Payne & Catch

work in progress... 

“We got a real humdinger for ya tonight, Catch.” Officer Payne smugged through his cigar at the coroner. Ruddy, round cheeks slick with a day’s sweat. The gurney made a sharp clatter as its metal bars collided with the basement’s cement siding. The body upon it caused the wheels to vibrate in a most unpleasant way. Especially over the grating on the floor. Catch cringed at the ruckus. He straightened his white lab coat in an attempt to regain control.

The symphony was lost on Payne as he casually leaned against the basement wall, flipping through his notebook. The stout cop took the time to get comfortable, adjusting his arms in the blazer he sported. He lifted his brimmed hat a bit, exposing his mussed, dark hair. Plastered to his head with sweat. 

Clang, clang, clang went the trolley as it violently escaped the entryway. The muscles behind it? Well, Catch couldn’t be bothered to learn those men’s names. He couldn’t even be certain they were men. They might just as well remain anonymous; merely a vehicle of the showstopper they delivered. Not even an opening act; simply an extension of the gurney. 

Catch could barely be bothered to learn Payne’s name. But he had been such a faithful supplier. 

The cop landed on a page with an insurmountable collection of scribblings. He took an impressive haul off his stogie. He snagged the cigar with a flourish of his right hand. In his left: the curious details of the gurney jockey. There were so many of them - and yet, not quite enough. That’s where ex-detective, Catch, came in. 

“Get this,” Payne exhaled, his voice distorted by thick smoke. 

Catch stood, patiently, as the Officer’s words fell down upon him. A sweet, virginal snowfall of completely corrupt text, descending upon his person. Chin raised skyward. Eyes closed. He stood atop a large grate in the center of his cellar. The faceless muscle bustled around him, moving Humdinger to the coroner’s examining table. The faceless team retraced their steps toward the entryway, abandoning the body as one of them dragged the cart out. 

Then, there were three. Payne finished rambling through the particulars he had learned hours ago. The officer raised his misleadingly sweet, moussy eyes from his notebook. Chocolate lookers locked on the coroner; awaiting the signal. Could he join his wife for a neat scotch, yet?

Catch lowered his structured jaw to once again join the living. He allowed his bright peepers to regain visuals. For a moment he stood stock-still; frozen under the snowfall. 

Payne focused all of his energy on denying his instincts. He could feel his right hand quivering - aching - to snap at the coroner. Anything to speed up this process. It had been a long day. Most of Officer Payne’s days were long. And there was nothing he wanted more than to go home, take the shoes off his throbbing feet. Free his arms from the tweed prison they all-too-often found themselves in. Payne knew better, though. Years of dealing with this nut-job had conditioned him to at least feign patience. Catch was brilliant - there was no questioning it. Along with this brilliance, however, came a slew of curious behaviors and ticks. 

Why else would such a dazzling blade be excommunicated from the police force?

“Good.”

“Good?” Payne reacted.

Catch swiveled his head to the cop’s direction; green eyes piercing past his pale skin. He nodded once at the officer. “Good. Thank you.” Catch had come a long way from “Good. Go.” Those days were behind him, now. As were the days of “JUST FUCK OFF, ALREADY. OUT.”

He had come a long way. 

Payne became a hostage of his ridiculous smile. Another day done. And the money would come. And the recognition. It would all be worth it in the end. For now; Scotch Time. Payne tipped his cap and silently bolted through the door, ever-so-gently closing it behind him.

“Boys,” he spoke to the dunderheads by the car, each on their third cigarette. The crickets chirped from the property's surviving shrubbery. A cool blue darkness leaked onto the world around them. Payne beamed at his underlings. “What say we drop this puppy off and call it a day?”

Inside the sealed basement remained a tall, lanky, pale ex-detective. He pivoted to face the new arrival on his examining table. Last season’s tennis shoes crunched the salty grime below them on the turn. Well… the season before last, if we’re being honest. Catch’s pressed, fitted bluejeans followed his impossibly long legs up to a poorly-chosen belt he had found in a dumpster months ago. His clean-but-cheap button-up had appallingly short sleeves that his lab coat carefully camouflaged. It was difficult retaining a shirt that properly fit his slim torso without sacrificing sleeve-length. At least his midsection was covered. 

