Javier Carbajal

Today Will Always Be Tomorrow

Thursday 4:04 pm: I take off my Ray Ban sunglasses that I like to show off every now and then, I get off my car and I start walking from the furthest corner in the parking lot all the way to the Home Depot back entrance. I’m probably the only person who likes to quote Shakespeare as a form of therapy.

“Now is the winter of our discontent / Made glorious summer by this sun of York--Damn. It’s hot out here!”

As I make my way to the building, I check my watch for the third time since I left the car. Yep, five minutes after four in the evening, so chances are that one of the managers is going to make a smart-ass comment about my lateness. I’m also crossing my fingers that no one will notice that I haven’t shaved since yesterday morning. I stop in the middle of the gigantic and nearly deserted parking lot and I glance at the big, orange logo on top of the store. It suddenly hits me that exactly two years ago to this day I started working for The Home Depot Corporation.

Jesus Christ, three years working in this hell hole! Yeah, and then what? Damon Albarn sure nailed it right on the head when he sang “Today will always be tomorrow”. It’s true that up to this point I’ve been living my life within a comfort zone, but I will no longer let those lyrics apply to my lifestyle. I am fully determined to avoid falling into the pitfall that symbolizes middle class society along with its meaningless daily routines. And to prove my point, I am carrying in my left pocket the key that will open the door to an unpredictable and exciting life. I’m going to enjoy my actions from now on, and this time I mean it. 

I am clocking in for the night. What better way to celebrate a new chapter in my life than by quoting a gold ol’ Bard classic: “Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player / That struts and frets his hour upon the stage / And then is heard no more.” Well, I’ll bet my soul on this promise: My life will never be a walking shadow; instead it’ll be a monument: solid, tough and forever lasting. And if my Macduff ever dares to show up, I will cut off his head before he even has a chance to deliver one monologue.

4:31 pm: I work the cash register at the Home Depot and that’s fine by me. I don’t think it would be convenient to get more involved in the other departments, despite my managers’ wishes, since I feel I should spend most of my efforts on my college studies. It’s starting to get cloudy outside, so I guess I should start looking for something to dust off. Business has been so slow that I’ve only had to ring up five customers so far. Well, actually it’s only been four people; the last guy had a problem with his credit card but he told me that he would come back with some cash in a couple minutes. That was fifteen minutes ago so I’m not holding my breath.

I guess I should start thinking about my strategy for tonight. Hold on a sec. Spider-sense tingling, some kind of evil entity sneaking up behind me.

“Ha-Vee-Err!! What’s the deal, man?”

Ah yes, here’s Steve. A legend to many in the tiling department. Amazingly enough, this guy’s been working here for four years and some people still consider him mentally stable. He’s a real tight guy and I get along with him fine, but he can get a bit weird sometimes. His real name is Ali Hussaini and something or other, but everybody calls him “Steve”. He’s a college graduate who got his bachelor’s degree six months ago. I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t know in what field he got his degree on. I guess I’ll just ask him later. He’s starting to look at me weird, so I guess I better say something before he starts accusing me of procrastinating again. That always bugged me.   

“Not doing much of anything. Are you leaving already?”

“Yeah, man. Jeffrey told me that he’s going to be training this new guy. He said that he was watching the Weather Channel this morning, and it’s gonna rain pretty much all night, so there’s no point for me hanging around here doing nothing. Hey, listen man, you have any matches, or a lighter at least?”

“Sorry Steve, I don’t smoke.”

“Oh right. I thought I saw you tripping just now, but that’s cool.  Hey, be a sweetie and let me use the phone in your register, ok?”

“Here you go. Remember that you have to dial M to get an outside line—“

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Steve chuckles and presses the 9 key followed by a local phone number. “Hey, Laura? Yeah, I’m off the clock now. Cool. I’ll see ya in a bit. Yeah? No, that’s ok, I’ll wait. Bye.” He hangs up, he rubs his red eyes with his left hand and then he turns his attention to me. “Well, I hope you don’t mind if I keep you company for the next ten minutes or so. My ride won’t be here in awhile.”

