A Fiction: Part II

I realize sitting on this train is the first time I’ve relaxed since I left it this morning. I got to my work building almost an hour later than expected. The lobby was nearly empty as I exited the revolving door. My steps echoed on the marble floors and walls as the receptionist greeted me.

“He’s waiting for you.”

“Thanks.”

I entered the elevator and pressed the button to my floor. Alone, I checked myself in the crisp chrome walls. Sharply dressed as always, but my eyes gave away the stress I was feeling. I took several deep breaths to clear my head. A mist of sweat appeared on my brow, but it was due more to the uncomfortable temperature than the tension in the air. Since air conditioning limits started being enforced a few years back, elevator travel has become most frowned upon. Normally I take the stairs, but being late there was no other option. The lift slowed and the doors slid open.

What followed was a nightmarish comedy of frustration and machismo that ultimately left me jobless and satisfied. The details aren’t worth retelling here but quickly put, my supervisor was indeed waiting for me with the agenda to cut my position. He’s been hard on me for some time, and my lateness and missed deadline were the justification he was waiting for.

I resolved myself early on that I would not be fighting for my position. I spent the balance of the day cleaning out my desk and locker, saying goodbye to coworkers and calling my clients in hopes of preserving relationships for independent work. Now back on the train, it seems foolish to have done so. I won’t be in that line again.

The message screens on the wall flicker to life with a photo of a small boy's eyes with

WHEN YOU SHOW VIOLENCE, THEY SEE VIOLENCE. STOP THE VIOLENCE

printed over them. Fucked up world.

I guess I’ll just tell her I’m leaving. She has been becoming more and more distant since her father passed. Once her sisters went home after the service, she would sit for hours in the chair, lights off, alone. I tried to get through to help her, but she pushed me away. A hand on her shoulder was brushed away. A kind word produced tears at best; anger at worst. But she stays nonetheless – more out of habit than need. I don’t think she has thought of me since he died. Hardly notices. I wonder if she’ll cry. I wonder if she’ll even know I'm there.

The train is stopping now. I consider calling before I get too close to home; see if she needs anything. Fuck it. Clean and easy will be better. I’ll walk in, tell her quickly, grab a few things and go. I loved her once. I would’ve killed for her. Now I feel cold towards her.

As I reach the street surface and the harsh neon lights from all sides, I breathe deep the air I always hope will be fresh when I come out of the train station. But it’s nearly as stale as the air below, just not as still. It moves as the throng of people breathe and the vehicles swirl it around. I hate the crowds here. I can’t walk the two blocks from the stairwell to the building where we live without being brushed and shoved and pushed. I crave open space and clean air. The sea. I crave the sea.

A Fiction: Part I

I've been toying with the idea of writing a fiction. I've spent the last few days putting a sweeping epic story arc together. This will take a while to complete. Perhaps all summer, perhaps a year or more. That being said, here's part one...

PROLOGUE:

FINALE

The train is late today. It’s an hour past when it was scheduled to arrive. When I asked the woman in the graffiti covered and urine-odored booth what was going on, she dismissed me by saying, “You’ll have to wait like everyone else.” So I am.

I’ve always believed you can know a person by observing how they behave while waiting on a platform for a late train; the man who continuously checks his phone for either the time or missed calls and messages, the old woman who sits on the bench and knits, and the vomit-stained , clearly homeless and mentally disturbed man who mutters under his breath and pretends not to stare at the pretty young girl in front of him. I know these people as well as I know myself. And I know myself implicitly.

I am a simple man. I have no aspirations for wealth or fame or power. I just wish to work hard and earn enough to comfortably survive, nothing more. I do not judge people, merely observe and learn. I am a generous lover, finding more satisfaction in the pleasure I give than receive. I am faithful and dedicated, in work and relationships. I am sometimes distractible in that I have dreams beyond my day-to-day. I often dream of long voyages at sea. The honest hard work and sense of accomplishment in surviving the elements and the challenges of maintaining peaceful comradery in confined spaces.

I can hear the train approaching as my companions on the platform begin to gather their things. I have but one bag slung over my shoulder that contains some papers I owed my supervisor two days ago. I avoided him yesterday, but today I must own up to the fact that the deadline was missed. I board the train and it pulls away with a huff. The lights flicker and a tinny voice apologizes for the delay.

I watch the ever changing messages and adverts that scroll through each of the mounted screens on the walls of the train. The one closest to me has been cracked and displays nothing. But screens are plentiful enough that I can clearly read the next one down.

BUY LOCAL. WHAT YOU SPEND RETURNS TO YOU.

That’s a fucked up notion… Well, it’s a fucked up world. I observe the other glossy eyed passengers gaze at the screen and wonder if they believe what they read without question.

The train is coming up on my stop. I can see the clock mounted over the platform and realize that not only is my deadline missed, but I will be late for work as well. Ah, well. My supervisor is a busy man and most likely will not mention my lateness. I’d better speed up so maybe he won’t notice at all.

