Jack groaned, and slowly opened one eye. Then closed it. Then he opened the other eye. Then closed it. The incessant sound from the digital alarm was doing its job. Jack murmured one soft word, "Damn." Pulling the blanket over his head, he laid in bed, mentally counting the high pitched, irritating electronic beeps. The small, white plastic gadget was in actuality, a combination alarm clock, and pedometer (with convenient belt clip), that Jack had received four Christmases ago as a gift from Bernie. Jack had been pleasantly surprised at first, but had been abruptly halted in his reverie, when he spotted an advertising message for "Viagra," boldly imprinted on the top. Indeed, Bernie had presented Jack with something he had evidentally gotten for free!
On top of that, the alarm had been preset for four-thirty every morning, and Jack had no idea how to reset it, as Bernie had conveniently "lost" the instructions. So, for four years, Jack had been awakened from a sound sleep at precisely four-thirty (or three-thirty, depending if daylight savings time was in effect), each and every morning.
Jack had attempted to hide it in the most remote locations of his apartment, wrapping it in thick coats and blankets, but that damnable noise, had undoubtedly been scientifically selected, to penetrate the eardrum, no matter where it was. It was like a blog post, he once had read online, by some guy passing himself off as "The Silver Streak," about some old man's irritating Timex wristwatch. The infernal device could have been located in Russia, and folks in Alaska could have heard it, you betcha!
Finally, after noting on the tiny greenish-gray screen, that it had taken seven thousand, five-hundred and thirty-nine steps to relocate it, Jack had simply given up, and just listlessly tossed in on the carpet next to his air mattress, where it bounced once, neatly clicked off one more step on the display, and came to rest permanently in the corner, where it had remained, gathering dust, for three years and ten months.
Eyes closed, Jack mentally finished counting the sixty beeps, that would continue for a full minute, when it would mercifully cease, until it would beep back to life the following morning. Jack finally opened both eyes, and sat up on his inflatable air mattress, pulling the heavy blue blanket to the side. He stood up in the dark, small bedroom of his sparsely furnished townhouse apartment, and slowly plodded across the hall to the bathroom. "Well, might as well get the old morning reading done," he muttered to himself.
Roughly seven minutes and twenty-two seconds later, after taking care of his basic bodily functions, brushing his teeth, shaving, and combing what was left of his thinning brown hair, Jack emerged fully awake. He slowly made his way to the end of the hall to the spare bedroom, where his computer was located, nearly tripping over an empty bottle of "Boone's Farm Pineapple Apple Mango" wine, that he had neatly polished off the night before.
He settled into the comfortable black vinyl swivel chair, that he had purchased on sale at the local Wal-Mart Super Center for $39.99, and faced the small black desk ($35.99, unassembled from Wal-Mart, which had taken him three days to assemble). On the desktop, neatly sat his Yakisoba 17-inch, Flat Panel HD Monitor and a small shelf to the right was host to his Yokudishu Desktop F2210 Ink Jet Printer (on sale for $29.99, also from Wal-Mart). Jack flicked on the small gooseneck lamp, (found in a dumpster) which was also attached to the shelf. Below that, sat Jack's pride and joy; a Yakisoba MT-88 Computer Tower (Ditto from Wal-Mart, $499.99). Pushing the little blue button that started the hard drive whirring, Jack waited as the screen flickered to life, and went through the dutiful Windows Vista booting-up process.
He sat back, and gazed at the poster of Rush Limbaugh, photographed smoking a huge cigar, which was hanging by two thumbtacks on the plain, eggshell painted wall. In actuality, Jack had no political convictions whatsoever, as he considered the democratic process "too complex." Jack however, enjoyed calling into Rush's show at least once a week, just to say, "Rush, you're a great American," primarily to hear his own voice on the radio. Rush's staff had gotten used to their frequent caller, and would always put Jack right through to the "big guy." Sometimes, Jack would add, "and Rush, if you ever ran for President, I'd vote for you six times!" causing the rotund, radical, right-wing extremist commentator, to erupt in gales of raucous laughter, followed by loud coughing fits. Oh well... at least for now, the free poster was covering an unsightly stain on the wall, that had occurred when Jack had absent-mindedly shook a can of beer before opening it.