Catch could hear music playing as he made his way to the examination table. His battered tennis shoes found a delicate beat as he moved. Lab coat swaying to the rhythm. His days were so somber between arrivals. And he knew they would be again, shortly. In the meantime he decided to absolutely relish every moment of the good stuff. 

Another salty crunch followed him, announcing his full spin as he shortened the distance between him and his prize. 

“Hello, there,” Catch sang, dramatically leaning one arm over the table, “...Beautiful.”

Quick Lunchtime Thought: different lifestyles

 I try to live my life with purpose. I go about my days trying to do the least amount of harm to others / the planet while trying not to completely compromise my own happiness / contentedness / safety. And if I do some good on top of that - I am victorious. 

This sounds wonderful, but really it only works because others do not live the same way.

Don't get me wrong; I am well aware that I am not the first one to consider this way of life, nor shall I be the last. I just mean that there are plenty who do not subscribe to this lifestyle. It brings me back to a conversation I had with a dear friend while working at the framing studio.

K and I were discussing sociopaths (I was suggesting that I might be one due to the fact that I don't nose around / "care" the way some others do). He assured me I am not one. He went on to tell me that sociopaths weren't all bad. Intrigued, I listened on.

K's proposition was that without sociopaths, we would not have a number of our "big successes"; we would lack (maybe entirely) in our big CEO population. We would have far less competition. Less selfishness. Less drive. We would have less people "knowing" how special and important they were and thus we would not have gone on to progress as much, as a society.

Please know that I am butchering his words (bad memory, not bad intent, I promise you), but not his general thesis.

I am thinking of this today because if the population were made of only a bunch of quiet hippies (such as myself), keeping to themselves, minding their own business, if-it-ain't-broke-don't-fix-ing their way through life, we would not have some of our most brilliant minds and finds. We would have so much less curiosity. Less theory. Less science. Less discovery. As much as I cringe to admit it, I would have likely been a quiet, Christian housewife with (at least) nine screaming children. 

Today I would like to (somewhat) publicly thank each and every brilliant mind, curious scientist and driven sociopath of the world. You folks make everything sparkle in a way I would never know how to. 

You make it possible for people like me to live the way that I feel I must. 

Censorship v. Self-Control

 I have had at least fifteen conversations about censorship recently, so I guess I can blog about it today.

I will say my personal relationship with censorship has been: I should practice it. I was told by my mother to behave (don't swear at your sister). I was told by my bosses (essentially) to behave (don't swear at your customer). And after numerous occasions where I deeply offended friends while practicing what I was convinced was scathing wit (but was really just scathing), I learned to behave around them, too.

What I find funny is that the people who don't like censorship will very often be the same people who get upset/disgusted when the younger generation sticks up/fights/pickets for something they truly believe in. And before you get too excited, censorship fans: I have the same to say about your behaviors (just flipped). We're all a little hypocritical and - at some point - censorship is in the eye of the beholder. It is subjective. It is not definitive. Yes, the definition is definitive:

cen·sorship

/ˈsensərSHip/

noun

1. 1.

   the suppression or prohibition of any parts of books, films, news, etc. that are considered obscene, politically unacceptable, or a threat to security.

But who is to say what is to be considered "obscene"? Or better yet: "politically unacceptable"? I am nearly certain that the non-censors only mean that they are the way they are and they don't care to consider others throughout the interim. They will tell you to get over it/relax/stop being so sensitive. Meanwhile, once the censor-fans hear this blatant dismissal and/or inconsiderate behavior, they will tell the nons where to shove it. And then the nons will get offended/be dreadfully uncomfortable/touche'd and retaliate with more non-censored language. 

I can't help but sit on the fence and observe both sides with binoculars. Curious.

