Floppy by Design

It was evening in the historic part of Lewes, Delaware and the moonlight shimmered on the river. Whether the moon was full or not was another question.

"What a pretty full moon" said Mrs. Katel.

"Well, actually, I don't think it's completely full" followed up Mr. Patel, contorting his face somewhat to assess the moon. 

"What do you mean?" his wife responded. "If that's not full, I don't know what is".

Mr. Patel continued contorting his face and said "If you examine the lower right-hand edge of the moon, you can see that just a sliver of it is missing".

"What are you talking about?" said Mrs. Katel. "That thing is full."

Mr. Patel then said "I may be wrong, but it may behoove you to get your eyes examined. I may be wrong, but then again I may be right."

To which Mrs. Katel replied "Are you being passive-aggressive?"

"No, I am being aggressive-aggressive."

"Do you mean active-aggressive?"

"Yes, I think so. Does passive-aggressive have a hyphen?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? You just used the term."

The conversation continued in this vein and eventually they returned to the subject of whether the moon was full or not. 

"Are you crazy? That thing is full!"

"Well, actually, technically, it's not."

"Are you out of your mind?!! You need to get your brain examined!!"

In the end, they could not agree to disagree, and in the moonlight began to physically wrestle one another on the ground. Mrs. Katel had Mr. Patel in a headlock, then managed to get his arms behind his back. Pinned down on the promenade by the river, face down, Mr. Patel first felt his wrists tied together tightly with a zip tie, then his ankles with her scarf. For the finale, a strip of packing tape was applied to his mouth.

He was unable to move but he could hear Mrs. Katel's footsteps as she wandered off. Feeling a bit exhausted, he decided to get some sleep.

In the morning he was able to break off the zip tie with the help of a nearby iron fence. He then walked to his hotel, where he learned that Mrs. Katel had checked out and left with the rental car.

There really wasn't much choice than to take the ferryboat to Cape May, New Jersey. The ferry left Lewes throughout the day, and it was what they were planning on doing anyway. It was even conceivable that he would see Mrs. Katel on the boat.

The ferry ride was pleasant but he did not see Mrs. Katel. Instead, he slowly ate a pretzel and sipped coffee while gazing at Delaware Bay. When the boat started to rock, a car alarm went off on the lower deck. Since Mr. Patel was a foot passenger, it wasn't his problem.

He didn't see Mrs. Katel, but he did meet someone who identified himself as a Navajo Indian named Gerald, who was exploring the east coast.

"I like to see what's going on in my own country. I heard they built a big city called New York, so I plan to see that next."

"Well that's exactly where I am headed, Gerald, and I can tell you a thing or two about New York."

The two worked out an agreement. When Gerald learned that Mr. Patel was without car, he offered to give him a ride. In exchange, Mr. Patel would share his considerable  knowledge of the geography and history of New York.

So when the ferry landed in Cape May, the two got into Gerald's pickup truck and drove up the Garden State Freeway. When they got to the New York metro area, Mr. Patel helped navigate the way through Staten Island and over the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge.

"Is Verrazzano-Narrows hyphenated?" asked Gerald.

"Yes it is" said Mr. Patel.

Then, just as they were crossing the bridge and Mr. Patel started explaining exactly who Giovanni de Verrazzano was, Gerald's pickup truck lifted straight up in the air approximately 1000 feet.

Now anyone who is familiar with the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge knows that it is already very high up relative to the city's topography and that the view is as impressive as it is terrifying for anyone who had a fear of heights, as Mr. Patel famously did.

So imagine being raised 1000 feet higher than the bridge. Gerald said he didn't understand what was going  on, but that as a Navajo, he was open to it. Mr. Patel was quaking in his boots, but since the view of all of New York City was so spectacular, he pointed out to Gerald each of the five Burroughs, the Atlantic Ocean, New Jersey, Long Isand, JFK airport, Long Island Sound, Westchester, Connecticut, and many, many other features.

This went on for approximately ten minutes; then Gerald's pickup truck magically lowered itself back on the bridge, and they proceeded into Brooklyn along the BQE.  

Due to the strangeness of their experience they agreed that what was needed was to stop at a Starbucks in suburban Nassau County, Long Island. 

Over green tea lattes they hatched a plan wherein Gerald would drive Mr. Patel to the Orient Point ferry at the end of Long Island, then head back to New York City. The fact was Gerald was curious about all of New York, and he was as interested in seeing the surrounding areas as he was the city. He was a Native American and he cared about the land, the topography and the geographical nuances.