Ummm....

So anyway, like I was saying....

Today I feel pretty good. I mean, usually I feel pretty good but today it's a little something extra. Not sure what it is. Been exercising a bit more - but no, that's not it. It's raining outside right now so it's not the weather. And the Mungus family is dead broke so not that either. Work is stressing me. Not that. In fact, I can't think of a single good thing going on today. But I'm still feeling good. What the fuck?

I was eating breakfast this morning, checking out a few sites and writing back to DJD thanking him for a little recognition (never took the time to figure out those HTML link tricks, so click on his link on the left to see what I'm talking about. C'mon, it's not that tough - lazy). It was early - like 5:30am - and my youngest son snuck up and tugged on my shirt.

"Whatcha doing up little dude?" I asked.

"Nuffin'" was his reply.

I said "It's pretty early. You should go back to sleep."

"Not tired."

So as I was about to get myself some cereal anyway, I took out his bowl and poured him some too. There we were, before the sun was up, munching Cocoa Puffs at the table. He was chomping away, all smiles, his little legs swinging from the edge of his chair. Years away from hitting the floor. When we were done, he took his bowl and dropped it in the sink - little man that he is. I turned on some cartoons, got him some juice and sat down with him for a few minutes and put on my shoes.

Checking the clock, I knew it was time to go. He gave me a big hug as I headed for the door. He didn't whine or cry as I kinda expected, he just hung out with his juice all happy watching some toons.

Missus Mungus called me around lunch time and said when she got up, my son couldn't wait to tell her how he and Daddy had breakfast together. She said he was so happy all day. So was I little dude, so was I.

OK, Really Back This Time...

I've been on a bit of a hiatus trying to get the old life back on track and such. And so far, so good. Over the next few days I'll update on a few things going on. Today I'll start on the most important ones involving the Mungus family.

First, Missus Mungus is now seven months pregnant. This being kid #3 the old muscles are stretched a bit more than the previous times - so she's big as a house already and ornery as a rattlesnake. Two more months to go (we're due in July) and the really hot weather has yet to hit. We may be introducing air conditioning into the Mungus house for the first time as a result. Time will tell. But all in all, she's in good health as is the kid (another boy by the way - that makes three boys. My Three Sons. I should name him Chip or Robbie).

Been piling up all the old nursery room stuff. The crib is missing a few pieces. When I went on the manufacturers website to order replacement parts I discovered the crib has been recalled for safety concerns. Once I was done freaking out about that I read a little further. Turns out the safety issue only happens if you put the crib together wrong. This poor company has to shell out millions to recall items, manufacture and mail out idiot proof parts and tarnish their reputation because their customers can't follow the instructions? Remind me never to own my own business - it sucks out there.

Besides that, Missus Mungus has been saving us a fortune by buying "lightly used" baby clothes from Ebay, etc. We have no second thoughts about this plan. We have reared two sons in warm weather now and can testify to the fact that most first year baby outfits are worn once or twice before being outgrown. So these are basically new clothes.

Update on the oldest son: remember a few months back I had written about his teacher's concerns with his attention in class? We had decided back then to have him evaluated in April. This has now happened and we are awaiting the diagnosis. We go back in two weeks.

The week before the appointment, we had a parent/teacher conference. She has very much changed her tune since the initial concern (somewhat to our relief). He is still disruptive to the class - gets up out of his seat a lot, hums to himself, makes shooting and spaceship sounds, etc. But when asked to explain what the class has been taught, he knows it. He has absorbed it. He is ahead of the rest of the class. He will move ahead to the next grade and may be considered "advanced." That being said, he is affecting the other kids. So this is where the evaluation comes in. I think we are going to dodge the medication bullet, but whether the school will be open to some new learning techniques will be interesting to say the least. I'll give an update once we have the appointment.

Plenty more to write about. Be back soon.

Just a Quick Howdoyado...

Been promising an extended post for a while now. Works been crazy the past few weeks, but it's finally starting to come together and slow down for me. No time for a full update, but here's a few things going on or that have been on my mind:

• Missus Mungus IS EXPECTING OUR THIRD KID!!! We're due in July. Kinda sucks as we probably won't do a whole hell of a lot this summer as she'll either be big as a house or recovering... But we are completely psyched. Took us months of trying (even had to get medical intervention - but that's another story), but we did it!!
• They laid off 27 people at my job this week. "The economy sucks and it won't get better for at least 9 months" is the basic message we are getting from senior management. They are confident we can remain profitable for that stretch of time without additional layoffs. I have very good job security at the moment but it's scary out there. Feel free to tell your own stories in the comments section.
• Speaking of work, I'm getting a big promotion next week!!! Salary position (I've been hourly my entire working life), my own front office and a direct impact on the daily and long-term runnings of the business. Tons of pressure considering the economy. If I can't keep things running smoothly, I'm fucked. 'Course if things go good, I'll be a hero. Another crazy few months ahead.
• The kids are stir crazy from being cooped up in this house all winter. Frankly, they're driving us crazy. The energy they should be expelling running around the neighborhood is instead used up throwing their toys and jumping on the furniture. They are goofy kids and are great at making their own fun. But after 12 hours with them, Missus Mungus and I are ready to choke them and each other. I make light, but this is a pretty serious issue. We haven't figured out how to keep them occupied, let them have fun but still be respectful and keep the house together. And with Missus Mungus in pregnant "nesting" mode, chaos and clutter don't fly.

