tonymoschetto.com

I've never been lucky or fortunate. I've never been a part of the “in crowd” or been part of any one group for that matter. I'm the boob that stands in the background wishing and hoping. I'm the guy in the ugly sweater observing the chosen ones living their lives. Getting up early is something that I just have accepted and it is a routine that I'll never get away from. Even when I'm not working I'm working. It's a curse, not being able to relax. I wonder what the chosen ones are up to? They're able to relax, they probably have no stress. They're probably asleep right now. They are definitely not thinking of me. I can see my breath as I leave the trailer, the double wide in which I reside, 4 am isn't pretty, that's for sure. I climb into the orange beater, as I call it, a colorful mix of spray paint and spare parts all to form a pick up truck. I should call it Frankenstein, on account of it ain't being pretty and most of the parts stolen from the car equivalent of a cemetery, otherwise known as the auto salvage yard. My hard hat lay on the passenger's side seat. I rubbed it three times for luck, hoping old orange sides starts up the first time. As my luck would have it, it didn't start, it didn't start at all. Fortunately, my neighbor Earl, who's routine mirrors mine, was leaving for work. We work in the same field, different site. “Again.” Was his response. I always wait for him to just get in his truck and leave after I ask for a jump. He always hesitates as if he's going to say no, then at the last minute he says okay. I think he does it for dramatic effect most of the time. He always says, “What if I get up before you and leave before you do, what are you gonna do then, huh?” I say, “That's impossible Earl, you'd never get a wink of sleep if you do.” He chuckles and pulls out the jumper cables. Soon, I'm off to the job.

The road is lonely at this hour. The eastern sky is lighter and soon it will spread west. I arrive at the construction site before anyone else. This is always the norm. The other boys think I'm a go-getter, that's what the older men call me. The younger men think I'm a brown noser, a suck up. The truth of the matter, I make the coffee when I get in and like it the way I like it, nobody makes a cup of coffee like me. That's why I get to the site first.

I grab my blue hard hat from the seat and head for the foreman's trailer. It's toasty warm. I remove my jacket and start the coffee maker. I settle in and take a look at the blue prints I left on the desk the day before. On top of the prints is a post it note that reads: Skip, Sorry to tell you this but after you left last night, one of the tractor's got stuck in a pit at the north side of the site. It won't start and seeing as you have had the most experience in these matters, thought you'd be the guy to go check it out and get it going before the boys got in. Thanks, Wally. I looked at the coffee pot. The dark liquid started to drip and the fresh aroma overtook the small trailer. I thought to myself, I'll go out, start the tractor, be back just in time for a fresh cup. I hopped back into the cold and into my pick up and soon was traveling to the north side. I could see the sun rays peeking over the high tree line in the east. Soon the sun would be up, the place buzzing and full of life. I saw the tractor off in the distance, next to it an extremely shiny object. The glint of it nearly blinded me, peculiar seeing how the sun isn't up yet.

I parked my truck and walked towards the bright object on the ground. As I get closer, I noticed it was teapot shaped gadget, bright it was but the actual metal had a dullness to it, like dust was covering it. I rubbed it, tried to clean it off but it didn't work, still dull. I rubbed it again and it started to feel incredibly warm, then hot. I dropped it on the ground and out popped a genie. He was giant, at least seven feet tall and ugly. He stared at me. I passed out...To Be Continued...

I woke up to the smell of my own perspiration. My bed was soaked, the sheets drenched with sweat. As I sat up I could feel the warm air flowing rapidly from the air conditioner. It must've broken down in the middle of the night, the heavy humidity in the Argentinian air won out. I tried to slide out of my bed but the wet sheets prevented me, they clung to me as if I was in the clutches of a great octopus. I managed to escape, I felt extremely tired, the heat already zapping my energy. I turned off the air conditioner and flung open a window as fast as I could. It felt good to feel the fresh air on my face, the breeze cooling it momentarily as the wind met the beads of sweat.

I took a shower and got dressed, then I made my way downstairs to the lobby to have some breakfast before heading to my first day at the company. I could smell the eggs and bacon from the hallway, even though the kitchen in the building is seven stories down.

