The Spectacular Simon Burchwood
A Novel
by
Scott Semegran
Copyright © 2011 Scott Semegran
All Rights Reserved
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The publisher requests that this eBook not be resold or given away to other people by you although the publisher realizes that the world doesn’t work that way; sometimes people are kind and generous and sometimes people are selfish and shitty. If you purchased this eBook, then the publisher thanks you profusely. We worked very hard on it and it took the author a long time to write. If you "found" this eBook and it "magically" appeared on your eReader, then good for you. You are very lucky. Most likely, no one will come looking for you. But if you do enjoy this eBook after reading it, then please consider purchasing your own copy or purchasing other eBooks by this publisher and this fine author. The author is a good man and has a family to support. All of his eBooks are cheaper than a fancy cup of coffee which is awesome. Thank you for taking the time to read this legal stuff. Thank you again. Good luck. Enjoy!
Mutt Press
Austin, Texas
http://www.muttpress.com
[email protected]
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Photo of Scott Semegran by Lori Hoadley
Cover by Alchemy Book Covers and Design
Illustrations by Scott Semegran
Edited by Brandon R. Wood
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Books by Scott Semegran:
Sammie & Budgie
Boys
The Spectacular Simon Burchwood
The Meteoric Rise of Simon Burchwood
Modicum
Mr. Grieves
Discover other titles by Scott Semegran at Smashwords.com:
http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/scottsemegran
Find Scott Semegran Online:
https://www.scottsemegran.com
https://www.goodreads.com/scottsemegran
https://www.twitter.com/scottsemegran
https://www.facebook.com/scottsemegran.writer
https://www.instagram.com/scott_semegran
Mutt Press:
https://www.muttpress.com
What Reviewers Are Saying About The Meteoric Rise of Simon Burchwood:
"This book will have you rolling in laughter at a man who cannot or will not realize who and what he is. Nonstop laugh beginning to end." -- 5 Stars / Free Book Reviews
"A very good novel that was humorous throughout." -- 4 1/2 Stars / Red Adept Reviews
"Simon Burchwood Is A Genius, It's True!" -- 4 Stars / Bitsy Bling Books
"Cracked me up! Overall a very good and funny read." -- 4 Stars / Ashton the Book Blogger
"Verdict: An ambitious, enjoyable read with a superb ending that changed my interpretation of the entire text." -- IndieReader.com
"A clever and surprising twist... cutting observations of the writerly demeanor." -- Kirkus Reviews
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Accolades for The Meteoric Rise of Simon Burchwood:
Inductee into the Indie eBook Hall of Fame for General Fiction
5 Best Summer Indie Beach reads (July 2011) - Huffington Post
For Nathan, James, Albert, and James. Thanks for helping me get through one of the toughest years of my life.
Table of Contents
An Introduction, Failure, Truth
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About the Author
Books by Scott Semegran
An Introduction, Failure, Truth
Things don't always turn out the way you plan, at least that's what they say. It's true. Things have a way of becoming a goddamn mess. I know, I know, that's so cliché. You can thank the French for that word. They think they're so goddamn smart, the French, the way they can analyze the banal and coin a phrase. When things don't go your way, they will say "c'est la vie" too. You know what I say? Eat shit. Yep, that's what I have to say. Eat shit.
Why does life have to be so goddamn hard? That's more difficult to sum up than saying something like "that's life." That's not good enough for me. I need something more concrete. I need something more scientific, something that's closer to the truth, not hyperbole. Life can be a bitch. It's true. Why is that? Let's find out. Don't you want to know why? Of course you do. I do.
Since we last spoke, a lot of shit has gone down. So much so, I thought it best that I catch you up on what has happened to me in the last few years since the publication of my novel, The Rise and Fall of a Titan. In short, it was a disaster, a goddamn disaster. I never made it to New York like I had planned. Instead, I ended up in the emergency room with a concussion, the result from the effects of a pill that was supposed to relax me, not lay me out. That bartender in the airport lounge tricked me, for sure. What a cocksucker. I guess he was mad at me for stiffing him. His service left a lot to be desired though.
And that singer on the plane, Grant, he was a crazy motherfucker. Crazy I tell you. He was yelling all over the goddamn place, bouncing up and down in his chair. I guess once that pill hit my gut, it was lights out for me. I don't remember a goddamn thing. Not one thing. It's true.
Except (and I'm quite embarrassed to admit this) I had this crazy dream that my best friend Jason committed suicide on account of his shitty marriage and all. It all seemed so real, the dream. I was so immersed in that dream world that when I woke up in the hospital, I was screaming my goddamn head off like an idiot. My poor wife, bless her heart, thought I was going crazy. But what do you expect when you witness a crazy thing like that? It can be just too much to handle. It's true. As it turns out, Jason is just fine. He's still living in his rundown house in his rundown neighborhood in bum-fuck Montgomery, Alabama with his whore wife. And that's where he will stay and continue on. It's a goddamn shame.