“No, that’s all right.” It is starting to rain heavily outside. I don’t see any managers anywhere so I just lean back on the register machine. Steve’s a really interesting individual, we have different personalities, but we also share many things in common. Just like me, he moved to the United States at the age of 14, but unlike me, he’s already mastered the American accent and his English is flawless. If it weren’t for his dark brown skin, I could never tell that he was born in Mumbai, India. On the other hand, I can blend easily among my fellow white Americans, that is, until I open my mouth. My accent is so strong that it could probably bench press my body weight plus 25 pounds more. Steve looks at me with a sanguine smile, and he says:

“How are you, man? How’s San Jackie going?”

“Eh. It’s going. Only a couple more semesters till I transfer to You of Ech.”

“Yeah, you told me once. Hey! Got any big plans for the weekend? Jeffrey’s having a party in his apartment tonight; that’s if you want to come and join us…for a change.”

“I don’t know. I have to start working on this Business Law project that is due in two days. It’s, like, five pages long and single spaced.” My apathy is followed by an awkward moment of silence. Someone should give me an award for Best Conversation Killer in the City of Houston. I guess it’s up to me bring this chat back to life.

“Well, actually I do have something coming up in a couple weeks.”

I put my hand in my left pocket and I pull out a couple of Ticketmaster entries. This was the key to open the door to a new chapter in my life, but I never pictured someone like Steve to be on the other side of that door.

“Nice. For what band is that?” Steve can’t hide the amusement in his face.

“We’re going to see Blur in two weeks at the Verizon Theatre.” For whatever reason, Steve starts laughing uncontrollably, and then once he regains his composure, he replies, “Blorr? Who’s that? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him. Or them. Is this band or a solo artist?”

I couldn’t help but get a little annoyed at his ignorance. “It’s Blur. B-L-U-R. You should know them, man! They’re only one of the best bands in the world!” Steve just shakes his head, so I keep going, “Oh come on! You know who Damon Albarn is, right? The guy who’s also leading the new Gorillaz international hip-hop super group?” Steve shakes his head again. “The guy who sang that atrocious, but nevertheless, incredibly popular song #2 that goes “WooHooo!”?” Steve keeps shaking his head like a bubble head doll. Finally, he says:

“Nope. I’m sorry but it doesn’t ring a bell. Maybe I’ve heard the songs before but I never learned the name of the band. Besides, I’m not a music geek like you are. Don’t get me wrong, man, there’s nothing wrong with having an encyclopedic knowledge in pop music. I mean, I’m a film buff myself. For example, I’ve seen every single movie made by Quentin Tarantino.”

“What are you talking about? Tarantino has only directed like five or six movies--?”

“All right, you know what—forget about music and movies. There’s something more important that I want to ask you. I can see that you’re carrying two tickets with you; I’m dying to know who you’re going with? Anyone I’ve met?”

“Perhaps?” I cross my arms with a smirk in my face, which Steve answers with one of his own, but I don’t think he’s figured out my plan yet. After a couple of seconds, he looks at me as if trying to inquire what I meant. I finally decide to let it out, “Well, the truth is that I haven’t invited anyone yet.” My good friend seems a bit puzzled now.

“Oh. Well, common sense dictates that if you’re going to invite someone to a concert, you should do the inviting first and then, once you’ve secured an invitation, purchase a ticket, not the other way around. Who’s gonna buy a ticket from you anyway? And just out of curiosity, how much did you have to pay for them?”

“Well, these two tickets were worth 60 dollars a piece. And that’s with tax and all those other convenience charges included. I’m also going to invite someone to come with me, and yes, all expenses covered. It’s going to be my treat! How sweet is that?” I really let it sink in whenever I have the rare luxury to brag like the best.

“So let me get this straight, you paid 120 bucks for a concert that’s taking place in less than two weeks and you’re going to invite just about anybody lucky enough to say yes?”

“Well, not just any-body?”

“Ahhhhhhhhhh. Okay. I see how it is now. I’m sorry man, I’m a bit thrown off because we’ve known each other for two years and this is the first time I see you pull off a stunt like this one. But I still don’t get it, Javier. What’s the point of buying a ticket before asking a girl out? I mean, I have my own theory, but I’d like to hear the official version first.”