Once again I believe "balance" to be the answer here. Here's my current opinion on the matter:

    Follow the Golden Rule when possible / while not putting yourself/others in dangerous pinches. 

    Don't go out of your way to be a dick. (Jesus, who is this behavior really for?)

    Pick your battles.

    Learn to take a joke (and learn to stick up for yourself)

    NOT EVERYTHING IS A BIG DEAL. AND I'M SAYING THIS EQUALLY TO BOTH PARTIES.

And, finally: You simply can't please everyone. And if you try not to offend anyone, you will eventually (at the latest) offend a very large group / an individual you truly care about. 

What is it, going to kill you to not say those offensive things you say on principal, alone? Shock-Comedy died in the 90's. And what about you, there, fighting the urge to tell us you're deeply offended at what you suddenly decided is a "social injustice"; Just going to fester and eat away at your kidneys, is it? Now I know it is a slippery slope. I also know that social media is an exacerbator (<-- think I made that up). I also know that me getting frustrated at all of this - ironically - will likely pop me into being one of the aforementioned fence-siders. *Sigh* I just think that a lot of what the non-censors consider "censorship" is what I would consider "having manners", "being polite" or "practicing self-control". Honestly, how hard is it to try for others here and there? I do it nearly every day.

As with most other things: I think the best any of us can do is try. Keep an open mind, accept what you choose to, duke it out over what's worth your dukes. Be genuine. Do research. Ask questions. Care. And for God's sake; practice balance. 

...back to work.

Haunted Houses

 I suppose you just never know until you're in it, but:

What do you suppose it would take for you to leave the home you just bought once you had suspicion of it being haunted?

We have all read the books and seen the films; a family (two parents and at least one child... very typically a sacrificial dog) moves into a new town. They buy that vacant house. For what price, did you say? Holy cannoli, what a deal!! And so close to the school? Wow, how could they afford not to take it?

The kid gets excited to see his room, the parents stand side by side, arms around each other. Smiling at their child's precious antics as he calls the family dog to follow him upstairs. "C'mon, Roscoe! Last one there is a rotten egg!" (Bark, bark!) 

Aw. 

So regular. Until... 
Crrrreeeek... - "It's just the house settling. It's an old house, honey."
"Oh I thought I left the keys over there... Ugh, getting older is tough!"
BANGBANGBANG - "That's just the neighbor kid pulling a prank; what a big silly!"
"Huh. All the food is rotten."
"That's strange; I don't recall opening each and every cabinet. Probably our kid, for some reason."
"Mommy, Daddy; there's a MAN in my closet!!"
"There's BLOOD IN THE BATHTUB, JON!"
"I just haven't been feeling myself lately..."

Now. I understand the need to scream at the television at the family's short-sightedness upon the very first sign of trouble. Of course you know better. You didn't just finish setting up the living room (just the way you like it). Plus, you did see the title of this film: Something Wicked & Dangerous in the New House We Just Bought. I would hope you would have seen this coming. 

My question is: What would it take for you? I mean obviously there's the financial loss to take into consideration. But what's money worth if you're possessed the whole time you get to spend it? Would you even get the same thrill after leaving TJMaxx with a new planter at that point? It is, for sure, an enormous bummer; having to leave the giant money-eater you just spent your life savings on. But isn't it a little more cruel to think that your story would end there? 

"Such a shame. They spent their entire life saving for that house and it ate and killed them."

I am almost certain I would rather survive to tell the tale of how I escaped the house victorious and - against all odds - built my family and myself back up from the ashes like a phoenix. Surely at that point everything you have tastes so much sweeter by comparison. Then you really did it. Not everyone could survive a haunting, you know. I would wear that badge proudly on my chest until I became that old relative at family gatherings. 

"Ugh, Grandma's had too much sherry again."
"Yep, off she goes."
"I ReMeMbEr WhEn I sUrViVeD GHOSTS."