Derek was in the lobby reading a newspaper when I walked by. The lobby was well air conditioned and I felt some of my energy returning. “Hey, there's the nose.” He said, smiling brightly, his rust colored polo shirt complimenting his red rosy cheeks, “Ready for your first day?” He asked. “I think so, I've tested deodorants before so...” He began to laugh, “Deodorants, huh?” He folded his newspaper, got up, continued snickering, “Okay, see you at the office,” and walked out the lobby door. I ignored him and walked into the dining area. Luckily, the tins that held the small egg omelets and bacon strips were still piping hot. I sat back and enjoyed my breakfast.

The taxi that dropped me off didn't have a/c and I was overwhelmed by the scents coming from within. I began to feel dizzy, my sensitive olfactory began to experience fatigue and I started sneezing uncontrollably. It happens when I'm overloaded with smells. I spent the majority of the ride with my head out the window. I still gave the driver a good tip and told him to get his a/c fixed in between the sneezes. I was still sneezing as I entered the building, it stopped as I felt the coolness of the air and the surprising sterile atmosphere of the place. I could not detect any smells coming from anywhere, it was cleaner than a hospital. I walked up to the security desk and presented him with my identification. The security guard instructed me to wait as he picked up a white phone and said two words of Spanish into it, then hung it up. Seconds later a buzzer rang from a door behind the security desk and I was instructed to pass through. Once through the door, I found myself in a long hallway, the door slammed shut behind me with a loud thud. The spot I was standing in was dimly lit, all but three lights hanging from the ceiling, the rest of the hallway dark. It was quiet, other than the faint buzzing of electricity running through the lights that hung above. “All this to test deodorant?” I said out loud. “Yes.” Said a soft voice from the shadows, “Come this way.” And a hand stuck out from the darkness and waved me to it. As I walked down the corridor, lights turned on from above, following each of my footsteps. The mysterious voice stayed in the dark. I kept walking until I entered a large room, the lights came on and revealed the person who directed me and a table where three men and a woman sat. One of the men was none other than Mr. Derek Vines. The mysterious person was a man, totally bald and short. He wore a white lab coat and large black framed glasses. “Please, have a seat.” He said. I sat next to Derek, he's beaming smile lighting up the room. “What is this?” I demanded. “Is this some type of joke? What kind of deodorant are we testing anyway?” The room full of strangers laughed at me. “Who told you that?” One of the men asked. “The person who hired me over in the States.”

“That was me.” We all heard another voice coming from the darkness in the corner of the room. A tall man, handsome and dressed well stepped into the light. “Is this the way everyone makes an entrance around here?” I joked but got absolutely no response. “Please,” the handsome man said, “Let me introduce myself, I'm Ricardo Hernandez, head of what we call the unknown operations, otherwise known as Senses Inc.”

“Senses Inc?”

“Yes, Senses Inc., all of you have an extraordinary sense, you have your sense of smell, Mr. Vines over there, who you have met, has an extraordinary sense of taste. All of you have a sense that is unworldly. You won't be testing deodorants, you'll be saving the world.” To Be Continued...

I never saw the sense of the machine that makes a lot of noise. The red machine that makes a lot of noise sits silent in the corner of the small room that they keep the computer in. It stands upright, guarding the wall, silently and still. I walk by it and it remains that way. I'm not scared. I think it sleeps now. Yesterday, it was awake, growling mad, screaming at the top of its lungs. The person pushing it remained stone faced and calm, totally ignoring the red machine's roar of displeasure. Now, it is quiet, as if sleeping. It's funny, people say we sleep a lot but this thing takes the catnip. I love catnip, what's that, a bird out the window? I run and hide when the red machine awakens. I don't think it would do me any harm, I think it has more of an issue with the person pushing it around. One time, it came close to me. I was brave that day for some reason. I stood my ground, it's bright eye blinded me momentarily, then it was gone. Later, when the red machine slept, I returned to the couch in which I lay. It was clean and fresh. I have a theory that the machine had something to do with this. After its time awake, my spot is always fresh and clean. Maybe the machine likes me, maybe it is watching out for me making things fresh. Perhaps I won't have to do battle with it after all.