“You have your own theory? No way, I’m dying to hear this theory that you have managed to formulate in such a short period of time. Please, Professor Nietzsche, if you could elaborate on your experimental findings since you obviously know more about my life than me.”

“Heh, you always crack me up, man. Well, it’s rather obvious if you ask me. From what I’ve gathered, it seems that you are so shy that at some point you got sick of your own character flaw to the degree where you’re now forcing yourself to ask a girl out to a concert by buying an extra ticket. So am I right or am I right?” I have to give him credit for that, the guy was never an idiot; however, I don’t think I’ll ever understand why a smart guy like him hasn’t been able to get out of this job.  

“You flatter me Steve. Just for the record, I’m not shy. I’m not insecure either. Ok, maybe I am a little tiny bit insecure. The problem is that I always wanted to play my deck straight, y’know.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t get the poker metaphor.”

“Ok, let me be blunt and honest with you. I simply felt it was about time I grew a pair of ------ and do something for myself instead of pissing away the best years of my life. Is that straightforward enough for you?”

“Hey, don’t let me stop you, man. Hardcore and all that. But listen, if you’ve got both your tickets, my guess is that you’re planning on inviting one of our fellow coworkers tonight? Anyone in mind?”

“Nah. It could be anybody. As long as I have someone to come along with me, I’m more than happy.”

“Hmmm. Let us do a little roll call then. What about Kelly?”

“Kelly? Are you kidding. I know her boyfriend. You know him, right? Andy? Big guy, six feet two. Works as a bouncer. Forget it, he never lets her out of his sight. Besides, she’s really not as nice and innocent and she appears to be.”

“Okay. What about Claudia?”

“Nah. Too old for me.”

“What about the other Kelly?”

“There’s another Kelly?”

“Yeah, Kelly Whitmore? She works in the gardening department?”

“Oh yeah, right. I know who you’re talking about.” I think about it for a couple of seconds and I quickly come up with a decision, “Nah, I don’t think so.”

“Geez, I’m sorry, man. I forgot Brad Pitt was working the register now.”

“Hey, why don’t you let me borrow Laura for a night?”

“Don’t make me laugh, a------. I’ve only been going out with her for two weeks. Listen, it took me nine freaking months to find a new girl. It’s getting more and more difficult for people my age to find someone available, awright? It’s like everyone’s in a rush to get married.”

“Nine months, uh? So you waited so long that you got desperate and eventually gave birth to your own girlfriend.” But before he can give me one of his witty comebacks, I quickly point to the young blonde chatting on her cell phone at the customer service booth. “What about Michelle? You think she’d be interested?”

“A-ha! You did have someone in mind, you lying rat!”

“Pfft. I don’t know what you’re talking about. So, what do you know about her?”

“Not much. I don’t think our paths have crossed before, but…she doesn’t seem all that bad. All I can tell you is that if you’re going to ask her out, it has to be tonight, because I do know that tonight happens to be her last day working here. How’s that for motivation?” As we try to get a good look at Michelle, we get startled by a loud claxon noise. A pick up truck pulls up near the entrance door. “Ah, finally! All right Javier, I’m outta here. Let me know how it all works out and also, MAKE-SURE-YOU-TALK-TO-HER. Nothing will come of Nothing.”

“Nothing will come of…? Isn’t that Henry V”?

“Nope. It’s actually King Lear.”

“Oh yeah. I had no idea you were into drama.”

“Shows how little you know me. I’m probably the only person on Earth who quotes Shakespeare as a form of therapy. It really helps and it doesn’t hurt that the quotes make me sound more intelligent than what I really am.” Once again, the pickup truck parked outside makes another loud claxon noise. “Dayum! Guess I better go. Hey Javier, I can’t wait till I see your disappointed a-- tomorrow!”

“Yeah, keep laughing! Just give me ten minutes, dude! Ten Minutes!”

