantly. My first class started at 8:35am and I couldn’t care less that I am missing it today. I crawl out of bed, throw on my favorite pair of jeans, and walk to my car. My backpack is still sitting on the passenger seat. I throw my a pair of aviator sunglasses that I stole from a lost and found and I stop by McDonald’s and pick up an Egg McMuffin and a Mr. Pibb. I am now fully prepared to brave the new day.
         When I get to my class, it is 9:54. My economics professor is rambling about the same irrelevant bull shit that he talks about everyday. Every time I come to this class, I up zoning out. I think about how I wish my girlfriend looked more like Megan Fox and how Chipotle should be open 24 hours a day. These thoughts are obviously a true waste of both energy and tuition costs, but they still seem more interesting and relevant than the market trends in the global economy over the past half century.
         They way I figure it, if I can just pull off a degree I will be able to get a half way decent job that will pay for my rum, a new Xbox and of course, a giant HDTV. The true American dream.

To Her Surprise

         Today I received my acceptance letter to Princeton! I am so excited! I really can’t wait to tell my dad and my boyfriend. Maybe we can all go out to dinner to celebrate. My father hasn’t met my boyfriend yet, but I am sure that he will like him. Thinking of my boyfriend always makes me feel happier inside. I leave my school after talking with some friends and I go to the bank to cash my paycheck. I think I will get a spray on tan or a new outfit to reward myself. I deserve this. Everything is going to work out for me.
         I pull into the parking lot of the Wells Fargo and I try and find the closest parking spot to my bank. I hate the bank. I hate it more than being anywhere else. You recognize the teller and maybe you may even know them by name, but they know everything about your spending habits. They are constantly judging you and assuming that they know everything about you because they know how much you spend on your highlights and styling. They have access to where I spend every dime and I only know their first name.
         I am signing the back of my paycheck at the bank when a man taps me on the shoulder and asks, “Can I please borrow a pen?” This man is pale and looks nervous and he seems to be shaking. I suspect he is here to talk about his late mortgage payments or another bill he can’t pay. That better never be me. I’ll never be like that.
         “I’m sorry. I only have one.” I say to him trying not to look at the extra pen I keep in my purse. I don’t look at him in hopes that he will go bother someone else. I finish filling out my deposit slip, grab my purse and go stand in line.
         The bank teller is a very beautiful woman with a decent sized bust and very pretty hazel eyes. Her smile is white and her teeth are perfectly straight. She has long eyelashes and her hips are way smaller than mine. God, I wish I had hips like those but I definitely have better skin than she does. She probably should try exfoliating once a week.
         “A withdrawal today?” she asks.
         “Yes, please.” I tell her. “You have a really nice smile.”
         “Oh, thanks, but your smile is way prettier than mine. I had to wear braces for 4 years.”
         Why can‘t she just take a compliment? “Your smile is flawless. Trust me.” I cannot stand people as insecure as the bank teller.
         She smiles again, this time without showing her teeth, and hands me my cash. She looks up and tells me, “Have a nice day.”
         When I go to turn around, I am grabbed by the arm. I suddenly can’t catch my breath because I am so terrified. I try and pull my arm back but the grip on it too much. I my knees come out from under me and I collapse to the floor. Tears are streaming down my face as I scream for help. I look up and see that it is the man that asked to borrow a pen that is gripping my arm. I begin kicking relentlessly and I bite him as hard as I can. I scream again and then I begin to realize the touch of metal to my temple. It is the barrel of a hand gun.
         The man screams, “Everyone calm down! Everyone shut the fuck up or I’ll put a bullet in her head!” I can’t control myself and I continue to scream and cry uncontrollably. He looks down at me, “Shut the fuck up!” He jams the gun barrel harder into the side of my head, “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” I do the best I can to collect myself and stop crying enough to turn his attention elsewhere.
         The bank is filled with business men and women, soccer moms, and employees. They are all sitting on the floor and the room is silent other than the quiet weeping of an older woman and the bank teller. He drops his voice to a near whisper and says to the pretty teller with good teeth, “I want you to lock the door. Make sure the bank phones stay on. Everyone just stay still against the wall until we’re done here. This should go very quickly.” He had a strange sincerity in his voice. It certainly was not the tone you would expect to hear from a bank robber. “All I want is for you guys to get into the safe and we can discuss how we are going to get this over quickly.”
         

