Gabriel's Horn

by C Ross

Glengarry Glen Ross type stuff).

  Caught in the middle are us fundraisers who come from all walks of life. From students looking for quick cash to middle-agers looking for fulfilment in their twilight years. And we’re all looking for that Margaret with her juicy pension that she is just ready to give away for that sweet ticket to heaven. A younger Margaret would have laughed in our faces and hung up. Time has come to the rescue, 80 years to be exact, and now she’s asking herself, “Will they let me in when I get to the pearly gates?”

  And I answer that thought, “Absolutely… with only $20 to the sad shit foundation you can find salvation.” And then again I’ll call in a month and this time, it’ll be a “Wonderful $30”. Next month it’s $50. Once you show that precious weakness we won’t stop until you’re bankrupt or dead. Without a doubt, doing charity work has been the most depraved job I’ve done.

  …

  But that’s not entirely true. I try to think of a job that would be morally ‘good’ or philanthropic. That query is beside the point when faced with the greater question of what defines a selfless act at all?

  My personal reasoning is that many of the selfless acts we celebrate are in fact not different from regular acts. We’re all chasing that good feeling, looking for a fix whether it be sex, drugs, or charity induced euphoria. All motivations are essentially selfish.

  We jump in front a bullet for our lover because our life would be unbearable without them. In conclusion, the only real selfless acts are either done by accident and not acknowledged or are done in a neutral fashion where you don’t get that warm fuzzy feeling.

  I’ve come to a realisation that this essentially defines my job. I’m neither Mother Theresa or the Wolf of Wallstreet but rather reside in a neutral zone. Perhaps I can feel good about getting this money to the extremely unfortunate but I am taking it from the unfortunate. It balances out, I am in one of the few jobs that allow me to do truly selfless deeds of charity. Not that feel anything about that fact if I did it would cease to be selfless.

  Unfortunately, I am actually kind of feeling proud about this strange twist of logic so I suppose I was right the first time. My job is depraved, in a beautiful way.

  If…

  If you can ignore the cruelty inflicted on beasts

  for strong meat on your plate,

  If you can hide your faults

  and resist the temptation to be yourself;

  Or avoid attachment to any one woman

  and forget love for the trap it is:

  If you can bury your head in the dirt

  while those in poverty live in it,

  If you can save up for the latest phone;

  but not save the homeless something to eat,

  Or help a grandmother across the street:

  If you can nod with news anchors

  as they condemn countries on which we war,

  If you can laugh as we butcher;

  and weep as they lash back at us,

  Or just change the channel to the football and cuss:

  You’d be a modern man, my son!

  The Suit, Horn Rimmed Glasses, White Skin and a Beach Tan.

  And let’s not forget my boy,

  have a cigar

  you are going to go far.

  Laugh, Gasp

  It all started with a hiccup.

  Linda was sitting in the live audience of ‘Getting Chatty with Davey M’. This was Linda’s thirteenth live viewing this month. There was something comforting about the illuminated prompters which glowed with a warm, yellow light. The sense of belonging drew her to the viewings, it was addictive. She loved being indistinguishable and invisible to persecution and confrontation within the audience. Linda suffered from social awkwardness her whole life where social cues were not as obvious as the delightfully simple commands: Laugh, Gasp, and Boo.

  Occasionally the camera panned over her during the intro, she would wince and hide her face as if her schoolyard bullies would find her once again hiding in the toilets at lunchtime again. However this fear turned out to be justified, she was about to be found.

  Two celebrities were chatting about the latest fashion trends when it happened. Hic-cup! Linda covered her mouth, but it was too late. The entirety of the room swung their heads in her direction. Linda was now different.

  The clock flashed *0.00*.

  Linda cheered as she was pushed onto the stage and wedged between the two celebrities on the velvet couch. She looked perplexed but the rest of the guests acted naturally.

  “What’s your name love?” Davey asked with a tad too much enthusiasm.

  “Linda.”

  “Lovely name Linda, that’s my mum’s name,” one of the celebrity guests said.

  Linda blushed, “Oh, t-thank you, I didn’t choose it though.”

  There was a silence across the audience, they hadn’t expected the slight humour. Beads of sweat dripped into her eyes as she blinked away from the harsh limelight that shone on her.

