Lunch. Pizza place. Me. Kurt. Chloe. Dr. Filth. Steak and cheese. Cheeseburger. Caesar chicken salad. A 40 of Big Bear Malt Liquor in a brown paper bag. My eyelids have permanently receded into my forehead. I’ve drunk nearly a dozen of the tiny vending machine cups of coffee. I’ve drunk two 24oz bottles of Mountain Dew. I’ve eaten three chocolate bars. I’ve run around the plaza to keep my blood flowing. I think I’m going to die.
“I think Rubin is going to die,” Chloe says. I nod dumbly. “Maybe you should go home.” I shake my head. “You’re going to have a fun weekend,” she says.
“I’m skipping it,” I manage to spit out around my steak and cheese.
“Skipping it?” Kurt cries. “You’re leaving me here all alone?”
“I’m going to Zoe’s wedding tomorrow. I’m recovering on Sunday. I’m getting fired on Monday,” I let dribble from my lips.
“You sound pretty confident about the firing,” Dr. Filth says.
“I’ve been on the war path today. I’ve given ample reason. They can’t refuse me.”
“Why not just walk out?” Chloe asks.
“And miss out on unemployment? No way!”
“Good point,” Kurt says. “So what’s going on with Alicia?”
Why does everyone want to know about Alicia? Why are the intimate details of my life deemed worthy to tell? Why can’t people just forget that I have any kind of life beyond when I leave their sight? I’m not constantly badgering about Kurt’s and Chloe’s problems; why are they so interested in me? Am I really that much of a marvel of modern society that their very existence depends on what girl I’m hanging out with or over who I am and am not (usually am not) about to have sex with? Who cares? I don’t. Why should they care about me? “She’s moving to Phoenix a month from today.”
“Are you going with her?” Chloe asks.
I stare down at my knuckles tightly gripping the green plastic table. “I thought about it. I really did.”
“So do it,” Kurt says.
“I can’t just do it,” I tell him, leaning back. “I can’t just up and move across the country with a girl I hardly know. That would be stupid.”
“What have you got going here?” Chloe asks. “You could go there, get a shitty job, and drink a lot too. You either stay the same, or you improve. There is no going any further down, not for any of us.”
I shrug. “Good point. Good point.”
“Jack would do it,” Filth points out.
Yet another good point. Jack would do it. Jack would run off with the girl to the other coast, drink like a fish, dump her, run home, and start another adventure. Jack would do all that. Kerouac, however, I am not. I am Rubin Valentine.
Apparently seeing my discomfort, Kurt changes the subject. “Have you heard about Roberta Pereen?” he asks, finishing his cheeseburger.
“Who is Roberta Pereen?” Chloe asks.
“Possibly the most evil woman in the database of SpectraCom customers,” he says. “And I talked to her today.”
“Is this the one you were laughing at so hard earlier?” I ask.
“Mm Hmm,” he responds. “I logged off to read her notes, and it’s hilarious. She’s either completely nuts or SpectraCom did something really bad to her and now she’s getting even.” He sips his cola to let this knowledge sink in. “First off, she refuses to talk to any woman. She says that women are stupid and she will not deal with them in any way. If she gets a girl, she starts screaming for a supervisor. We end up calling her a lot too, because she claims to be agoraphobic, and won’t go out to pay her bill. She has credit cards, which she will usually pay with, but only when her service is about to go off. She does this because she doesn’t believe it is really SpectraCom, even if she called us. When she calls in, she usually calls in twice–once to be decent, and once to be insane.”
“Which did you get?” Filth asks.
“I got the sane one,” he answers with a sigh. “Thankfully. The notes are littered with passages about how nice she was, and how the rep couldn’t believe the notes about her causing problems. Then there will be a note a few minutes later from someone else, talking about how she called in screaming obscenities. I found where she called in because she wrote a corporate jingle for SpectraCom and wanted the heads of the company to hear it. When the representative explained he couldn’t get on the line, she then sang it for the rep and asked his opinion. There were several other notes indicating she called back to see if the heads of the company had heard the jingle yet, and what they thought about it. By the way, the rep didn’t say whether he liked it, just that it was very, very long.”
“She sounds wonderful,” Chloe whispers. “I’d love to get her.”
“That’s not all. Her notes went on forever. Another one talked about how she became agoraphobic.”
“And this was all in the notes?” I ask with clear disbelief.
“You’re going to have to look,” Kurt says, holding out his hands as if trying to show me they are clean. “She makes people put them in, said another one of the notes. She says she wants it in detail, and makes you read back what you wrote.” He pauses to eat a french fry. “She made me read back my note, but nothing interesting had happened on the call.”
“I can’t wait to see that,” Chloe says.
“Can you guys print them out?” Filth asks. “We can print ours.”
“I can try,” Kurt says, even though there really isn’t a way. We’ve been trying to figure it out for months now. “Don’t you want to hear how she became agoraphobic? It’s the best part of the story.” He starts to chuckle, and it begins working its way into a laugh.
“What happened?” Chloe asks, suddenly enthralled.
Kurt’s laughter has become spasmodic and debilitating. It takes several seconds before he is able to speak again. “She caught some virus—and keep in mind that she made the person type this, and then called back to check on the note, to make sure he actually entered this—that keeps her from controlling her lower intestinal functions. She went to pay her SpectraCom bill, and she lost it, pissing and shitting all over herself. She was in the grocery store with green diarrhea running down her leg. It was the most embarrassing moment of her life.”
“Sounds like that’s where she turned against you guys,” Doc Filth says.
“Yeah, so now she’s afraid to go out in public because it might happen again,” Kurt says.
Chloe peers inside at the clock. “Looks about time to head back to work,” she says, starting to pack up her Tupperware.
“Oh joy,” I sigh.
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