That's about all that's going on. And I guess really that's a lot.

And Now We Are LIVE

I've spent the last year at my job working on setting up an inventory management system called JD Edwards Enterprise One. For the past six weeks, I've worked on nothing else. This past Monday, January 26th 2009, the system went "live."

We had some balls starting this thing up... did a complete shut down of the previous system - Live without a net. It's been a crazy couple of weeks, this week especially. Haven't really seen the family much. But now this week is over, the system is up and running and I'm taking the weekend off.

Holy fuck, I'm tired.

I'll post again after some sleep and some much needed family time.

I'm Back. Now Let's Get To It...

Merry blah blah and Happy New blah. Too late for all that...

No time for a holiday recap, and frankly, you'd get better at a million other blogs. I do have a good story to tell about Xmas day (and following weekend) at the Mungus house, but I'll save it for the next post. I've got an issue and it ain't gonna wait.

I've got two sons. The younger is 3 years old. He's in pre-pre-school (next year pre-school, following year Kindergarten) and is a joy and a love. I've written of him before. Never have I seen a creature so trusting and unconditionally giving of himself. So innocent and full of joy. He's got this awesome devious side as well, which eases my concerns that the world will chew him up. He'll be fine. I am already sure.

My older son is at the ripe old age of 6 and in his fourth year of school (two years of pre-school, etc...). Last year was his first in our local public elementary school and our first to receive reports of concern from his teachers. "He is having trouble paying attention in class" and is sometimes "disruptive." Uh-oh. They started using the buzzwords every parent of a son (or any kid, I suppose) dreads. We met with the Kindergarten teacher last year and she assured us that although she had her "concerns," in all likelihood he would "grow into" the structure of school. But she did warn us that if he was behaving similarly in First grade, it would become a serious issue. "The expectations are raised at every grade change, and behavior evaluations become more stringent" she said.

So here we are in First grade. Hell, the year's 2/3 over... and THE NOTE has been sent home from the teacher: Little Mungus jr. "has had to be spoken to on several occasions over the past few days to calm down and focus on the activities of the class." Oh shit. They're diagnosing him.

Missus Mungus spent yesterday afternoon discussing this issue with a few other Moms outside waiting for the kids to come out. She spoke to five Moms. Three of them have put there kids on medication after "concerns" from the school. She was shocked as am I.

So what the fuck? First thought is: it's all that acid I ate in the early nineties coming back to haunt me. Now my kid is broken. The I look at these round peg in a round hole Moms and think, "there's no way she ever did acid or any other hard drug ever." No basis in fact that one, but I'm pretty sure it ain't that.

So is it something environmental? Town water supply tainted? Maybe it's like mold in the school or some shit? Because I refuse to believe that an entire generation has now evolved out of normalcy and must be drugged to assimilate and function.

Barring environmental causes, here's what I believe has happened: kids haven't evolved, teaching styles have. Back in the good old days of the forties and fifties, teachers were allowed some minor corporal punishment. Kids were scared of their teachers and didn't act out as a result. Thanks to the hippy dippy sixties, everyone said "hey man, relax. They're just kids. You can't go hitting kids... School should be a place where they find out who they are, man. They need to find their inner spirit and set it free..." Then the law suits started, school freaked out and now we're at a place where they are afraid to discipline at all. Geez, they're so afraid of getting sued for "emotional trauma" they don't even declare winners and losers during kids sports anymore. "Everyone wins because we all had FUN!!!" Shit.

My kid is a good kid. He listens (for the most part) at home and we can generally get him to do all the stuff we need him to do. And yes, sometimes he's a little scared of us. Not because we hit. We don't. But he knows when we say fucking do something, you better do it or there will be consequences (usually we just take away a favorite toy or some other deprivation of fun for a span of time).

The school is scared to discipline so they are drugging all the kids.

Let me end by making an admission: as a result of the note, my wife and I called our doctor. He has arranged for our son to be "evaluated." The facility that evaluates kids is so backlogged with requests that we were unable to get an appointment until mid April. It's a fucking epidemic.

In our minds, we dream that this evaluation will prove our son to be labeled "normal," like the last minute DNA evidence that shows up minutes before they pull the switch on the electric chair. Then we will have this document to prove to all the future teachers that yes, we have heard your concerns and our team of experts has assured us that it is your problem Mr. Education System, not ours.

My son's "keep off of drugs free" card has yet to arrive. Let's see if I have the balls to give you an update in a few months when the verdict comes.