My novel fell flat, selling a whopping 43 copies in its first month. Then hit its stride in the following month, selling another 72 copies. And then, well, that was that. What can I say? Like I said, it was a goddamn disaster. In less than three months, my novel came and went like a meteor in the sky then evaporated. It was all just so disappointing. When review copies were sent out, a handful of excruciatingly bad reviews tainted its arrival and crushed any chance of it having some success. The social web of the internet then wrapped its rancor and disdain around my novel and choked the life out of it. The promise of a new career as a writer came and went like that, like a finger snap. Snap! Done! Over! It was a goddamn shame. It's true.
What was I to do? I did what every man has done at least once on his journey toward greatness: I crawled back to my former employer and begged for my job back. Sad but true. I put in a call to that rat bastard Mr. Folsom and prepared myself for two things that I knew would happen. 1) I would, without question, be unable to keep my attention away from his twitchy, lazy eye and 2) be subjected to an excruciatingly large amount of condescending bullshit that would leave me feeling small and worthless. Suffice it to say, I was absolutely right. Mr. Folsom sprinkled his annoying cackle throughout our brief meeting, gazing at me with his one good eye while his loose, twitchy, lazy eye spun around all over the goddamn place. I mustered all the strength I had to not pounce on his
desk, grab a sharpened pencil, and jam it halfway through his diseased eye socket. Sorry to disappoint you but I did not stab his lazy eye with a sharpened pencil like I wanted to. I took his bullshit like a man because I knew I needed a paycheck. Sometimes, you just have to take someone's bullshit like a man, even if you don't want to. You can take that advice to the bank and cash it. It's true.
For a few months, things were good. But it didn't last. As most tech companies do, a round of layoffs followed the news of a bad financial quarter for the company. And my position was included in the immediate RIF (reduction-in-force, dummy). Just like that. Snap! Done! Over! Delivering the bad news to my wife Jessica was just as demeaning as begging Mr. Folsom and his goddamn lazy eye for that job in the first place. She wasn't too thrilled about it at all, not one bit. But can you blame her? She depended on me to be a provider and I wasn't doing a very good job of it at that moment. In fact, in hindsight, I was doing a pretty good job of fucking up most everything in my life at that point. She really let me have it too with the yelling and the screaming and the crying and all. Women are really good at laying their emotions on pretty thick and Jessica was the best, a real pro. If anybody had the skill to make a man feel like a turd, it was Jessica. She should put that skill on her resume, right at the top. I'm sure a future employer of hers would appreciate that ability. It's true.
As you can imagine, my layoff and subsequent stint in unemployment did wonders to my marriage, leading the way to the inevitable and irreparable damage that comes from wallowing in your own misery and self-loathing. Why did Jessica not understand that I had greatness within me? Why did she look at me like I was dog shit when I told her that I knew, deep down in my heart, that I was truly meant to be a writer and a novelist and not a tech support schlub? It's easy to beat a man when he's down. And boy was I down. When she told me, after a few months of unsuccessful job hunting, that she wanted a divorce, I was devastated. It was a swift kick to the nutsack and a heavy realization: I was a failure.
That's life, they say.
Eat shit.
Failure.
The last conversation we had before she packed her bags and the kids' things and left was pretty intense. She went on to list ALL the things I had done in our marriage that disappointed her. She concluded that I was a spectacular failure, a spectacular asshole, a spectacular letdown, a spectacularly bad lover, a spectacular idiot, and a spectacular waste of time.
"So, I see a theme here," I said as I watched her zip her suitcase shut and lead the kids out the door.
"And what is that Simon?" she asked, hurrying to leave.
"You think I'm spectacular."
Turn lemons into lemonade, some people say. I'm not sure who coined that phrase. I'll have to Google that later. Probably not the French, I'm sure.
The Spectacular Simon Burchwood. I like the sound of that. It has a nice ring to it, like I'm a superhero or some shit like that.
The Spectacular Simon Burchwood.
The Spectacular Simon Burchwood.
The Spectacular Simon Burchwood.
The Spectacular Simon Burchwood.
The Spectacular Simon Burchwood.
The Spectacular Simon Burchwood.
So, that brings me back to my question: Why does life have to be so goddamn hard? That's a tough one, really, even for a superhero. We all have hopes and dreams and desires and those things can be easily crushed into oblivion by matters that seem so out of our control. I didn't agree with Jessica's assessment of me, I didn't agree with TechForce's choice to have a RIF, and I didn't agree with the criticism heaped on my novel. But what was I going to do about it? I was on a mission for enlightenment and I found the truth. Would you like to know what it is? I bet you would. I'm sure of it. It's true.
1.