His Oblivion

         I am in no hurry to get to my 4:15 class. Maybe I’ll just get some Taco Bell instead.

Her Change of Plans

         The bank robber is talking to the bank manager at the bank safe. I’m curled up on the floor next to a desk admiring the new bruising and the swelling on my arm. Sitting to my right is an athletic middle aged man with a beard. He had brought me ice from the freezer that is in the break room. He gave it to me in order to stop the swelling, but I’m not using it.
         The bank robber turns from the bank manager and says, “If I talk to you, you can go. Just walk in a single file line out the emergency exits and go home to your families.” He walks around the room talking to people and granting them their freedom. I get nervous as he gets closer and closer. He taps the persons shoulder on the other side of the ATM. I overhear him say, “You can go.” over and over again. People begin to rush out the front doors in a single file line.
         He steps in front of me and looks down at me with his hazel eyes. “Can I go?” I ask him. He stands there for a minute and says, “I’m sorry. You can’t.” He then continues to walk away and time slows down for me. I don’t get to go home. Why can’t I go home and be with my family? Why can’t I see my loved ones?
         I begin to cry when I think of the mascara that is running down my face. I can’t imagine how much of a wreck I must look like right now. I hope I’m not spotted by the camera men outside the bank covering the robbery. I look around to see only the bank robber, the charity-loving, middle-aged man, and the bank teller with nice teeth and bad skin. The bank robber is studying the security monitors that keep surveillance on the parking lot and all the entrances. The bank phone on the desk rings and the bank robber answers without hesitation. In that sincere voice, the bank robber asks, “Please get me a car from the parking lot. I can see you with the security cameras so don’t mess with the car or the cameras. I don’t have to remind you that I have three people in here with me still. I would like the car to have a full tank and I would like this all by 6pm, please.” The clock reads 5:43. He hangs up the phone, sits back down at the desk and rests his head in his left hand.
         I try and imagine that I am somewhere else. I think about Princeton and how I am going to become a lawyer or an author. I think about how I can write about this day and everyone will love me and my book. I could be on Oprah. That acceptance letter is my first guarantee of success. My dad will be so proud of me when I tell him.
         We all continue to sit in silence for a little bit. Finally he middle aged man looks up at the bank robber and says hesitantly, “Excuse me, sir. I feel as if you don’t want to hurt any of us. I’m sorry for whatever happened to you- whatever drove you to this. I have a family back home and I am sorry.” The bank robber just looks at him with a curious smile and returns to studying the outside world from his chair. The clock now reads 5:51. All I can think about is my future and everything I’ve worked toward. I don’t deserve this. I shouldn’t be here. I should be at a mall picking out a new outfit or getting a spray on tan to tie me over till summer break at the beach.
         The bank robber taps me on the shoulder, “Okay. Once I get the car, I would like you to come with me.” My stomach jumps to my throat and tears begin to fill my eyes again. This is the longest day ever. I’m beginning to think that I’ll never get out of this alive. Am I probably going to end up missing for five or so years until one day, I will some how find a way to miraculously escape and come home to my father living his life happily and my boyfriend already married. I hope he doesn’t rape me.
         The phone rings and the bank robber answers, “Is my car ready?” He pauses, “Okay. I’m taking one more person with me, for insurance. Thank you, sir.”
         He looks over to me and says, “Let’s go.” I squirm when he grabs my bruised arm again. “I’m sorry. Give me your other arm.” I switch arms. “I brought a ski mask in case you don’t want to be shown on television. Do you want to wear the mask? You don’t have to.” I shake my head and we start heading toward the door.
         The bank teller with bad skin and the middle aged man that tried to save me are walking out the front doors while the bank robber and I get into a Land Rover parked outside the emergency exit. As I’m leaving the bank, I watch the bank teller run into the arms of a man I can only assume is her dumb, cheating boyfriend.
         The bank robber tapes my arms and legs and throws me into the SUV with a gun pointed at my head.