So they drove east to Long Island's North Fork, stopped at farm stands, had more coffee in Greenport, told jokes, laughed, and agreed to meet some day in the high desert of Arizona.

Meanwhile, Mr. Patel boarded the ferry to New London, Connecticut. It was actually quite similar to the ferry that ran between Lewes and Cape May. 

He got comfortable in a seat at a table and gazed at Long Island Sound.

Right then, Mrs. Katel sat herself directly opposite him at the table. She had that sort of loaded gun smile that Southern women are so good at.

"Can I get you a coffee?" she asked, exuding a love that transcends all zip ties, all Zip codes, all misunderstandings, all betrayals, all separation of time and space. It was real love. 

"Yes" said Mr. Patel.

- copyright 2018 by P.T. Gachot

How to Revitalize a Transportation System

I had taken the flight from New Orleans to Los Angeles several times and I was always lucky enough to get a window seat. The views of Arizona and the Mojave Desert are breathtakingly beautiful from this altitude; the topography of those vast ochre expanses has a certain poetry.

The flight that changed everything for me was the time I had an aisle seat. I contented myself in advance that I would still get glimpses of those ochre expanses and read my newspaper in the abundant desert sunshine.

To my dismay the woman in the window seat had the shade halfway down, making it difficult to see any expanse without craning my head in an uncomfortable way. She herself seemed halfway asleep. So I looked across the aisle and sadly everyone had their shades down all the way. What the heck? Well I guess everyone was feverishly looking at their phone or laptop and didn't want any natural light to distract them.

At least there was a burst of light coming in through my seat mate's half-open window, enough to pleasantly read my newspaper by. But no sooner had I started enjoying my paper than she abruptly shut the window all the way, immediately returning to her half sleep. 

This made for a miserable flight and afterwards I lost no time calling the CEO's of a dozen major airlines and the Administrator of the FAA. Being intelligent people they listened to my story and proposal for a solution. To my satisfaction they said they would immediately go forward with my idea, a brilliant one that they said they wished they had thought of sooner. 

So the major airlines decided to offer two kinds of planes: window and windowless. They recognized the vampiric tendencies of a huge percentage of their market, the alienated, tech-addicted folks who valued neither light nor fresh air and who would just as well be shot through space in a windowless metal tube. Then there was the window market: people who felt that the very best thing about flying was beholding the earth from altitudes that one normally doesn't. This was a perspective that most pilots could appreciate, along with astronauts, scientists, artists, photographers and sensitive souls in general. 

The population for the most part promptly divided itself into two camps, a little bit like Apple vs. PC. (Ironically in this metaphor Apple is windows and PC is windowless). It was a little less expensive to fly windowless, so the majority of the people flew that way.

**********

Much as I enjoy seeing the earth from thousands of feet in the air, my preferred mode of travel is train. And as with the plane, part of my enjoyment is to have a look at my country out the window. Train windows are large, and there is even a car dedicated to gazing out even larger windows - the observation car.

Imagine my shock then when while on board a westbound train everyone in my car but me had their curtains drawn. As with the plane, people were either glued to their devices or sleeping. It wasn't even sunny out - rather it was snowing in a most beautiful way. There was a muted, atmospheric light that was perfect to read by. What was wrong with these people?

As in the case of the plane, I lost no time in calling the heads of Amtrak and the Department of Transportation. I described to them my experience, and also explained that I was the author of the windowless planes program. We discussed safety issues. In the end we agreed: if people want to travel like cattle, let them travel like cattle. It would be offered as a less expensive option.

Interestingly, in the case of the train, the inverse of the plane was true: most riders wanted windows, but a lower percentage had no use for them, preferring to be packed into a windowless container at a lower rate.

A third option was put on the market at my suggestion: "boxcar hobo", in which the conditions of the old boxcar era were mimicked. This was an even smaller share of the market, but hugely popular among a certain crowd. Old wooden cars with bales of hay to recline on, loaves of bread and bottles of craft beer disguised as moonshine, and a booming subculture of "dressing like a hobo" made this uniquely American niche market thrive.

**********

I would like to say that my work improving the transportation system was done, but there was one more issue to address after having one more ridiculous experience.

I was on the Sunset Limited train from New Orleans to Los Angeles. Being in a hurry I did not have time to buy a newspaper in New Orleans. My habit is to read USA Today, but if that is not available I get whatever local paper I can.