I know the name of the game is to consider your family in the decision-making; even if you don't feel like being there, Junior did always want a backyard to play in. And he's only losing a couple hours of sleep a week over this. No more than a regular child with a late-night pixie-stick habit, really.
But isn't that just it? Wouldn't you want to keep that kid away from harm? The world is already dangerous enough and you're going to roll the dice on demons inside of your home? Perhaps it is just that the parents do not want to believe their child. Which I get. I was afraid of everything when I was little (still am). If it had been up to me, my mother, father, sister and I would have been zipping from this house to that like traveling salesmen.

This one had bugs I didn't care for in the garden. 
This one's rooms were too dark.
These curtains gave me a start.
I saw an ant inside.
I just feel like there are goblins here.  

I'm honestly surprised I lived to tell that tale. With OR without hauntings. My poor mother.

I do hope that you are able to safely exit the house (safely and fully intact), should this scenario ever arise for you.

Anyway. Just thinking.

This One's Light

Today the sun lingered at 5:00pm.

This is the first sign of reaching safety from the clutches of seasonal depression. What makes it sweeter is: I recently read a few of my old blogs, one of them being the "Dark" one. It was awful. I'm glad I wrote it, don't get me wrong. I just mean the feeling was awful - upon the first sentence, I was transported to the malaise that once was. (And in my favorite bar!) I am once again in said bar. It wasn't pitch-black when I pulled up. It wasn't nightmarishly freezing when I went out for a smoke after my first negroni. There's still a little snow on the ground, but not enough to separate me from this good feeling. Spring is coming. 

I just told one of my beautiful friends about my current woes (briefly) and ended it by saying: "I'm just waiting for Spring, man." I know this is what my entire last blog was about, but I am excited. And you didn't pay to be here. So here's s'more. 

To be completely truthful: even my most detrimental woes are not currently eating away at me enough to spoil the good that I have. I simply am anxious to feel even better. 

Tonight: Cake and Alabama Shakes replaced Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole. The bar staff dance and laugh and bob their heads along here and there. (Jack White Radio, I'm told. Brilliant.) I have been kicking writing's ass all week (through some jobby issues) and here I am again. Still killing the game the way I want. A blog here, a few scenes there, perhaps a journal entry if I'm feeling so inclined... Not to mention I just nabbed a few things (at good prices, naturally) for my and my best friend's home. 

Last night, I recalled past dark times. Times when I felt so separated from myself, from my choices, from my life. Times when I felt as though I would never truly be living. I took in the scene around me: Best friend, snuggled up in their toasty bed with their cat, rent and bills paid, the whole apartment filthy with houseplants... I went to bed smiling last night. It doesn't get much better than this. 

But wouldn't it be lovely if it got even better? 

Dreaming of Spring

 I am going to escape for a moment.

To say "I could really go for Spring" would be an understatement. This winter has been unbelievably mild (thank God), and even so I find myself anxious for the warmer seasons. I honestly wish that there was some kind of government support system that would allow us all to stay home from work during the entire winter season. Can you imagine it? Your days would be filled with the coziest of home routines and teas and well-prepared lunches. Every room in your home would have never looked better. You could learn so much. And conserve so much energy. And zip through books and plan your days according to you all winter! Plus, this would make the winter sweeter by comparison and possibly even make it something to look forward to. 

But this is not the way things are for us, so the very best I can suggest is popping a wild amount of vitamin D and getting used to your brain collapsing for a few months. 

I am eager for the warmer days my friends and I can spend on the porch. For those mornings you wake up to birds chirping. To warm, glowing skin. To farmer's markets. To body-freeing attire. to late nights at a favorite outdoor restaurant. To wonderfully sweaty hours spent in my perfect bedroom, sitting like a monkey at my writing desk. 

The feeling of renewal. When everything seems just a bit less heavy.

My best friend (and roommate) recently asked me how I would feel about moving with them, should an incredible job opportunity arise for either of us. I considered it and said: I have done it before without my friends and not regretted it, so I should think that I would truly enjoy doing so with my best friend. 