His Confessional

When I was a kid, I used to enjoy jumping on beds and riding my bike. But I grew up. I got a job and started forming opinions and that’s when everything really stopped making sense.

         I can’t even believe I’m going through with this plan. It’s all playing out like a movie.
         It’s about a quarter past six and my heart hasn’t stopped racing. I still haven’t totally convinced myself that I am really doing this. I’m driving with the money I robbed from a bank. I just robbed the bank, I’m on the road and I’m almost all through now. After I drop off the girl, it will take less than 15 minutes to get to my final stop and then this will all be over. For now we are in what I guess is technically a car chase down the interstate. The police backed off when we reached the interstate like I had asked in my demands. I can’t believe that they actually backed off at the interstate. They even close the interstate down for little old me. Everyone watching the news probably thinks that I’m this bad guy, that I am just another John Dillinger wannabe trying to make it in the real world. I’ll let them think whatever they want.
         The girl that I’m using as my insurance is sitting next to me. Her arms and legs are duct taped together and she is just looking straight into the side-view mirror. Her hands are shaking and her mascara has run down her cheeks. She wears too much makeup. I watch the speedometer until I hit the 80 MPH mark and with one hand on the wheel, I reach over with a knife to cut the tape on her hands. I don’t think that she will jump out of the car when its going this fast and I’ll just hope to God that she doesn’t attack me. When she notices that I’m pointing the knife at her, she expectedly starts screaming and trying to inch away.
         “No! Please don’t!” She screams.
         I yell, “Don’t worry! Don‘t worry.” I think about how young she looks. I think about how young she probably is. She’s just a kid. I should have taken the older guy instead. I hope she understands. I cut the tape from her hands and then immediately put my hand on the gun.
         I tell her calmly, “Now please don’t try anything stupid. I don’t want to hurt you. I haven’t hurt anybody yet, right?” She just stares at me, paralyzed in fear. She is so young. I’ll explain what’s going on to her and maybe she’ll understand better. Never mind, I can’t explain everything to her. “Please,” I beg, “Please listen to me.” She seems to have calmed down a bit and is looking at me rather than into the mirror. She is still breathing heavily.
         My throat seems to block up and I struggle to gather the right words. “I’m not doing this to be rich.” I tell her. She looks up at me.
         I speak clearly and I am careful with my words, “You’re going to put exactly $11,431.15 into one of those manila envelopes and write the name, ‘Sarah Brohmley’ on the front. Give that envelope to me. Take whatever is left and return it to the police, you got that?” She nods her head and counts the money from the bag before she stuffs the envelope. “Please return the extra money. I don’t need it.” She slips the envelope with the extra money into her purse and hands me the envelope labeled “Sara Bromley”. I don’t think that Sarah will mind the misspelling. It’s probably better that way.
         “Do you have a cell phone?” She nods and hands me a blackberry with a pink cover on it. I dial the number to the mediator.
         He answers after the first ring and I tell him, “I’m going to let her out. You have to give me some room. Please give me the room.” She starts to cry. She is staring at me with those big brown eyes.
         “I promise. I’m so sorry that you had to do all this. I am so sorry.” I tell her. My eyes fill with tears and I restrain myself from crying in front of her. I should have found a way to leave the innocent people out of this. “I’m going to pull over and you just wait for the police to pick you up. Make sure you give the money back. How much was there?”
         “A little under a thousand.” she whispers.
         “Okay. Make sure you give that back. Please tell me that you’ll give it back.”
         “I will.”
         I pull the car over and point a gun at her head, “Get out of the car. I’m so sorry. Please remember to give them the envelope. I’m sorry.” She gets out of the car with her purse in her hand and I drive away. I check to make sure that have the other envelope and I continue my escape. I just need to make it through the night.
         It’s 6:17. I’ve got plenty of time.