My first day in Argentina was an uneventful one. Just a lot of pushing and shoving trying to get to my destination. My feet hurt from standing on the multitude of buses I had to take to the Capital. My Spanish needs some work because I got on the wrong bus a couple of times. I got to the Capital unscathed and a few bucks poorer on the account I had to pay some color characters for information. Usually in the States you get the same info for free. Whenever you don't have a grasp of the language you pay. It's funny how any judgment you have on another human being goes out the window when you need help in a foreign country. You'll ask anyone for directions no matter how shady they look or how bad they reek of alcohol. I reached an outdoor cafe that I completely recognized. It was a Starbucks and a welcome sight for my weary eyes and aching back from lugging the one and only piece of luggage I had, a very cumbersome duffel bag that I slung over my shoulders. I asked one of the pretty baristas for directions to the street my flat was on. Luckily, she spoke English.

The flat was your basic one bedroom apartment you'd find in any big city, small, full of cockroaches and a thick musty scent. My nose also detected a hint of pine sol every now and then. The company that hired me found my living quarters and I quickly found, through some careful investigation, that most of the people that lived in the building were employees of the company. All of us an ex-patriot of some other homeland. That's what I was told, anyway, by a Mr. Derek Vines, my new neighbor. I met him as I was opening the door to my new digs. He was coming out of his apartment carrying a trash bag. The first words out of his mouth were, “All the folks in this building are employees of the company. From all over the world, believe it or not, this is where we stay, the out of towner's as I like to call 'em.” Then he said, “You the new guy?”

“What ever gave you that idea?” I responded. He laughed and admitted that it was a stupid question. “I heard you were good.” He whispered as he looked around the hall. “You had spicy chicken for lunch today.” I told him. He looked stunned when I said this but I know I was correct. He began to smell his shirt then cupped his hand over his mouth and blew into it, testing his breath. “I put on a clean pair of clothes, I just brushed my teeth, there is no food items in this trash bag...”

“Check the money in your pocket.” He pulled out some of the paper currency from his pocket and begun to smell it, “Well I'll be damned. Wow, you are good. Hasta mañana, amigo.”

I fell asleep fast that night and dreamed of my new life in Argentina. My new life as a deodorant tester or so I thought...

I was tired and a little irked as I pulled into my driveway. It was a tough day at the office, lots of reports to fill out as well as the unavoidable office party for a retiring co-worker. Betty, was her name. She looked extremely happy amongst the miserable. I would too if I were getting out of that place. The food was good though, except for the tapenade someone brought. Way too much garlic and no capers, what were they thinking? All I could smell was the garlic I accidentally spilled on my white button down shirt and the brand new tie I was wearing. The taste still hadn't gone away so my breath was heavy and evil. I think my boss new when I was explaining some of the figures in one of the reports. Every time I spoke his head would jerk away. It became apparent from this movement that my breath was getting to him and also when he said, “Either get some gum or email me your explanations.” I had no gum, so I returned to my office.

I pulled myself out of the car and fumbled for the keys. They dropped to the ground. As I was picking them up I got the most ominous feeling as if someone or something were watching me. I quickly shot up and began looking around. I began to sweat which reacted to the spilled tapenade that seeped through the shirt and onto my skin. To my relief, I saw my cat looking at me from out the living room window. He sits on the table by the window and stares. It's a welcoming sight, usually, however today, I'm not so sure. I detected some wickedness, or maybe I was just overwhelmed by garlic.

I walked into the my house. The afternoon sun was a comfort as it shone through the large living room window as well as the smaller ones that outlined my kitchen. I passed the cat as I made my way to the kitchen to make one of my prize winning smoothies. He didn't even look at me.

Preparing a smoothie, I feel like an assembler or a chemist mixing chemicals. Coming up with the right concoction takes talent, but mainly a lot of trial and error. However, I've got people thinking I'm a natural at it and that I should go into business because they're so good. We'll see. Maybe when I retire it will give me something to do.

