‘Ermm... yes they all are,’ the salesman hesitates, pointing at the ten or so objects he now labelled ‘laptops’, ‘what are you looking for?’
‘Okay, I’m looking for a laptop with a screen that can stand up by itself.’ My face is sincere.
‘Erm...’ he gives me a confused look, starts to laugh, but in noticing no smile on my face, he realises I’m being serious: ‘Well, all of our laptops have screens that... that can stand up by themselves...’ His tone is doubtful.
‘Really? Why that’s fantastic! That’s exactly what I’m looking for! My old one always needed a Chinese slave to hold up the screen and I’m quite sick of him.’
‘Okay, anything... ermm... Anything else you would like it to have?’
‘Oh yeah, I would like one that has a keyboard, speakers, a COLOUR screen an maybe one of those touchpad thingamabobs.’
He has realised I am a nitwit and speaks more confidently now: ‘Well, again sir, I must say that ALL of our laptops have those things.’
I look at him disbelievingly and say: ‘I am looking at you disbelievingly.’
‘Oh but you should believe me, allow me to demonstrate.’
His bluff having succeeded, I admit that I am willing to believe him: ‘I admit that I am willing to believe you. There’s no need to demonstrate.’
‘But is there anything in particular you are looking for? For what will you be using it?’ He restores his helpful tone from before.
‘Oh, I will use it to watch pictures of naked boys and girls with enormous genitalia...’
He looks at me doubtfully again, but he sees my sincere face, so he cannot but give me a decent reply: ‘I’m pretty sure all of these laptops can do that.’
‘Really? That sounds wonderful. But let’s talk colour maybe?’
‘Colour? Oh, well, this one has a 128 MB graphic...’
‘No no, COLOUR,’ I interrupt him, ‘COLOUR!’ I repeat, ‘I think I want a grey one. How about this one? This one looks pretty?’
‘It’s nicely designed, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, and I’m thinking, since the buttons of my previous laptop turned grey because of me clicking on them so often - clicking contests you see? - I figure it might be handy to have a grey one already. You’re sure it’s a new one, are you? Not one that came from a clicking contest?’
‘Oh yes, all our laptops are new!’
‘Perfect! Is it fast enough to play Pinball on it? And if so, can I transfer my high score of 32 million onto this one?’
‘You CAN play Pinball on it, but I don’t know if you can transfer the scores...’
‘Good! I didn’t want to transfer it anyway; it takes ages for me to get a high score these days! I’ll take this one!’
‘Cash or card?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Are you paying cash or by bank card?’
‘Who said anything about paying? I said I’ll take it!’
‘Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave...’
So I left, taking the new laptop with me.
And that’s how I got my new laptop.
CUSTOMER SERVICE
A grim smile.
A nervous reply.
The old man walked on the footpath, an old queen. You could notice the remains of years of protesting for gay rights sinking away into his wrinkles. He was part of the generation that set everyone free. Or at least, that’s what he says to his uninterested companion walking next to him with a sad step.
A handsome lad. Around 20 years of age, thick brown hair and two big feet that happened to be part of our old man’s fetish.
‘I don’t live far from here. Right across the bridge.’ Even though it wasn’t that far, the walk would last longer than it should have. The man walked slowly, too slow to make you believe that this is actually his normal pace. No, he wanted to enjoy these moments where he could be seen in public with a handsome young boy.
A guy on a bicycle who just came from a lecture notices them for a second, turns around to look at the odd combination and shakes his head.
The boy is silent, walking along the edge of the footpath to keep as much distance as possible. This is part of the job he hates. The small talk, the chitchat with people you just don’t care about. His half-open backpack was basically empty. He always took it with him just to have something to hold on to.
‘I really like your feet,’ the man interrupted the silence, ‘what size are they?’
‘48.’ The boy lets his big feet take two fast steps, but the old man had no intention of going any faster.
‘Hmmm... 48.’ He thought of the possibilities.
‘I’m not sticking them up your bottom if that’s what you’re thinking...’
‘...’
‘Unless you pay double of course...’
‘It’s a deal!’ The man said, decreasing his pace even more, letting the gulf of expectancy fill him with desire.
OLD LOVE
The old couple sat at their restaurant table, refusing to look into each other’s eyes. Every screech of knife cutting in on the stone surface of one of the plates resulted in an irritated look thrown at that once so significant other. The woman imagined another life she could have had, the man just reflecting on the prettiest prostitute he had had in the past five years. When family comes to visit, they always pretend their ever-lasting happiness, not that anybody would comment if their performance would be less convincing one day. It is easier not to ask questions. This restaurant visit was just a good excuse to escape the wife’s routine cooking that had lost all inspiration the moment her husband lost interest.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ the old woman thought.
‘I enjoyed the Filipino girl, she had a great tight arse,’ the voice in the husband’s head mused.
‘If only I had gone to university when I was younger, I wouldn’t have ended up with a loser like you!’
‘I should go to the Philippines and buy myself a woman there, dump this bag of fat here on the way,’ he threw an irritated look towards his wife.’