Eight minutes later the desktop opened, as the customized wallpaper that Jack had installed a year ago, with the invaluable assistance from the seven-year old kid in the apartment next door, sprung into view. There, on the bright screen were the ridiculously, grinning full-color images of Jack's girlfriend, Arlene and her sleazy brother, Bernie happily eating a Pu-Pu Platter, with arms entwined, at "Chang's Chinese Garden," which Jack had been forced to photograph on New Year's Eve, two years ago. Jack had also been forced to pay the entire bill, when Bernie gleefully announced he'd "forgotten his wallet." Jack had unsuccessfully tried to delete the picture on many occasions, especially after he and Arlene would have an explosive argument, and she would tearfully storm off, back to the house in which she and her brother shared. The "whiz-kid" from next door could be of no help, as he had been taken away by Federal Officers one morning, after repeatedly hacking into the NORAD main computer, nearly causing an unwarranted nuclear strike against Norway, because the kid had heard, it was the number one country in the world, to live in.
Jack checked his e-mail. He read his inbox to find nine entries... all spam. Spam! Whenever he saw any reference to Spam, he thought of Arlene, and whenever he saw Arlene, the pinkish image of a chunk of Spam intruded upon his wretched consciousness. Arlene. Damn Arlene. And her brother. Naturally, Arlene's brother. Bernie. Damn him too. Damn both of them. Well... better check the old bank account online, and see if there's enough...
Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, Jack's cell phone played a tinny version of "Tiptoe Through The Tulips," that Bernie playfully had programmed in, and Jack could never quite successfully remove. Jack reached for the phone, which he had plugged into the charger overnight. As he pulled the phone to his ear, the cord snagged onto what Jack had thought was an empty can of "Milwaukee's Cheapest," and watched as warm, stale beer spilled out onto his keyboard, causing the monitor screen to rapidly change into a kaleidoscope of bright colors, until finally settling on the uncomfortable hue of black.
"Damn!" Jack shouted. Taking a minute to collect himself, he turned his attention to the irritating phone and its repeating music which was getting louder, and louder. He flipped open the cover, and saw the unmistakable number of Arlene on the little screen. He pressed the send button.
"Hello," Jack weakly murmured. He heard the unmistakable sound of Arlene's whiny voice through the tiny speaker.
"Jack? Hi. This is Arlene." Jack wondered why, after thirty years of an on-again, off-again relationship, would she still feel the need to identify herself? Jack heard a strange crackling sound emanating from the computer tower, and watched as a puff of black smoke emerged from the DVD drive. Having gasped its last breath, the machine finally, and agonizingly died. Jack could only stare at the black metal cabinet, his mouth hanging open.
"Jack? Jack? Are you there?" the whiny voice kept repeating.
Jack could only let out a soft "unghh."
"Oh, good. Bernie said you'd probably be up by now." Good old Bernie, Jack thought. Arlene continued, "What time are you coming by to pick us up?"
Jack, shook his head in bewilderment. "Us? Who's Us?"
"Bernie and me, silly. You know we have to be at the ship by eight."
"Yeah, but why is your brother coming?"
"Well, Bernie's offered to drive your car back to our place, so you won't have to pay twenty dollars a day for parking. Isn't that just great of him? He's such a doll!"
"Hmm... well, twenty dollars a day is kinda steep..." Jack had to agree on that one, at least.
"Kewl beanz!!! Well, we figure, it'll take about an hour to get to the pier, and I think we should be one of the first in line to sign in. Then we can find our room, and just unwind! Oh, and Bernie said to stop off, and pick up a six-pack and a bottle of Cold Duck. And two packs of Marlboros. Wait... okay... THREE packs of Marlboros. Oh yeah... my period is about to start, so get a pack of Tampax. See ya in a bit! Bye."
Jack reached over, and picked up his cheap watch, which was resting near the now-defunct computer monitor. Five AM. Damn! Better get packing! Jack cursed himself, as he rummaged through everything in his closet, and threw clothing into the awaiting open suitcase on the floor. Finally, he grabbed the plastic zippered bag that held the rented tuxedo, for the "Captain's Table" event onboard. He ran down the stairs, and bolted through the front door to his car. Throwing everything in the trunk, he threw open the driver's side door, and sat down.