Steve starts running towards the exit and into the heavy rain. I turn around and I can’t help but find it odd that I haven’t had to ring up a single customer since I began my conversation with Steve. No manager has bothered me either. Maybe this’ll be my lucky night after all. I glance at Michelle who’s still chatting on her cell phone. It’s a bit odd, but she and I have shared the same shifts for the past two months, and we’ve never exchanged more than a “hi” or a “goodbye”. I’ve rarely seen her smile, not even to customers, and because of that she might comes across as a bit arrogant. However, this girl has a strikingly beautiful face, the kind that makes a guy turn his head and walk into a wall. Ha! Yeah, right. Ten minutes. Bah! All I need is five minutes, a little confidence, and I’ll have this one in the bag.

9:08 pm: This is getting truly pathetic. If I’m going to make a move, it has to be now or never! What the hell went wrong!? It’s been almost five hours since that a------ Steve left and I still have my two concert tickets inside my pocket. I haven’t even asked a single person yet, never mind Michelle who’s been occupied with customers the whole freaking night, ever since it stopped raining at 5:30. I mean yeah, I had a couple of clear opportunities to approach this girl, but for whatever reason I couldn’t gather up the courage to do my pitch. But all the blame can’t be laid on me because every time I decide to finally make a move, either the f------ phone rings or I have to check out one of these dumb--- customers. I don’t get it! I thought it was going to rain all night long, but once it cleared up, the Home Depot got invaded by the redneck army of losers that we get only on weekends. What is this? Is there a ---damn hurricane coming to hit us next week? From what circle of hell did all these f------ people come from? What the f--- is wrong with me!?

            “Hey, Javier!” That’s great. It’s my manager Bob, what the f--- does this hillbilly piece of s--- want now? “Are you ready for me to count your bank? I bet you’re ready to go home.”

            “Hey, I was born ready, Bob.” Yeah, I was born ready, unlike you Bob, you disgusting piece of scum who has no future whatsoever. S---! What the hell am I thinking!? Bob’s always been one of the nicest and most decent managers in this place. I gotta get it together. I mean, is not going to be the end of the world if I can’t get to Michelle in time. No wait! This is my last chance to ask Michelle. It’s her last day, remember? And to make things worse, she should be clocking out any minute now! Bob sure is taking his time getting all the register stuff together. Dammit! I really need to open my mouth hole and say something. “Hey Bob, know what? I’m gonna catch up with you at the office later. I have to check something with Michelle.”

            “Hey, hold on a second, you!”

“Um, yes Bob, is there anything wrong?”

“Javier…did you shave before coming to work?”

            “Of course I did, man. Why, do I already have a shadow on me?” Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! This is so annoying!

            “Hey, next time I see you coming to work like that, you’re gonna have to drive back home and shave that nasty beard off.”

            Gosh, if I’m not mistaken, this is the fourth time he’s told me this in as many months. I put on wide smile for him and say, “That’s a deal, Bob. It’ll never happen again in a million, trillion years. Now I gotta take care of some business over at the customer service booth. I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes.”

            “Ok Javier, but don’t take long, all right?

            I only nod my head and I start moving towards the customer service booth. I am walking with a purpose until…S---! My mind is a blank! What was my opening line that I spent the whole evening mentally rehearsing?  Something about, umm, something about the weather. No, that’s not it. Okay concentrate. What. Is. My. Line.

            “Excuse me, sir?”

            Oh f---! It’s a nice old lady! Even God is throwing obstacles at me. It cannot get more cliché than the nice old lady. It pisses me off so much. “Yes sir! What can I service be of you? I mean, How kind service—I mean…” Smile. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

            “Well, I was wondering if you knew where--?

            “You need to locate an item of some sort? I’m terribly sorry it’s my first day here and to tell you the truth I have no idea where anything is. I am just as confused as you are but look! I can still help you out. Hey, Bob! Customer has a manager question for you!” I direct her towards Bob who’s still at my register position. With the nice old lady out of the way, the field is wide open. Ok. Opening line. Breathe. Exhale. Ok, I think got it! Awesome! Now what kind of accent was I going to be using for this line: the Spaniard? The French? The Liverpool? That’s right, The Beatles accent! How it goes again?

            “Uh hullo thur. I know we never ‘ave a chance to tolk, but I was wundering if you could do me a really big favour. You see…” Ok, that’ll do.

            “Hey, Javier!!!” I’m beginning to feel a brain tumor growing. I turn around and I smile.

