by Nina Post
“All right.”
“Have you considered graduate school?” he asked, out of the blue.
“That was a non sequitur.”
“Not in my head, it wasn’t. It was a logical follow-up, in my head.”
“A lot of things are happening in your head that the rest of us aren’t privy to.”
“Have you considered it?”
“No, of course not. Why, do you think I desperately need more education?”
“Why wouldn’t you consider it?”
“Why would I go to graduate school? Was there a program that would have helped me find monsters for bounty?”
“Yes, probably.”
“For the sake of argument, with what money and with what time?”
“Before, perhaps, that was an issue, but it is not now.”
“Right. I’m pricing out yachts and learning ancient Sumerian, I’ve got so much time and money on my hands.”
“All I’m saying is that you could look into it.”
“Fine, I’ll look into it.”
“That’s all I ask,” he said with a broad smile.
He went back to another mixing session, and Kelly walked out, discombobulated. She stopped and turned. “Are you still all right with your lab being here? Because you could move back into the SSI building. There’s a lot of room.”
“Well…” he straightened and scratched his forehead. “The SSI building does have windows. Mind you, I don’t look out of them much, but it’s nice to know they’re there.”
“The SPs would like to have you back.” She started to turn back toward the door. “Think about it. It’s like a dungeon in here.”
A Polemic Against Synthetic Wine Corks
f had used the ferryman to get to a dentist appointment some time ago. It was a good loophole, found after extensive, in-depth research into the apocrypha, but the ferryman wasn’t available, and he’d discovered that a chaos demon held greater power to allow for greater distances. He placed an ad on Craigslist that read:
Bound angel needs chaos demon for long trip
I’m a bound angel in need of a chaos demon to accompany me on a long trip, possibly cross-country, by car. I value a quiet environment, prefer calming music, and enjoy thoughtful conversation. I like board and trivia games, and writing reviews of products. You must be willing to be within thirty feet of me at all times. I would like to leave as soon as possible, and my best guess is that the trip would be anywhere from one to two weeks.
Af had no idea how many chaos demons were in Pothole City, and for that matter, how many of those would be able to go on a road trip of indeterminate length, but he hoped he could pick from several options, and that at least one of them wouldn’t be completely insane.
Over the course of a week, he’d received only three responses. He wasn’t sure if his ad wasn’t done right for this kind of thing or if there were few chaos demons in the city. The first response was short:
hey whats up Im a chaos demon in pothole city who loves to party
The second response:
Hello. I am a chaos demon going on twelve centuries. I am interested in helping you on this trip, but I have a few conditions that need to be met at all times. I have been dead (technically, dismembered and buried in four points of the globe) since 1983 and was reassembled and regenerated three weeks ago. My conditions are as follows:
-The temperature must remain a constant 67 degrees Fahrenheit and 20% humidity at all times.
-Considering my recent trauma and ongoing recovery, my psychoanalyst has a note stating that the only music I can listen to is the theme song to Friends.
-Medical requirements include, but are not limited to, receiving shots in my eyeball and having my dressings changed three times a day, or when there’s seepage, and having the wounds (where I was dismembered by the angry townspeople) treated. There are 18 dressings to change. I can only reach half of them myself.
-I have a smell that causes most people to actually run away from me, but I find that if I hang a few of those pine tree air fresheners on myself, it’s not as bad.
The third response:
hi are you an angel are you pretty i like angels they help peple and have soft hair i see you in the tv I receive instructions from u i like to watch the whel of fortune do you like that show its scary but angels are pretty are you pretty i use products too
Needless to say, he’d chosen the first one, because unfortunately, he didn’t have time to extend his search or to meet the chaos demon beforehand. He replied to the first chaos demon, whose name was given only as “Papp,” with the following:
Thank you for responding to my post on Craigslist. Did you read the posting in its entirety? Perhaps our definitions of what ideally constitutes a ‘party’ differs. But I’m pleased to tell you that I have selected you to go on the trip with me. You don’t need to bring anything in particular aside from what you would normally pack. I will pay you half up front and half upon completion of the trip, and pay for motels and food.
He gave Papp instructions on when and where to meet.
He’d rented a car, a sensible, new-model, mid-sized sedan. He’d packed non-perishable food, several gallons of water, a can of fix-a-flat, a portable battery starter with jumper cables, a battery-powered hazard triangle, disposable work gloves, rubbing alcohol, a tarp, a blanket, flares, duct tape, a few packs of Sugru, a roll of paper towels, a package of white rags, a bottle of windshield washer fluid, a serious ice scraper, tire chains, a shovel, a taser, a Keurig, a DC-to-AC converter, and one smallish suitcase.
After Kelly had gone to work, he went across the street to the Amenity Tower parking garage, where he’d parked his rental, and drove to the agreed-upon meeting place, a park that was close to both a train stop and the highway. As he drove closer, he leaned onto the wheel and looked for anyone it could be, but the only person he saw was a portly man in his thirties wearing a sloppy blue hoodie sweater, jeans, dirty white athletic shoes, and a duffel bag.
Af stopped the car, not sure what to think yet. The guy waved. Af rolled down the passenger-side window.