Suddenly realizing, in his haste to pack, he had forgotten to get himself dressed, as he was now sitting in his boxer shorts, he uttered a quick, "Damn!" and, ran back to the trunk, opened the suitcase and threw on a pair of tan Dockers, a yellow short sleeve shirt. with a little alligator on the pocket, that he had held onto since 1980, white socks, and a pair of sandals. Slamming the trunk lid, he dove into the driver's seat, started the car, backed up, and peeled out of the parking lot like a madman.
Jack's favorite convenience store, was only located a block-and-a-half from his apartment, plus it also sold the cheapest gas in town. "Might as well fill up with the old gasolino," Jack thought, as he pulled up, and opened the car door. Swiping his debit card through the face of the pump, he casually leaned on the trunk, as he began filling his 1992 Oldsmobile Embassy, as he reached inside his pocket for a Marlboro.
Suddenly, the relative quiet across the concrete pad, was broken by a high-pitched woman's voice emanating from the outdoor speakers. "Good morning, Poochie Lips!"
Damn! It was Melanie, the short, rather overweight manager of "Vinnie's Kwik Stop-And-Run." For six months, she had been invading his private moments with the gas pumps, with her loud, abrupt, flirtatious commentary. Jack looked over at the window, where Melanie was giving him a cute little wave, as eight other people stared at Jack. He had attempted to try different hours of the day, to stop at "Vinnie's," but she always seemed to be working behind the register. Jack had often wondered, if she actually LIVED in that store!
A few minutes later, Jack finished topping off the gas tank, replaced the nozzle, and dutifully waited for the receipt that never appeared. Damn! "Well... gotta go in anyway, to spend even more money," he mused. He sauntered across the concrete pad, and made his way to one of the glass double doors, that made a little "ding dong" sound when he opened it. Melanie was flirtatiously leaning across the counter, her straight long brown hair, carefully draped over her plump shoulders, for maximum seductive impact. "Good morning handsome," she purred. Jack could only manage a half-hearted wave and quick smile, as he made his way to the beer and wine cooler.
Opening the door, Jack purused the offerings, finally grabbing a six-pack of "Milwaukee's Cheapest," and a bottle of Cold Duck that was on sale. He approached the awaiting Melanie, and placed the items on the counter. Still smiling, she started ringing up the totals. "Will there be anything else?" she whispered demurely.
"Oh yeah," Jack said. "Um... Marlboros. Two, no... three packs... no, make it a carton." Jack had quickly considered the possibility of not being able to buy cigarettes on the ship or worse, having to pay highly inflated prices.
Melanie turned and bent over to retrieve the carton from a lower shelf, seductively shaking her large rear end at him, in the process. Turning back and placing the cigarettes on the plastic countertop, she pursed her lips. "Is there anything else you need, baby?"
Jack thought for a minute. Damn! There WAS something else! Finally, it hit him. "Oh yeah," he blurted out. "I need a case of Tampax!" Melanie's eyes popped open in surprise. Jack corrected himself. "I mean a pack... a box... you know. However they come." Melanie laughed, and Jack watched her waddle over to the health and beauty aids aisle, to return a few seconds later with a small blue box.
"What am I gonna do with ya, Jack?" Melanie asked in feigned resignation. She totalled up the purchases and took his debit card. Swiping it through the machine, she handed it back repeating, "Yep. What am I gonna do with ya? Type in your pin. You know the drill, big guy." Carefully studying his face for a second, she murmured teasingly, "I know what I'd LIKE to do with you..." Jack typed in his secret pin of zero zero zero zero, and glanced up into her eyes. She looked like a starving moose. Finally she sighed, and carefully placed his items into two white plastic bags. "Well... have a nice... whatever."
Jack nodded, and quickly made his way through the door, and back to his waiting car. Sliding into the left hand seat, he allowed himself to reflect on what had just happened. Melanie! That poor, poor creature obviously loves me, Jack thought. Unfortunately, she did not meet Jack's "ideals" of physical perfection in a woman. Maybe if she lost two hundred pounds, he muttered to himself, as he departed for Arlene and Bernie's house, lighting the first Marlboro of the day.