            “Yes, Bob! You got the credit card batch!? Excellent!”

            “I’m ready to go into the office! Are you coming or what?”

            “Yes, Bob! Just spare me a minute, all right? I’ll catch up with you!”

            Good. I am finally at the Customer Service booth and she seems to be writing down something in the log book. She hasn’t noticed me yet, so that’s a great start. Now, I gotta pretend that I’m not interested in her. I am minding my own business. Yes, I am looking for some pencils. I am looking around for some documents. Geez, it sure is dusty in here—all right, enough of this nonsense. Nothing will come of nothing! Say the words and Nike Just Do It!!

            “I—

            “Excuse me…?” Nice old lady!!!???? Why!!!!????

            Michelle lifts her head and turns her attention to the customer. “Yes ma’am?”

            “I was wondering if you knew the price for these silver shower curtains.”

            “Off the top of my head, I don’t know. I’ll have to check the computer.” She turns around and she spots me standing just behind her like a zombie. “Oh! You almost scared me. Hey, you’re the cashier right? You wouldn’t happen to know the price of these shower curtains?”

            “Uh. Dey’re fiv fift apies.”

            Michelle frowns as she stands closer to me, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you.”

            “They’re, um, they’re five fifty a piece.”

            The old lady replies, “Thank you very much.” I’m shocked that she walks away without delighting us with an anecdote of her youth and how it somehow relates to shower curtains. Michelle goes back to her log book without a word of thanks. I look around and I see no managers or customers in sight. As I stare at her, it suddenly hits me that she's so gorgeous that I reckon I'd be the biggest idiot if I were to let this opportunity go. My hands are wet and my throat feels dry, but I know I need to do this. All I have to do is think Paul McCartney, open my mouth, deliver my opening line and let the rest work itself out.

            I walk away.

9:45 pm: After clocking out, I look outside and I notice that it’s raining again. Damn. I hate driving under these conditions. Guess I should wait indoors until this weather calms down. I let out a sigh, lean my head against a wall and close my eyes.

…

“Nasty weather, uh?”

“Yep. Busy day, too.”

“I don’t care. This being my last day, I was willing to take everything they threw at me.”

“Yeah. Say, I tried to talk to you, but we were so busy that I never got the chance. What I wanted to say was that I got stuck with an extra ticket for this concert that’s taking place in two weeks. I was wondering if you’d like to come?”

“Wow. That’s sweet, but…I’m moving to Idaho next Monday.”

“Oh. The potato state.”

“Yeah. So…what band are you going to see?”

“Blur.”

…

I open my eyes and I notice that the rain has stopped. I push open the exit door that leads to the employee parking lot. I look at my watch--ten after ten--but I don’t want to go home. I have to start working on this Business Law project that is due in two days, but quite frankly, I don’t feel like doing any homework tonight. So I reach for my cell phone and for the very first time ever, I dial Steve’s number.

Hmm, I forgot. I don’t have Steve’s number.

Note to self.      

FIN.

The Revision Account

As it is often the case, I spent more time thinking about what my story should be than writing the story itself. What really consumed my two weeks between the Poetry submission deadline and my own Short Story deadline was the whole brainstorming process. “What should I write about?” Well, I knew that I wanted to tell a story that was character driven. The reason for that is because of my background in theatre, and in this medium a story can only be told through action and dialogue. Additionally, I also wanted my short story to be entertaining. Since I was going to have to stand up in front of the class and read my work, I decided to write a piece of work that my fellow peers would find enjoyable. I know the feeling: there are few things worse than seeing students yawning or drooling when I’m doing a presentation. Of course, it’s an even worse feeling when someone writes a story that is meant to be funny, but the jokes fall flat.

