Thursday, September 29, 2016

The Collector



Betty watched Kurt Lindstrom roll a large plastic trash barrel around the building’s business office. The barrel was gray and sounded like all four of its wheels needed oil. She’d get Bruno to attend to that later. Kurt emptied wastebaskets and wiped off large wooden desks and table tops with a soiled dust rag. An upright vacuum cleaner was parked strategically near Liz Hayden, the office receptionist, who offered a flirty smile as he went by.

“Mister Morretti wants to see you,” announced Betty.

“Ok,” said Kurt as he nervously approached the corner office with his trash barrel.

“No honey, leave that out here,” she added as Kurt approached the threshold. The door marked a boundary between the resilient carpeting of the outer office and luxurious shag that muffled sound in the executive’s chamber. Kurt stepped gingerly onto the soft expanse.

“Siddown,” said Morretti. He pointed to one of a pair of high-backed leather chairs in front of his massive mahogany desk and waved his secretary away.


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Friday, September 16, 2016

Back to School

I finally read Moby Dick. I have seen the movie, so I knew how the story ends. Melville’s use of language and detail makes this a daunting challenge, and I usually fall asleep after several pages. But like Ahab, I am determined to finish something I started, no matter how painful or at what cost, and I’m determined to chase that white whale all the way to the bitter end.

I’ve been tempted to give up on other books. War and Peace is taking a break. Ulysses is on an extended vacation. But there have been some books that never made it past a cursory examination of the front and back covers.

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter is one such book. It was the assigned reading in an entry-level English Literature course I took during my second freshman year in college (I was on the six-year plan.) From what I now understand, this was a fantastic first effort by Carson McCullers, who at age 23 penned her finest work, an “enduring masterpiece” that I never read.

I have no idea what this book is about, even having written an analysis of it during the fall of 1974. For when assigned to read the book and write a paper about it, I dutifully bought a copy and read only the back cover.

It was the night before the paper was due. I vaguely remember this being during my “No Doze” period in college. A chronic procrastinator, I would frequently find myself squeezed between the jaws of today and tomorrow, with time relentlessly ticking off the turns of a vice handle that resulted in lost sleep and high anxiety.

With nothing more to go on than several sentences written by reviewers of McCullers' story and knowledge of the very ambiguous title, I sat down to answer the prompted question: why is the heart a lonely hunter?

In several hours of caffeine-fueled desperation at age 20 (three years younger than McCullers mind you), I wrote and then typed a three-page paper, clearly staining the pages with brilliant bullshit. Or so I thought.

I turned in the paper the next day, disappointed with myself at having fallen so short of another straightforward and relatively easy assignment in my ongoing attempt to identify a major by way of 100-level introductory samplings – scholastically taste-testing my way to a meal I could call a career.

And so I waited for my grade.
😎

To read the rest of this story and seventy others inspired by a town in Illinois, please consider buying Park Ridge Memories on Amazon. Click on the image below.


 


Or, if you like fiction and you're in the mood for over 50 short stories, please consider buying "Natural Selections," at Amazon.com.