The Weird Insights of a Scobberlotcher

Sixteen Sounds Dirty White

I was getting a little paranoid about these upside downs. Then I saw the view. I'd forgotten how spectacular it was standing with these two here on this deck a thousand feet up. Coastal chain stretching out to the northeast. Island dotted ocean far off to the south. Laid out below, the city wandering off for miles, slowly diminishing into suburb, then farm, then the black mountains of America. Dead center, fifty miles out, a white capped dormant volcano. A deliciously unattainable ice cream cone on a hot summer evening. Oh ya, this is where the high rollers live alright! The biggest names west of the Bridal Path. Where the wealthy come home to roost. No Jews up here. No blacks. No East Indians. Like the Chinese, they have yet to begin their ascent. This is wealthy white exclusivity. I'm still amazed that John made it here. He's just a bullshitter. O.k., a good bullshitter. But he has the same problem most bullshitters have. Not knowing when to stop. You made the sale, buddy, now move on! But John could never do that. Bullshit was his life. His oxygen. He strapped on his tank, hopped aboard a tiny little ad agency I think he won in a poker game and rode it all the way up here.

Mind you, I never complained, even as the tall tales started lapsing into incoherence and the accountant privately advised me not to let my pay cheques grow cold. Nothing to complain about. The booze and drugs never stopped. The work was this background noise you could mostly ignore. And a boss you do coke with isn't really a boss. And that's why I'm up here. Another ostensible business meeting collapsed into indulgence.

Jane, his wife, is standing to my right. She turns and looks at me which puts me on edge. Her gaze always makes me feel something akin to nervousness. Odd how that happens between certain people. Their eyes are opposite poles. You have to fight the repulsion. Then it gets worse. She's asking me if I believe in angels. Personal angels. Apparently they're in the air, everywhere. She just read about it in a book. White pages. Black print. Gotta be true. Well, my dear, where were the angels when I walked unannounced into John's office last week and caught him getting a blow job from the company psychic? Wonder if she saw anything coming? They were mostly obscured behind his desk so he told me she was just giving him a reading. Ya, a lip reading maybe. Gotta hand it to the man, though. He's consistent. He believed that I believed.

Now he's standing further along the deck looking intently into the distance. Not much but air up here so maybe he's searching for one of his personal angels. Or maybe it's just the coke. Whichever, it doesn't look like he'll be back any time soon. So I turn mostly back to Jane and try a one-timer deflection. Personal angels? I've only ever seen one. It comes out for two weeks every year at Christmas and perches on top of the tree. She ignores that and mows on with the intricacies. And on. And on. And I wonder how much longer Jack and Jill can hang on to the hill? Of course, now we know the answer. Till next January. Time enough for a few more lines.

"I'm confused."

I looked up unsteadily from the card and brought her ancient face into focus. She did look confused. The way an arroyo might look confused.

"Why did this man give you a job? How did you end up working in an ad agency?"

"Answer to question one." I held up a finger. I was pretty sure it was one though it looked like two if I didn't close an eye. It was really coming on, whatever it was.

"He was a friend, old friend. And number twwwoooo." Let it drag out cause I had to think about it for a second. "Oh ya, did a whole bunch of things, anything to fight off boredom. Drove taxi, delivered ad flyers, even went back to work in a teeny tiny little radio station for a few months just for laughs. Certainly not cash. I accidentally called an arborist an abortionist during an interview. Then I stole the oxygen tank from the emergency medical kit so I could work on air with a hangover. Finally spilled a beer on a control panel one night. Put us off air for hours. It was funny. Anyway, fired me. No sense of humour. They fired me. Then, then. What was I saying? Oh ya, I ran into John. Old friend from years back. He gave me the job. Silly. No idea what I was doing. Account executive? Didn't seem to make any difference."

"Don't you feel that maybe you abused that friendship?"

"Nah, he'd changed."

I was having trouble focusing on what I was doing. I was getting increasingly tired, hard to keep track of what was going on. Thoughts getting muddled. Weird, the tiredness felt like it was trickling into me from outside. I was being lulled into distraction. Not entirely unpleasant. A nap. Yes, a nap would be nice.

"Eight."

There went another one. Thought I could almost see it drift by in the air. Ungainly in writing but beautiful as the symbol of infinity fluttering over the top of my head. Like a butterfly. Felt the urge to follow it.

"Stay with me." She snapped her fingers at me with a loud pop and pushed another card my way. Death.