In order to avoid this, I was going to play to my strengths. I’m not very good at writing stories with long narrative paragraphs that contain lots of exposition and character analysis, but little dialogue. Instead, I was going to turn my short story into a two-act play of sorts, where there’s only one setting and a small number of well-developed characters. I must admit that I was a little bummed out that our class wasn’t going to cover the drama genre. For the record, I would’ve taken drama over poetry (or even fiction) any day of the week. Once I adopted a structure, I drew my inspiration from French films of the late 1950s and 1960s, as well as from Tarantino films and other cinematic sources. In the French films of this era, there is a plot, but the viewer is pulled in by what the characters are saying and how they talk. One of the benefits of watching foreign films is that you have to read all the subtitles if you want to get into the movie, so it’s like having the script in your hands and reading along as the actors deliver their lines. This forces the viewer to focus more on the dialogue than on anything else, and in the French New Wave films, all the characters do is talk, talk, talk and talk a little more. It’s as if the love to hear themselves speak.

One aspect of Tarantino and French New Wave films that I really like is how the characters tend to drop lots of pop culture references in their dialogue, thus bringing a sense of realism. A basic example is how someone is more likely to ask for a “can of Red Bull” instead of a “can of energy drink.” It’s how people talk in real life and authors seeking to entertain their audiences shouldn’t shy away from doing that because they fear the story might not have the same literary impact 10, 20, 30 or a hundred years from now as it does today. I think it depends on how pop culture references are used and how they contribute to the story. In my opinion, they should be subtle, but sometimes they can come across as obtrusive, as it is often the case in TV series and movies where there’s plenty of product placement advertising. But then again, it wouldn’t be “advertising” if nobody would notice.

In the beginning, I wanted to do a story about a middle age man trying to seduce a younger, barely legal, teenage girl. Once again, I wanted to revisit the “Lolita” theme. BUT…I could never figure out how to end that particular story in a satisfying manner. So I came up with another idea while driving back from class one night. I read in the text book that you can’t go wrong when you extract your idea from your own past. So I thought about that and I came up with the following concept:

I am college student with a difficult assignment. I have to write a short story in less than a week and I don’t have any ideas. I consult with a friend from work and he advises me to base my story in a previous experience. I tell him that I don’t have any interesting experiences to tell and that my life is rather dull and boring. So he tells me to start creating those experiences by asking a girl out or doing something daring and exciting.

All right! I finally had a story idea and I was very enthusiastic about it, that is, until I read the section in our textbook called “The Seven Deadly Sins of Fiction.” One these deadly sins was “The Temptations of Ernest Goodwriter” (page 158) that describes, word by word, my not-so-original idea. A writer struggling with his novel or whatever, and during the course of the day, through some ingenious plot device, he finds the inspiration to finish his story. I was a bit disillusioned, but I liked my original idea so much that I didn’t click and drag it to the recycle bin. Instead, I made it even more personal, I listened to some Blur albums to give me an idea for the underlying theme (Don’t turn your life into a monotonous daily routine), and I began typing like crazy, because the due day was only a couple of days away. However, due to severe weather, class was canceled and my presentation was pushed back to next week. Yikes.

I had fun reading the story to the class. I finally had a chance to put my rusty voice acting skills to work in front of an audience. I was very pleased with the reaction that it received and I was glad that I accomplished my main objective which was to entertain them. That’s not to say that my story is a superficial work. Behind all the profanity and the sarcasm and the cheap jokes, there’s a level of depth that reveals the humanity of the characters, as well as the theme. I think this compliment was expressed by some of my classmates when they mentioned how the story “felt real to them” or how it hit so close to home. As for the criticism, Dr. White mentioned that both Steve and Michelle could use a little more depth, especially Michelle. I took note of that, and in this revised edition I added more exposition to their personas. I also corrected some grammatical and spelling errors, one of which raised a couple of eyebrows (See: “his boyfriend”)

My main beef about my story was the original ending, which I didn’t like. At all. I was given some ideas by the class, like having the story end a few weeks later with Javier and Steve attending the Blur concert or even inviting Bob to the concert. If this were a comedy film, this would’ve been a fitting alternative, but then I thought, what if I added some mystery and leave it open for interpretation. I was reading some of the short stories in the text book in which the stories weren’t very clear on how the story ended, and they often left me staring at the page leaving me thinking “Wait, what?” and forcing me to go back and reread the story. I suppose that’s what separates a literary ending from a cheap cop-out. I wanted my new ending to be ambiguous, thought provoking, and somewhat ironic, instead of shooting for the easy laugh. Did I accomplish that? Well, I’d like to think so.