As I poured the fresh frozen strawberries into the blender I felt a sharp pain cut into my Achilles. It was a pain I've never felt before and I passed out for a few seconds. I thought I had been shot. It wasn't. It was even worse and something that never ever crossed my mind, I couldn't ever imagine something like this ever crossing my mind. My cat, with his sharp claws severed my right Achilles tendon. He pounced on me and went right for my tie. He was trying to eat it. His claws dug into my shirt, tearing the fabric, ripping me to shreds. Then I realized, he thought I was tapenade. I forgot how much he loved olives. He would go crazy for them, it made them insane. I couldn't have them in the house. Now, I was paying for it. I threw him off me but not for long. Seconds later he was raking my face with his Freddy Krueger like claws. I started reaching on the counter for a knife but all I got was a banana. To my surprise, he coiled away when I stuck it in his face in a last ditch effort to save my life. He didn't like the banana. I had him on the run. Limping and bloodied, I pursued him into the living room, thrusting the banana in his fuzzy little face. My only chance was to get to the shower and clean my body from its garlic ridden stench. It was working. I was winning. I began to taunt my kitty, “Pussy don't like banana, huh? Pussy don't like banana!”

Six months later, at my retirement party, I made sure it was garlic and tapenade free. My smoothie business is through the roof. Most importantly, my cat hasn't attacked me since.

The walls of Peabody's office were painted a dull white. In fact, everything in the office was painted a dull white, it was the official color of the corporation after all. The desk, the chair, the floors and even Peabody's shirt was a dull white. The only things that stood out in the room were the black telephone on the desk, the bright yellow clock on the wall and Peabody's khaki slacks. The clock ticked and tocked as Peabody sat there motionless, staring straight ahead with an expression on his face similar to the Mona Lisa. The only evidence he was actually alive were the occasional blinking of his eye lids. Mary came in wearing the same uniform, dull white shirt and khakis, the only difference was the dull white bow in her hair. She smiled as she greeted Peabody, “Good morning.” Peabody smiled back, “Good morning to you.” Mary plopped down at her desk and stared straight ahead, similar to how Peabody was doing it, company policy it was. Her desk faced in the same direction so her back was to Peabody the whole time. She had a red phone on her desk. “Any...” She started to ask. “No.” Peabody said. “Do you think...” Mary started to ask another question. Quickly, Peabody replied, “No.”

“What about...”

“I highly doubt it.” Mary slumped in her chair and started to cry. Peabody was startled. He'd never seen anyone cry before, he didn't truly understand it, so he picked up the phone. “Yeah, I'm looking for a word...I'm not quite sure how to describe it...she's shaking and making noises...hold on I'll check.” Peabody got up from his desk and walked over to Mary. He looked at her face for a moment, his expression was one of tenderness and concern. Slowly moving his hand toward her face he softly wipes away a tear with his finger, then looks at it, studies it, then returns to his desk and picks up the phone. “It felt wet, yeah it was water coming from her eyes...yeah, I'll hold.” Mary's sobbing was subsiding and Peabody was moving his head to the beat of the muzak that was playing over the phone. “Yep, I'm here...did you say cry? How do you spell that? Oh, that's what that means, okay thank you. Yes, you have a good day too.” He hung up the phone, smiling, happy he learned something and happy because of the excitement of the whole episode. “I could've told you what the word was of what I was doing. You didn't need to call Information.” Mary spoke up. “I wasn't sure what to do, I've never seen that before.” Peabody confessed. “I do it all the time, ever since I started working this job.” Peabody didn't know what to say, he started the same job a couple of days before Mary and that's never happened to him. This was an “important job” as his supervisor put it. Each office in the corporation has a job to do, it's a very big corporation, one that gets bigger by the day. Offices are built on a daily basis, all with the hopes of filling them someday. Peabody doesn't know why they build so many, there are ones in the back that were built, thousands of them but they are empty. All the building seems to be happening in the front part of the corporation. He hears the building all day long. Not a lot has happened lately, the phone rang once and he doesn't remember when that was. The word they were in charge of was learned long ago and is totally understood. There was talk from the corporation that his office would be automated and he and Mary would be reassigned, perhaps to the back part but that hasn't happened yet. Their word is “underwear” and they are responsible for and maintaining the ability to know what “underwear” is, how to spell it and responsible for knowing the correct size of the word. That's what the call was about, so long ago, which size underwear to get. It was easy, a card on the desk says, LARGE and that was that. Since that time, the phone hasn't rung. He wonders if he'll ever get transferred to a different word office. Each word known, has it's own separate office with a well trained and knowledgeable staff. There are words that are hard to spell or hard to define, so those offices are exciting and busy and always contain some drama. Then, there are the words that are known, easy to spell and simply don't get used much. There are offices for each of these but usually are manned by a single or small staff of two. Not much excitement, just a lot of sitting and staring. A lot of listening to the ticking of the clock or to another person breathing. Peabody thought of how he almost got transferred to the office of the word Constantinople, a word that needs a lot of attention from a great office staff. That was many years ago, now he's stuck in the office of the word, “underwear”. “Hey Mary, can you teach me how to cry?”