I got my job working for the State of Texas by accident. Well, maybe not by accident. Luck, that might be a better word. Pure luck. After getting laid off from TechForce, I received unemployment benefits for a period of time. What a sweet deal that was! Every week I had to call this phone number and promise that I had been looking for work then I would get approved to receive $212. That's it. Easy street. The next day, $212 was direct deposited into my checking account. It was like getting a check from your grandmother for Christmas, you know, because you had admiration for your grandmother and appreciation for the money but you never actually saw her much. The government is kind of like your grandmother: old, admirable, and distant. It's true.
I had devised a plan, just in case anyone from the unemployment office decided to show up at my apartment, to make myself look destitute in an effort to keep the unemployment checks coming as long as possible. It seemed like a good idea anyway. I bought Ramen noodles by the case and stacked them in front of the counter at the end of my kitchen. I didn't particularly care for Ramen noodles but everyone assumes that if you have Ramen then you must be broke. It's true. But no one from the unemployment office ever showed up at my place. Lazy goddamn government workers. They never do a goddamn thing right.
I eventually found an ad in the newspaper for a tech support position that seemed to have a good pay rate so I decided to call the number and check it out. I was reluctant to get another job in tech support but when you need a paycheck it's hard to be picky. The girl who answered the phone had a sweet voice, like a little bird, cooing her greeting and the scripted formalities. She sounded so sweet I almost felt like vomiting.
"Good afternoon! Thanks for calling blah blah blah bluh blah blah blah where it's a great day to start a new career. My name is Carey. How can I help you on this blah bluh blah blah blah?" she delicately rattled off, syncopated words beating like the flap of a hummingbird's wings.
"Uh," I said. Her fucking sweetness was suffocating. I had a hard time finding the words. Can you believe it? It's true.
"How can I help you today, sir?"
"Oh, I'm calling about the ad in the newspaper for a tech support position."
"Certainly, can you hold please while I look up information on that position?"
"Sure."
"Thanks so much."
The phone made a few clicks and zaps then some music came on. I'm pretty sure it was Herb Alpert's "A Taste of Honey." Most people would associate this song, which is now relegated to Muzak for elevators and shopping malls, to cheesy swingers from the 1960s. But when I was a kid, my parents had a copy of Herb Alpert's album "Whipped Cream and Other Delights" in their record collection. I would take a peek at it when I could, and marvel at the cute brunette who awkwardly sat under a mound of white goop that was supposed to be whipped cream. I imagine it was a shocking image at the time it was released. It was a shocking image to an eight year old boy in the 1970s. But time has a way of whitewashing past titillations into caricature. It's true. That album cover now looks no sexier than a box of cereal. Anyway, the phone clicked and zapped again, Carey's sugary voice cutting off "A Taste of Honey."
"Hello, Mister..."
"Burchwood. My name is Simon Burchwood."
"Hello, Mr. Burchwood. I have the information for you. It's a tech support position located downtown. Past experience preferred but not required. They will train you. There are two steps to the application process. Number one: email your resume to [email protected] so we can enter your information into our database. Number two: go to the onsite meet-and-greet tomorrow at 1:00pm, take your resume, and signup for an interview. I'll let them know to expect you, after your resume is received here, of course. Any questions, Mr. Burchwood?"
It all seemed too easy. What a goddamn formal production for nothing. It's true.
"Let me think. Can you tell me the name of the company that is hiring?"
"The Texas Commission of Employment and Benefits."
"Really?"
"Yes, Mr. Burchwood. Is that OK with you?"
"Yes, of course."
"Then, on behalf of TechNeat, and on behalf of your potential future employer, thanks for allowing us the opportunity to attempt to place you in gainful e
mployment."
At first, I wasn't too excited about the opportunity to work for the State of Texas. And the Texas Commission of Employment and Benefits? That sounded like a real crock of shit, I tell you. I mean, like I said, government workers are a lazy bunch of numbskulls. But after a second or two, the idea that I could be a lazy numbskull while getting paid started to sound pretty good. Actually, the idea of being a lazy, goddamn numbskull while getting paid while I worked on my next novel sounded pretty fucking fantastic. It's true. I began to feel pretty grateful for the opportunity all of a sudden. I felt the need to thank Carey and her sweet, sappy goddamn voice.
"Thanks, Carey. I appreciate the opportunity."
"You're welcome, Mr. Burchwood. Have a nice day and good luck."
"Thanks. Thanks again. Uh, Carey?"
"Yes, Mr. Burchwood?"
"Is the Texas Commission of Employment and Benefits a nice place to work?"
The phone went silent. I think the question threw her off. She probably wasn't expecting something that wasn't scripted for her. I could hear some papers shuffling around, like she was looking for something. It took her a few seconds to get back on the line. She must have been nervous, nervous and worried.
"I don't have that information, Mr. Burchwood. It's not in our best interest to judge the working environments of companies that hire us to find employees for them. It is our job to place qualified candidates."
"So, you know nothing about the working conditions there?"
"No, I'm sorry Mr. Burchwood."
"Nothing at all?"
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