“Af?”
“Yes. Papp?”
He carried a big, worn-out duffel bag emblazoned with “Pothole City Mole Rats” in huge white letters. “Wazzuuuup! Hey, can I throw this in the back?”
“Sure.”
Papp opened the back, passenger-side door, threw his bag on the seat, and unstrapped his backpack and tossed that in, too. He settled into the front seat and let out a deep breath. “Oh, man.” That was his moment of Zen. He turned to Af and stuck out his hand. Af shook it.
“This is so awesome. I can’t even tell you what a relief this is, to get away, you know? I mean, to get away from work—”
“What is it that you do?” Af asked him, and got on the road that led to the highway, hoping this wasn’t a horrible mistake.
“I’m level one at a web-hosting company. You know, I’m answering phones, fixing basic problems, stuff like that. Turn it off and turn it back on again. Usually I hand the call over to someone else without asking, you know? I’d rather talk to people. I can’t sit around, like—” Pap hunched over, stuck his arms out like a mantis, and pretended to type, slack-jawed, “like that. And I lighten the atmosphere, you know? Cheer people up. I like to walk around, talk to people, ask them questions. Because what’s the point if we’re not connecting, you know?” He entwined his fingers. “We might as well be robots.” He made some robot movements.
“I do some chaos demon stuff on the side,” Papp said. “Odd jobs here and there. Pays for pizza and beer. This is the biggest job I’ve had as a chaos demon. I didn’t even know I could help anyone like this! It’s pretty cool. So what do you do?”
Af already had a headache, a slight throbbing at his temple. “I write essays and product reviews.”
“Dude. What?”
Af got onto the highway and set the cruise control to the speed limit.
“I recently wrote an essay on the history a
nd the cultural significance of the takeaway container.”
Papp burst into laughter. “You mean those things they put your kebabs in?”
“Yes,” Af said. “I also wrote one on Tetra Paks, for non-perishable milk, soup, et cetera. And another on nine-gram sauce packets.”
“That’s crazy. What else?”
“I wrote a polemic against synthetic wine corks, and examined nozzle technology across brands and categories.”
“So, you’re insane,” Papp said.
“I notice details.”
Af headed east, because the most recent tweet from the guru was from Ohio. The fact that the guru always tweeted in all caps made Af even more determined to track him down.
“What’s a polemic?” Papp said.
“A written attack against something. I’ve also written recently about zippers, electric toothbrushes, mustard bottles—things like that.”
“Cool. So what kind of tunes you got?” Papp reached over, turned on the radio, and zipped back and forth around a loud cacophony of stations, finally stopping on something anathema to Af’s sensibilities.
“It helps my driving if I listen to something calming,” Af said, turning it down.
Papp brought his hands up defensively. “You’re the boss.”
Af selected soft jazz.
“It’s like I’m in a fancy department store!” Papp said. “Hey, do you mind if catch some Zs? I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
Af was delighted. “Go ahead.”
Papp scrunched down, folded his arms, and promptly went to sleep. He started to snore loud enough to wake the dead from the Revolutionary War.
Af definitely started to have his suspicion confirmed that this was a terrible mistake.
Af had researched all of the available rest stops going east, once he figured out the guru’s likely path (beginning with: Road Tour Midwest/East Coast Get Your Mantra from a Certified Guru).
He would need to relieve himself every two and a half hours, and presumed that he could get the chaos demon on the same schedule.
But Papp woke up after half an hour and said, “I gotta pee so bad. Can we stop somewhere?”
“Already?”
“I had a Big Gulp for breakfast.”
Af rolled his eyes. “All right. I’ll find a place.” He pulled into the lot of a Cracker Barrel.
“I guess you need to go with me,” Papp said.
Af nodded. “Right.” He followed Papp’s pear-shaped body inside and waited as close to the bathroom door as possible after Papp went in. He thought about calling Kelly, but he was still too close, and Papp was too annoying. He didn’t want her to talk him into going back… but he missed her.
Papp emerged. “Oh man, that felt good. You wanna get anything?”
“Nope.”
As they approached the doors, a customer was checking out. Papp flicked his hand and every product near the back of the store flew off the shelves, and doors to the refrigerated and frozen sections opened and all of the products inside shot out. The cashier ran over and the customer turned to look and froze, unsure what to do.
Papp emptied the cash register and a bunch of hard candy sticks into a bag, and took a giant wheel of cheddar cheese.
“What are you doing?” Af asked, incredulous.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Papp went out the door and held it open. “Better come with me. It won’t feel good if I get too far ahead.”
Af glanced back at the mayhem and at Papp, who held up the keys.
“Where did you get those?” Af checked the pocket he’d put them in. They weren’t there.
“I’d hate to see what would happen if you were more than thirty feet from me for more than a few minutes,” Papp said.
“Are you crazy? You robbed a Cracker Barrel?!”
Papp hustled toward the car holding the bag.
“Drive!” Papp said. “When they figure out this cheese wheel’s missing, all hell’s breaking loose!”