The room was silent. The books were stacked in a column six feet high. They were old and musty from sitting in the basement for the past 30 years. The books faced in different directions but still stood straight. The edges of the pages were stained with corrosion from the dampness of a dark dingy lonely place. He had no use for these books anymore other than to make a spontaneous art display in the middle of his living room. Maybe he'd leave them there for the next tenants. Whoever they be, they'd walk in, see the stack and be greeted by, Bold Courage by Bean Witherspoon, The Ragged Death by Winston Ryles, Obsession of Truth by Eleanore Williams, The Stone's Touch by Morse Wormsley, The Angels and the Serpents by Ruth Grimes and Silk in the Hunter by Skylar Jones. They would have plenty of reading material in case the electricity went out or were taking a day trip to the beach. An empty box sat in the spot where the television once sat. He thought for a second and wondered if there were any out of print editions in the stack. Perhaps he could make a couple of bucks, god knows he could surely use it. He sat down on the cold hardwood floor, next to an unopened letter from the bank and thought about it. The hardcovers were either rust colored or brown and the printing on the side was worn and faded. They were mostly science related or pertained to birds. He imagined his grandfather with one of these books in his hands, sitting in his soft leather chair, thumbing through the pearl white pages, occasionally taking a sip of his brandy and nodding his head slowly like he just learned something. Then he'd snap it shut, put it back on one of the shelves and grab another. The image of his grandfather faded back to the empty study when the phone rang. “Hello. Yeah, I'm almost done, just getting the last of my grandfather's things... No, no I found some of his books in the basement...Yeah I know, I was scared to go down there as a kid, not too fun as an adult either.” He looked around the empty house, one of the kitchen cabinets was open. His grandmother stood in front of it, her face stern yet playful, she closed it with a wink, smiled and said, “I'll close it this time but next time no cookie.”

“No, I'm still here. I'm just going to grab these books... I'm going to put them in my office. I'll have a little library for myself... I know...They called?...There's an auction sign on the front door...We'll be fine, talk to you in a few. Bye.” He started loading the books into the box. When he was finished he carried the box and rest it just outside the front door. He was outside looking in, there were no images just emptiness. He closed the door for the last time.

I awoke to the feeling of extreme warmth. Slowly opening my eyes, I could see the bright sun as it shined through the window. The warming rays of sunlight beaming directly on the rug where I positioned myself the night before. It's the simple things in life, really, that you tend to appreciate, a sunny warm spot, a table to lay on to look out the window and a nice couch to scratch. I stretched, gave myself a good bath and headed into the kitchen where my kitty box was. It was in need of changing and the choice spots had been already used but as luck would have it, I found a small patch and did my duty. I ran out of the box as fast as I could because something scared me. I think one of my older duties rolled onto my back paw or perhaps it was a monster, either way, I wasn't sure what it was but there was no use in taking any chances, so I high tailed it out of there. I ran to my favorite perch, a table right by the window, and took a nap. I dreamed I was a stand-up comedian and I opened with this joke, “My kitty litter box is like the U.S Energy Policy...it needs to be changed.” It killed. Then I said, “I have a dry sense of humor, kind of like my food.” That didn't work quite as well but I kept going. The owner of the club said he'd like to see me again and if I did well he'd book me. I woke up to the sound of birds. I stretched and gave myself another bath. Yawning, I lay back down and took another nap.