I figured I could pick one up in Houston, where the train stops for about an hour. Now for a major city Houston has a minor train station that resembles a bus station or 7-11, with the difference that you can actually buy a newspaper at a 7-11. 

The fact is that most major train stations in this country have newsstands, so I couldn't figure out what was the deal with Houston. But it got even worse than that.

Not only did the station not sell newspapers, but I wandered approximately a mile in the 100 degree heat looking for one in vain. This was after a policeman pointed me in the direction that I would "most likely" find one.

Houston, we have a problem.

The following day the train stopped in El Paso for about an hour. El Paso feels like a big city partly because it has a grandiose old train station, big enough to fit half a dozen Houston stations.

The station is beautiful but the interior is cavernous, offering only restrooms and brochures to the curious visitor. How difficult would it be to put a newsstand in here?

Bear in mind, newsstands sell not only newspapers, but books, magazines, snacks, beverages and everything that the captive audience of a long distance train ride wants.

Later in the ride we stopped in Tucson, Arizona and there they got it right - a beautiful old station with a marketplace selling mainly food but also copies of the Arizona Republic.

When I got to Los Angeles I lost no time in calling Amtrak and told them that if Houston and El Paso did not get newsstands soon I would set them up myself. They agreed that it was a business opportunity and offered to set up a partnership with me. We decided to call the business Sunset News, and its mission statement was to provide newspapers and other sundries to rail passengers in Texas.

And that, my friend, is how newspapers got reintroduced to Texas.

- copyright 2018 by P.T. Gachot

Let Us Help You With Your Smile

Clifton was down on his luck when he made the decision to jump inside a moving boxcar in Portland, OR. Actually it was two things: the state of being down on his luck, but also the gritty, raw, industrial beauty of the freight train itself, which seemed to him something like an Edward Hopper painting come to life, or maybe a Woody Guthrie song turned into a machine. In any case there was something in the power and squeak of that train that moved Clifton to heave himself into the open side door of a yellow wooden car with bales of hay stacked neatly along the sides. It was an archetypal boxcar for a career 21st century hobo.

Yes, Clifton was a career hobo, but one with a credit card leftover from a previous life, a card linked to an account with just enough funds to survive at the most rudimentary level. By his calculations he had enough savings to cover two cups of coffee a day for twenty-seven years. Since coffee was the main staple of his diet, the problem of food was more or less solved.

Another piece of his decision was the memory of a particular intersection in Salinas, CA. It was a busy intersection, and strangely mesmerizing to stare at - a lot like gazing at a stream or a river. He remembered that by staring at the flow of traffic there, everything else in the world was put in perspective, because everything else in the world was at some level linked to the flow of that traffic. It was very Zen. He made a mental note: if all else fails, there was always the intersection.

It reminded him of another intersection in Phoenix, AZ, but the Salinas one was better - not nearly as big, but just big enough to convey the force of the flow of life itself.

He was steeped in these thoughts when a voice came out of the hay bales, a fellow hobo. "Smile man, smile! We're going places. Don't look so fucking grim."

***********************************************

It was true, Clifton was outwardly humorless, and he had a mouth that was inclined to remain shut. It wasn't that he didn't have joy or smiles in his heart, but rather that his mouth was constructed in such a way that smiling didn't come naturally. He had good features but often looked disturbed. As a hobo he felt that he had the right to look disturbed. He wasn't running for public office and he wasn't a matinee idol, so why the hell should he smile? Even so, it weighed on him at times that his demeanor might have an adverse effect on his fellow humans, and this thought made him even more humorless.

***********************************************

As the train was passing through Salinas the next day he heaved himself out of the boxcar. He landed face down in the dirt and actually liked the feeling: the sting of impact made him feel alive.

As he walked north on Main Street he could see the tall eucalyptus trees  in the distance, the ones next to the rodeo grounds - more or less his destination. Once he got past the gas stations and bail bonds stores, he could smell the eucalyptus trees, and this sensation filled him with something resembling happiness.

Just beyond the trees and the rodeo grounds was a shopping center right at the busy intersection. Like a pilgrim arriving in Mecca, Clifton reached his destination: a concrete curb on the side of a 99-cent store that, when sitting on it, looked directly out onto the intersection. It was still there, exactly as he had left it. It was still vacant. No one except him seemed to know about this perch or its special power. Clearly the Universe had been reserving it for him.