Af put the car in gear and pulled back onto the highway going east, looking in the mirrors, half-expecting a dozen police cars to chase after them. “Really? A cheese wheel?! What about all that cash?”
Papp set the wheel on his lap and dug out a chunk with a pen. He broke off a smaller chunk from that and ate it. “You want some? It’s good.”
“No thanks, Andrew Jackson.”
“Hm?”
“Never mind. Why would you do that?”
“Do what?”
Af gave him a look.
“It’s what I do.” Papp ate another piece of cheese and farted. “I’m a little lactose intolerant.”
“I’m a little chaos-demon intolerant.”
Papp barked a laugh and waved the cheese at him. “I like that! That’s funny.”
Af drove in stony silence for miles, gritting his teeth. His rest-stop schedule was completely thrown off and he was now an accessory to some kind of felony. He hadn’t been able to check the guru’s Twitter feed and now drove under duress, which was not safe. And Papp farted constantly, like one continuous fart without interruption.
Papp pointed like he’d seen Mothra. “Ooh, pull over here! Free HBO!”
Af noticed a garish sign for the Rooster Spur Motel. “No.”
“I want to stay here.”
“And I’m driving.”
“We should hide out for a while, don’t you think?”
Af sighed, realizing he was probably right, and pulled into the motel’s carport. Ten minutes later, they were in a room with two twin beds. Papp took off his socks, turned on the television, and found the dumbest possible reality show, jacked up the volume, and switched between that and a hockey game approximately every minute.
“Please turn that off.”
“I like it.”
“Then I’m taking a shower.”
“Knock yourself out.”
Af showered and got ready for bed, plugged in his white noise machine, put earplugs in, and went to sleep. He woke up six hours later to find Papp asleep and snoring.
Af took his phone and his keycard and stepped outside as quietly as possible and called Kelly, even though it was the middle of the night in Pothole City.
“What,” she growled.
“It’s me.”
It took a few seconds. “Af? Where are you?” She sounded much more alert, though her voice was still thick with sleep.
“The Rooster Spur Motel, in Ohio. Papp robbed a Cracker Barrel.”
“What?”
“He robbed a Cracker Barrel. He took cash, candy, and an enormous wheel of cheddar cheese.”
“Uh, wow. That’s a lot to process. Are you still following the guru?”
“I’m trying to. I never should have gone on this stupid trip. It was a horrible mistake. And now you probably hate me.”
And he hated spending any time away from her.
“I wish you’d talked to me before you left, but I guess I understand why.”
“Needless to say, this is the only time I get a chaos demon off Craigslist. Lesson learned.”
She yawned. “When do you think you’ll be back?”
“At this rate, who knows. It’ll take a while.” He hated, hated the choice he’d made, but had to go through with it. He hoped that she wouldn’t decide to marry someone from the Danish Royal Family, not that he had any special grudge against them; he also hoped she wouldn’t marry anyone from any royal family, either current or deposed, or anyone who was not part of a royal family, for that matter. He hoped she wouldn’t write him off and go on a date with anybody, but she had all rights to.
“I’ll let you get back to sleep.”
“OK. But you should start answering your phone once in a while.”
“I will.” I love you, he wanted to say. “Get more sleep.”
That night, Af realized that they must have named the Rooster Spur after the quality of the sheets, which felt like rooster claws scraping over his entire body. When he woke after fitful sleep, parts of
his skin on his chest and arms were rubbed raw.
There Was No Airlock in the Office
ook, Kelly, I don’t like this amenity.”
Charlotte crossed her arms and Kelly pretended to be receptive, since it was a committee meeting, but she hated all of her workdays now because of Charlotte. “I am all for pet amenities,” Charlotte continued, “but I don’t understand a death worm lap pool. I think that’s something better outsourced through a membership discount for residents, and maybe at a different building.”
“There are no other death worm lap pools,” Kelly pointed out. Did Charlotte still not understand what kind of place Amenity Tower was?
“Perhaps that should give you some pause. But it is important to Claw & Crutty to be in the running for the ACTAE Pinnacle Award. We’re not pleased that we’ll have to use some of the reserve to build this amenity.”
“Yes, we’ll have to use some of the reserve,” Kelly said while typing out an email to a vendor. “But I expect that we’ll be able to increase the regular assessments because the building will have better amenities. It will make the condo units more valuable.”
“Let me be clear,” Charlotte said. “I think all of the residents in Amenity Tower are lunatics.” Kelly considered responding any number of ways, but Charlotte went on. “And it physically pains me to tell Claw & Crutty that even though they brought me in here to strengthen the reserve, to better compete with Ultra-Amenity Tower, and to raise the standard of management, we have to weaken the reserve even more to pay for an amenity that only death worm owners can use.”
“Most of our residents own death worms,” Kelly said, wanting to strangle her. Raise the standard of management?
“Does Ultra-Amenity Tower have amenities for death worms?”
“They don’t have death worms there,” she said through gritted teeth.
Charlotte ignored her. “In order to raise the assessments we need to show more value, and I hoped we could achieve ‘perceived amenity parity.’ If we created a basket of amenities, we could get the residents to perceive that the amenities are equivalent.”