He Gets Blindsided

         I get a text from my girlfriend that says, “i had a long day. R U free?” I was really hoping I could relax tonight and watch some television, but I haven’t seen her in a few days and I could use a good lay. I take a quick shower and put on deodorant. I throw on my favorite pair of jeans, an old shirt and grab my car keys.
         When I get to her house, she opens the door before I can ring the doorbell and runs into my arms. “What happened?” I ask. You kind of have to ask but I honestly don’t give a crap.
         “I don’t want to talk about what happened today. I’m sure you saw it on the news. I‘m so glad you‘re here, babe.”
         I just assume that she’s talking about something that I wouldn’t understand. Girl stuff or something. I smile and tell her, “Okay.”
         We are watching a movie in her room, but we’re not really watching a movie. Unfortunately, we’re not having sex either. We end up spending most of the night laughing at our favorite drinking stories and discussing what I have to wear to her graduation ceremony. I still have no idea what she was so upset about when I got here, but she seems to have gotten over it now. It’s probably best that I don’t ask.
         “Have you made a decision on which school you want to go to?” I ask.
         “Well, I wanted to talk to you about that. I got into Princeton.”
         I smile and give her a hug. “Congratulations!” I knew she would get into Princeton. Not a day goes by where she isn’t slaving over her books or writing another essay on the importance of a strong educational system or whatever.
         She looks nervous for what she is about to say. You can tell that she is kind of forcing it out, “I don’t want to go. I’m going to stay here for school. I want to be close to you. That is what is important to me. You are important to me. With everything that has happened to me today, I know that I can‘t live without you.”
         I looked at her in disbelief. I wasn‘t interested with having a serious relationship with her. I like our relationship the way it is- no strings attached. It is silent for what seems like an hour while I think about what she is telling me. Why would she think that it’s okay to do this? I’m in serious trouble now.
         I ask her, “Why the fuck would you do something like that?”
         She looks at me with her desperate brown eyes and says, “I love you. You are what is important to me. I want to be close to you.”
         “Hey, hey, hey…” I throw my hands up like DeNiro in Goodfellas, “I can’t let you do that. You see, we’re a temporary thing. You cannot stay here for me. You just can’t. You have to go to Princeton. I’m sorry but I just don’t feel that way about you.”
         “Don’t you love me?” She asks. I don’t love her at all and I really don’t want this on my conscious later.
         I speak clearly and just loud enough so she can hear me, “No. I don’t love you. We are not that kind of couple.” I don’t say anything more and neither does she. I pick up my things and leave her house. She got too attached. I wish I could have gotten laid once more before she said that. Oh well, I guess.

Her Fairy Tale Ending

         My boyfriend broke up with me and I’m feeling lonely. What an ass hole. All guys are dicks. It’s been two days since the bank robbery incident. I turn on the TV to watch the news story and see how bad my makeup looks on camera after all the crying that I was doing.
         The news anchor is a handsome older man with a pleasant sounding voice. He says, “The suspect in a bank robbery case has been found dead today. That suspect was Dr. Ryan Brohmley, a former banker that had been living in Seattle.” The video clips show the middle-aged man and the bank teller with bad skin. I receive about two seconds of air time.
         The news anchor continues, “Brohmley held up a small bank on Monday and later took a 17 year old girl hostage. Nobody was killed or injured severely. The police are reporting that none of the money has been recovered. This morning, Police report that Brohmley’s body was found in a car off Interstate-5, just before Medford. He was a victim of a self inflicted gunshot wound to the head.”
         I finish the report and then shut off the television. I think I’m going to take a shower and go to bed. I have to start planning my semester at Princeton tomorrow morning. Maybe my dad will make me breakfast.