Clifton perched and Clifton stared. There were trees, concrete, and a few empty shopping carts. There was a steady flow of traffic. It was transcendent.

***********************************************

Across the street was a Starbucks. Every day, twice a day, Clifton walked over to get a coffee. He always got a plain coffee with lots of cream. Never sugar - sugar was a distraction from the serious business of staring at traffic.

He drank his coffee with incredible, heroic slowness. He would take a small sip and let the bitter fluid linger on his tongue, all the while staring at the cars and trucks as they barreled through the intersection or waited at the light. Clear skies or gray, this is how he passed his days, car after car, coffee after coffee.

***********************************************

One day he was surprised to see the same hobo he shared the boxcar with. The hobo walked by and said "You man, YOU again? Don't you ever smile?" After which the hobo lit a cigarette and walked away.

It was a pleasant, sunny day and after the hobo walked away Clifton saw a newspaper flapping in the wind nearby, and with each flap he saw an advertisement with the words "Let Us Help You With Your Smile". This piqued his curiosity so he picked the paper up.

It was an ad for a local dentist, a Doctor Tran, and as Clifton looked closer at the ad he saw the address and realized that it was right across the street. In fact, it was right near the Starbucks that he walked to twice a day.

He tore the ad out of the paper and decided to check the place out after he got his afternoon coffee.

***********************************************

The coffee and the service there were consistently decent. He remembered once passing through the San Jose bus station where the service had been excellent but the coffee weak and undrinkable. Then there were other places where the service was atrociously bad but the coffee surprisingly good. Such is life.

Instead of returning to his perch, he had his coffee at the shop, so as to visit the dentist afterwards. It was warm and sunny that day, so he sat on the patio.

Afterwards, Clifton entered the dentist's office and was greeted by a receptionist. "Hello" he said, holding up the ad from the newspaper. "I need help with my smile".

"Please have a seat" the receptionist replied. "Dr. Tran will be with you shortly".

Clifton sat down and picked up a copy of Sunset magazine, gazing at the photos to the sound of the electric waterfall display, flanked on either side by philodendrons. Were they real or artificial philodendrons, he wondered. Before he had time to check, a voice addressed him.

"How do you do?" It was Dr. Tran. "Please, follow me", he said with a strong Vietnamese accent. The doctor had a lean build and a very kind face, a face that looked as though it might burst out laughing at any moment. His lighthearted demeanor immediately put Clifton at ease.

"Sit down, sit down" Dr. Tran said when they entered his office. "Let me see. You have good features, just no smile." He examined Clifton's facial muscles with his hands. "Try, if you can, to stretch these muscles" he said, placing a finger on either side of Clifton's mouth. "Try to pull these muscles back".

As Clifton did his best to pull the muscles back, the doctor slipped out for what must have been at least three minutes. When he returned, he was wearing a yellow clown suit. He was also holding four oranges.

"Ok let's give this a try" the doctor said as he attempted to juggle the four oranges. It didn't take long for one of them to fly out of control and knock over a container of dental tools, which spilled off the counter and onto the floor.

"Oh, aren't I a clumsy clown" said the doctor, as he kept on trying to juggle the oranges with comic ineptness. One landed in the sink, while another burst open on the floor. Clifton noticed a smirk involuntarily growing on his face.

The doctor slipped out again for about three minutes, and this time he returned wearing a full-body bird costume. It was completely over the top with oversized feathers and plumes that may have belonged to a peacock. The doctor starting swaying, shaking maracas  and singing "I am Chiquita banana and I'm back to say-ay... I am the TOP banana..." He then added, in a mock Groucho Marx accent, "What's the matter, don't you like my Carmen Miranda imitation??" And with feigned anger he pushed more dental instruments off the counter onto the floor. Then he opened the cabinets and began throwing latex gloves and cotton balls into the air.

At this point Clifton couldn't take it any longer. He burst out laughing with the largest, most involuntary burst of laughter he had experienced in years. And he kept on laughing so hard that his eyes started watering. He laughed for what seemed to be an eternity, and he laughed so hard that it started to hurt.

"Thanks doc" said Clifton as he finally stood up and patted Dr. Tran's back feathers. "I needed that".

"Ah, I see you smiling!" beamed the doctor. "You are a good patient. Come back any time."

"Thanks doc" Clifton said again as he strolled out of the office.

In this way, Clifton was able to return to his perch and gaze at traffic with a slight smile on his face.

- Copyright 2018 by P.T. Gachot