I bring this up because I would also like to daydream about the possibility of relocating to somewhere warmer with my them. What an adventure to have! To trek the neighborhood, converse in new cafes and check out the coolest bars on the scene with your best friend. It would be like an extended vacation without all the tourist traps and expensive plane tickets. And (at least) one of us would be getting paid. 

Without a doubt I love my town; it is always where I ultimately end up, after all. But every winter, I would be lying if I said I didn't at least daydream about another place. 

Power Outage

 If you take away the actual work from your office / place of work, it's actually kind of fun.

Any time I have ever been at work where there has been some sort of faultless SNAFU (i.e. the power goes out, phone lines are down, internet's not working...), I get this cozy giddy feeling. Suddenly the weight has been lifted from our collective shoulders. Suddenly it's okay if you don't get that project finished. It's not only okay - it's expected. Who could be expected to accomplish anything - the phone lines are down.

Work suddenly becomes a familiar setting filled with familiar faces (and in some cases a fridge, Keurig and vending machine). It becomes a bit of a sleepover. And if you don't agree: You'll still get your breaks, you'll still get to eat lunch and if luck is on your side in the slightest; you may even get to go home early. Have you ever known words so sweet? My boss telling me to "go home early" is right up there with a romantic partner telling me "I love you". (And about as likely, AM I RIGHT??) And I must hold on to the dream of a no-fault-failure of some kind because COVID has single-handedly killed the dream of a stay-home-from-work-snow day. (Now you get paid the same as you did back in the day when you didn't have to work! With the added fun of shotty internet connection and screaming children!)

I love work when there is an "unfortunate event" like this. Because it's not like life won't eventually return to normal. It's not like anyone is put in harm's way because of it (I have never worked at a place where they save lives). And it's absolutely no one's fault. So nobody can get mad at anyone. We are - at least momentarily - on a very similar / the same wavelength. No man left out. Except the store manager, maybe. But even they may be feigning frustration to better guise their childlike excitement. (Just one more reason to love not being in charge of everything. God bless those of you who do.)

Confession: I bring the same items to work every day in hopes that there will be a day like this. So that if I am not given the option to go home, I am at least able to take full advantage of the time.

In my pack:

1.    laptop & cord (for a long, glorious day of blogging)

2.    current story notebook (should inspiration hit)

3.    phone & cord (for a long, glorious day of educational podcasts)

4.    current book

5.    Sudoku puzzles

6.    snacks (obviously)

I am nearly convinced this is all I would need for such a day. More than I would need, really. Because when it comes down to it, there are nearly no jobs (if any) where you will be hard-pressed to find paper and a writing utensil. I've purchased such things from the supermarket/retail place I've worked at, grabbed scrap paper and a colored pencil at an art studio... I've even grabbed a crappy, brown paper towel and a cheap pen at an old serving gig. There is always something. (Also: if I ever am in a jam without my pack in my current job: I could snag a piece of printer paper and write on it the way I did during "Bring-Your-Daughter-to-Work-Day".)

I will say that out of all of the aforementioned items: the book will get you into the most trouble. People have "gotten caught" with their phones out during a Friday rush - nary a shaken fist. The laptop's intention can be easily camouflaged, depending on what job you've got, so no problem there. But the minute I crack the spine on my latest Shirley Jackson novel; there's hell to pay. 

I have never been so insulted in my life.

I'm kidding. I know it wasn't personal, and I truly wasn't insulted, but I did feel terribly confused. 

Once I had a job where I could get my tasks done and - if it wasn't busy - turn to my blog. It was heaven. I couldn't believe my luck. And then I would read a blog to my boss every now and again and have lovely conversations about the human psyche. It was perfection. My good times there did, eventually, have to come to an end; it was a job that did not necessitate a 40-hour work-week. (And at a certain point I succumbed to the reality of rent.)

There are good times (and struggles) to be had at every job. But regardless of where I am, I think I'll keep crossing my fingers for the occasional power-outage.