‘God, what’s he looking at?’ a thought fired.
‘Yeah, you skank, I’m looking at you! I’ll get myself a hot replacement for you, I’ll call her Tiktik and tie her to my dick 24/7!’ he grinned as his inner voice spoke so freely.
‘When we get home, I want to hit you over the head with a frying pan. I don’t even care about making it look like an accident, I just don’t care.’ She felt anger rising.
‘When we get home, I’ll go looking for a website where I can book a ticket to the Philippines. Or maybe Thailand. Or maybe not, I wouldn’t want to come home with some really hot gorgeous girl who actually turns out to be a ladyboy or something.’ His grin grew into a devious smile.
‘Look at him, smiling so stupidly. What on earth did I see in him? Maybe, when I beat his head in with the frying pan, I can write a confession in his blood.... then maybe kill myself. Or better, go to Spain.’ She smiled; an outsider would think she’d have been replying her husband’s smile.
Without any words being exchanged, the couple paid their bill, stood up and left, both aware of the fact that some things needed change.
PUNISHMENT BEFORE/AFTER CRIME
‘Good day to you, sir!’
‘Well hello young man! Is there anything I might be able to assist you with?’
‘Yes, there most certainly is something you can do for me! I have been the victim of an act of crime.’
‘No?! YOU of all people! And what type of crime were you so brutally victimized of?’
‘Oh, a most horrendous one. A devilish scheme that could best be described as attempted murder!’
‘Attempted murder, no less! I am shocked and appalled! Let me write this down on a piece of paper! How do you write ‘Attempted’?’
‘With an A.’
‘Ah yes, now I remember! Are you emotionally able to testify of this most heinous of crimes?’
‘I think....(sobs)... I think I can... yes.’
‘Well, one night not so long ago, I took my bicycle and went out some place.’
‘Lots of crimes happen outside, you know.’
‘Yes, I think the outside makes people change, makes them more aggressive, like.’
‘You are absolutely right. Did you know 95% of carjackings happens outside? We are trying to abolish the outside. But there’s so much opposition. It’s plain criminal.’
‘Damn left- and/or right-wing shit-stabbers!’
‘I know, but tell me more of the crime at hand...’
‘Ah yes, I had nearly forgotten. So I was cycling near some trees, and then when I arrived at my destination, I parked my bicycle gorgeously near a fence and put my sexy black lock on it. It was secured tight and it looked like it was put in the scenery by a talented painter.’
‘...you do paint a nice picture...’
‘Thanks.... err... So I did my thing at the place I had to be at and...’
‘What place was that?’
‘It was a meeting of my local pigeon collector’s club.’
‘You collect pigeons?’
‘No, I eat them. I also eat cockroaches.’
‘A true bon-vivant if I may say so.’
‘Oh you may say so! Well, so when I returned from my pigeon feast, I went to my bicycle and opened my lock. Only later I noticed that it wasn’t in the same position I left it at.’
‘It wasn’t?’
‘No, if before it looked like a painter put it there, now it looked like your grandmother could have put it there.’
‘My grandmother’s in a wheelchair...’
‘My point exactly! So I started cycling again and I noticed my bike shaking much more than it used to. I cycled for a distance of 335 metres at a temperature of 11 degrees Celsius until I saw, out of coincidence no less, than SOMEONE had hampered with the screw on my front wheel, turning it loose so that it could fall off any minute...’
‘...so that you would one day loose your wheel while cycling and crash your head into the ground...’
‘Exactly!’
‘My, my... Who would do such a thing?’
‘I have asked myself that very same question and the only answer I can give is that it must be a real evil person... if it even WAS a person...’
‘I see, do you have any enemies?’
‘I do actually... Australia and Catalan women - I made fun of their noses once - but I have difficulty believing that any of those would have been able to commit such a terrorist attack...’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure... Both Australia and Catalonia are well known breeding grounds for terrorism against boys such as yourself.’
‘Is there anything you can do for me, detective?’
‘There most certainly IS something we can do for you!’
‘Do tell! I haven’t slept well since then... I haven’t been able to put the screw back in its place because I know nothing of technology and I am not trained in the fine art of bike repairs.’
‘We will arrest Australian and Catalan women and if it doesn’t happen again, we have our proof that they BOTH are culprits. If, on the other hand, it DOES happen again, it will become clear that they have people working for them and then we will interrogate them until we know who did it.’
‘Interrogations... like in the films?’
‘Yes, like in the films. Only with more sexual innuendo.’
‘I cannot thank you enough, oh if only there was something I could do for you inspector!’
‘You could blow me.’
‘Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! You do have a healthy sense of wit.’
‘It was not wit. It was an order. The signing of a document of cooperation if you will. I help you arrest Australia and Catalan women, you help me get off.’
‘Fair enough. Sorry that I laughed, I’m just not used to dealing with the police.’
‘Oh that’s fine, boy! We’re only human too, you know. Shall we say tomorrow, nine AM?’
‘Here in your office?’