  Suddenly the pale yellow light was illuminated on the audience’s face. They burst into laughter; Linda joined them with a delay. More than anything Linda wished she was back in the audience to have a better view of the prompters. Davey put his finger to his ear.

  He raised his eyebrow, “Well, well. What is this?”

  The audience was on the edge of their seat.

  “I’ve just been told you’re a singer, have you been hiding this?” he asked with a smirk.

  “Uh, I’m not a very good one… hic-up ... though.”

  A yellow flash, more laughter. She loved them and they loved her.

  The clock blinked *5:00*

  It slowly dawned on Linda that the laugh command corresponded with her hiccups. The thought was mind-blowing. More than just being able to fit in with other people, people were fitting in with her. They were laughing at her and because of her… not at her. With each successive hiccup, she grew bolder. The nervous butterflies in her belly become a hot flush of euphoria which rose like in an eruption out of her mouth. Hic-up

  More questions came her way which she answered easily enough.

  “Yes, I studied at Baldwin High school from 1996 to… -hic-… 2003.”

  “Excellent Linda.”

  The orange spray tanned woman with the puffy lips asked Linda to sing a song.

  “Well, o-okay…”

  Linda started singing ‘When I’m a Star’. As she sung a hiccup interrupted her every twenty seconds, and then forty seconds, until eventually it was only once a minute. The laughter subsided and she stood there for a moment with a hopeful smile but terrified eyes, waiting for just one more hiccup. Her throat clenched as she attempted to force one last hiccup. It finally came out a pathetically quiet. She smiled and waited for the prompter to flash. It remained off.

  Davey stood up and broke the silence, “Thanks everyone, we’ll be back after this short break.” The lights dimmed and a quiet murmur took hold of the room as the audience members restlessly squirmed in their seats. Davey approached Linda and led her to the guest's room. He pointed to the minibar and winked, “That might help with the old hiccups.”

  She found some champagne and drank a glass. Linda realised as she was looking at the bottom of the glass that she hadn’t hiccupped since she had left the stage.

  She poured another glass .

  The clock winked *10.00*

  The hiccups were now only supported by Linda’s alcohol habit, which had become very apparent the moment she walked back onto the stage. She sipped from a miniature bottle of chardonnay and belched. The laughs were stifled by the foul stench. She smudged her eyeliner as she struggled she see straight.

  “Linda, can I ask you just one thing?”

  “Whaat?”

  “How did it come to this love?”

  “I’m… -hic- … fine,” she slurred.

  “We had such hope for you. Didn’t we?” he gestured to the audience.

  The prompter flashed from him without hesitation.

 
“Yeah!” the audience said in a monotonous blur of voices.

  Linda went blank she didn’t know what to do and was slowly sobering up to the nightmare. As she opened her mouth she became distracted as commotion came from one of the studio exits, she bright white flashes under the door. One of the celebrities put her hand on her shoulder to comfort her, “We’re here for you love.”

  Linda shrugged her hand off.

  “I don’t need any of you!” she screamed at the audience.

  Linda stumbled up from the couch in a rage. Dave’s face went stern, “The media are going to absolutely crucify you if you don’t pick up your game. They had never truly loved her Linda thought.

  “FUCK YOU!” she screamed through tears.

  A red flash illuminated the audience’s innumerable faces casting dark shadows on their murky features.

  “Boo!” they droned.

  The abysmal booing continued, Linda stumbled backwards. Suddenly silence overcame the room as the red light turned off. She interrupted the quiet with an abrupt hiccup. Linda looked up to the prompters, begging and praying to the studio executives for one last flash of that friendly yellow light. Just a fix for the road, just to belong one more time. Nothing.

  The quiet was only interrupted by her quiet sobs. She slunk out of the studio to the exit sign.

  The clock danced *13:27*

  The doors swung open into the dark night and hundreds of reporters bustled around Linda their microphones prodding into her face. She tried to push pass them but more and more surrounded her blinding her with the bright flashes of their numerous cameras.

  “Is it true you dropped a year in high school?”

  They clung to her clothing which was being ripped to shreds.

  “How many months have you been pregnant?