(Jeff) SCENE 3: new beginnings?
Finally I’m free from the tyranny of that literary Bismarck. Without Ross’s judgmental eye always over my shoulder, I feel like I can actually breathe and now is the time to really explore the potential of my skills as a journalist. I know many of you have been saying that I should have many concerns about conducting a solo career: I will no longer have that dynamic that Ross and I once had, I won’t be able to come up with as interesting topics to explore, I’ll be left to write about this big scary world all alone where I’ll only be able to muster up enough courage to record the most mundane inactivity that rules my life. Well, if I let these problems deter me from making my own post I’d have to be clinically insane. The only concern that would bring me to consider reuniting with Ross is if I develop a serious problem with sporadic urination and that’s only because it keeps ruining the Kleenex-boxes I’m wearing on my feet.
Now I find myself presented with the sublime opportunity to dive into the important issues that affect me and everyone else in this troubled world. This is my first, official, independent post. So here we go… (ahem)… So yeah, Ross is a dick. Ever since he presumed that I was trying to steal some of his thunder, I’ve watched his contempt towards me evolve from subtlety to obscenity. If the guy had any less tact he’d have turrets! I swear, Ross’s greatest concern right now is to make me look like a damn fool!
Just the other day we go to the supermarket because we’re running low on little-green-plastic army men: Over the week many of them had difficulty surviving the interrogation chamber, AKA the microwave. Anyways, when it comes time to go through the checkout I see that the cashier appears to be what aestheticians would refer to as a bit of a “cutie pie.” As she begins to check out our items, I start the conversation with Ross loud and clear: “Oh man, when I was doing those push-ups this morning, I think I pulled my nanoceps.”
Ross stands motionless and gives me a deadpan stare; there was no need for this hesitation, he knew the fucking drill. Finally he sighs, rolls his eyes and replies, but with the kind of conviction you get from a fresh lobotomy patient who’s reading cue-cards for the Weather Network, “Oh yeah, you really went to town with your hourly push-up sesh.”
It is not the natural dialogue I wanted to demonstrate for this fine, young eavesdropper who surely shares the same interest in physical well-being as I do, but it will have to do. “Well, I’ve got to do what has to be done. I wasn’t doing them with one arm today… must be coming down with the flu.” I like to add a little modesty to mix things up. “Speaking of which, what’s my new number again? Is it 526-4759? I can never remember.”
Ross all of a sudden looks distracted and then adds, “Come to think of it, maybe the reason you couldn’t do your usual push-ups is because you’re becoming too powerful for your own good.” I stare at him for a second because I don’t know where he is going with this and there is something about his new patronizing smirk that I don’t trust.
“… What do you mean?”
His sincerity jumps a couple of pegs. “Well, obviously your physical strength has far surpassed the realm of human strength as we know it.”
I finally realize that this asshole is deliberately trying to sabotage the entire operation. “That’s enough,” I whisper.
“Evidently, your strength is deteriorating because your powers are now entering a new dimension of mind control.”
I lean towards him, “Abort… Abort.”
“Soon you won’t even have to use your arms. You’ll be able to lie flat on your face and do your reps by way of levitation. This is actually a newly discovered scientific phenomenon I’m talking about… I think I read about it in a Batman comic.”
We stand there staring at each other for a moment. His shit-eating grin is no match for my disapproving scowl. The moment is broken by the impatient cashier, “That’ll be $60.”
Still fantasizing about going home and bludgeoning Ross to death with the Greater Vancouver White Pages, I make the transaction. She hands over the receipt for me to sign and, as soon as I do, Ross bellows in disgust,” Pffft! Why don’t you just sign her breasts? Isn’t that what you do for your biggest fans?”
I shoot the coldest stare at Ross. Why does this showboat always have to upstage me? Looking back at the receipt I realize that I have just paid with debit and not credit. I show the cashier a look of embarrassment. She gives me a slight smile. Hmmm. I wonder whether this smile is meant to console or entice so I match her smile with one that’s dashed with a hint of charm. Her expression turns to an ice-cold scowl and I realize that it was meant to console. Damn, this is another day ruined.
Well, I seem to have digressed… Uh… In other news, I accidentally swallowed a little-green-plastic army man. My spirits were lifted when the doctor said I’d get it back in 8 hours.