‘Yes.’
‘Great! I’ll see you tomorrow. And thank you again. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
EIGHTY-EIGHT
Guess my age, the old man cries, you’ll never guess.
Okay then I won’t guess, I bluntly say, not really interested in knowing, because people who say things like that are always older then you’d expect them to be. I would have guessed him to be about ninety – he didn’t ask, so I didn’t tell. Maybe he did ask, but I don’t please people like that. I don’t bend that way. Ask the guy who bones me, you can have that info, straight from the horse’s mouth.
I’m eight-eight! He shouts as if I’m hard of hearing and interested. I am neither. But he ignores that. It reminds me of that desperate chick who studied psychology who said she could tell from my face that I wanted walnuts. She’ll be a great psychologist knowing that her walnuts were the last thing I want. Psychologist? Try again, cupcake!
Eighty-eight, wow, that’s like my chest size in centimetres, I reply, as neutral as a boy can be. Eighty-eight, where have I heard that number before? Oh right, it was part of my pronunciation exam of English at university in the first year. aajti-aajt! I had said and I passed with flying colours. How does one even mispronounce a word like that anyway? Sixty-nine? Testicles? Those are two possible mispronunciations.
You wouldn’t expect somebody my age to be playing jeu de boules so vivaciously, right? The old man adds, totally ignoring my unimpressed look (I have been in an old people’s home and I’ve seen people, much older than that guy who had more spur in them, so yeah, I’m just not easily impressed anymore). Okay, I grant that I wouldn’t mind growing old having all my senses and my continence, but face it, it’s not going to happen (oh, boo-hoo!).
I guess I wouldn’t. This guy is one of those old people who never really listens to what you have to say. I choose not to go into discussion.
Sixty-four years from now, in the year 2071, I may find myself in a similar position. My beauty has faded, my memories are all I have, some cute young lad enters my field of vision and turns his eyes as I try to make contact. I hope I won’t be aware of how boring and old I will sound. How I take pride in my ability to walk and still not wear nappies. The kid will try to find excuses to get out of the conversation. The realisation of the finite world only comes then, I am sure. As all of life is behind you, when you gaze upon new life and conclude that everything was surely better in your day. Because things changed back then. Now it’s all routine. They promised us flying cars a hundred years ago; we still haven’t seen any of those. Some progress!
And maybe he will write something in his diary about me then, this old drooling fart who wouldn’t stop harassing him with stories of his life and theories of relativity he claims to have invented (if it’s a particularly dumb kid, I’m sure he’ll believe me).
Eighty-eight…It resonates but makes no sense, I’m only now beginning to get confronted with people younger than myself who have achieved more than me.
The older you grow, the more doors that close for you. The process cannot be stopped, for nobody. All those rooms you’ll never visit. You may have had a chance, but you only realise that when it’s too late. And in the end they’ll all be shut, apart from the huge double door that leads you to the light.
Eighty-eight, I mutter, I can’t wait.
THE CARNAL CHRISTIAN
‘I recant my Catholicism.’
‘Erm, I never knew you had any.’
‘Well, I didn’t, but I just wanted to belong.’
‘Really? What an absurd suggestion. Do you think I would not have taken you as a Catholic?’
‘Well, you may not have been allowed... By, well, you know, Him!’
‘Oh, dear child, do not worry - I work in no such ways! I seek carnality for the sake of humanity, I endeavour on escapades so that you don’t have to.�
�
‘Why, thank you, in a sense you are a sort of pioneer, aren’t you?’
‘You could say I am son, knowledge is power, did you know, in my time, it was only clerics who were allowed access to scripture?’
‘Why is that, sir?’
‘Well, they wanted people like you to remain ignorant. It’s much easier to work with people who hang on everything you say. Especially when you want to use them for your own (carnal) reasons.’
‘Why sir, if you plan to use me for carnality, will I not be stained for all eternity.’
‘No, my child, you will not. All you need to do is take a long bath afterwards and your body will be as clean as ever.’
‘Great! Does this mean we can make this a regular thing?’
‘I would insist on it. You see, you are still young; there is still so much guidance you need. And I’m the only one who can give it to you.’
‘That is most kind of you, Father.’
‘Please, my child, halt the questions and we will commence the learning process...’
‘Bless you, Father.’
‘Bless you, Son.’
NOW WHAT?
‘Now what?’ the voice resonating in my head.
‘Don’t know. Feel like having breakfast?’ I mutter.
‘Is that a long-term plan?’
‘I suppose it is - I’m fairly sure I’ll have breakfast in some of the years to come.’
‘And after breakfast each day - or every other day - what will you do?’
‘You know there is so much I can do, but nothing I am really really passionate about.’
‘A state of neutrality as it were...’
‘Yeah, and then I think about this quote ‘With enemies you know where they stand, but with neutrals, who knows? It sickens me...’ to which I smile a little.’
‘You read this character analysis of you, right? You are an overachiever - what you desire can never be reached. In love, you are only attracted by that which is hard or impossible to get.’
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