Timothy Martin was very upset. It seemed like that in the past two years, nothing could go right for him. His girlfriend of two years recently decided she was a lesbian and left him for someone named Sheila. His car, which wasn’t much to begin with, had broken down beyond repair and he neither had the money or the inclination to do anything about it. And just last week, he lost his job. Again! All he could think of was a phrase from “Cheers” when Norm said “It’s a dog eat dog world and I’m wearing ‘Milk Bone‘underwear.”
This was the third job he lost in the past two years and it was really starting to be a drag. His ex-girlfriend used to get on him all the time not to make waves at work but did he listen? She kept saying that he had a really hard time with authority but he thought she was crazy. He just couldn’t understand why they didn’t realize his ideas were great and that he was a borderline genius. If they would only listen and maybe have a sense of humor about these things, they would be so far better off. Of course, what really ticked him off was she kept saying constantly that she was right all along. And then she left with Sheila. “Good riddance” Tim thought. The only reason she thought she was a lesbian was because she was jealous and couldn’t handle the pressure of competing with him. He was starting to realize that maybe he needed a whole different lifestyle and he didn’t mean the one his ex was now enjoying. “To hell with them all,” he thought, “I’ll change everything beginning with where I’m living.”
He was born and raised in Boston and still lived there. Did he want to stay in Massachusetts? Nah! He really couldn’t stand these cold winters anymore and if he had to listen to one more crooked politician, he’d kill himself. This was during the nineties, so he was tired of seeing the Red Sox take the gas pipe every year. On top of that, he couldn’t even think about the Big Dig without getting nauseous. He thought to himself that New York might be different before he realized that he would rather gouge his own eyes out than to consider such a move. Being a native Bostonian, the hatred for the city was too ingrained. The thought of being around people who rooted for the Yankees sickened him and he knew if he moved there, he would be taunted by every obnoxious New Yorker he would come in contact with. So, that idea was totally out of the question.
He knew he wanted to move but to where? Did he want to go south? No, it was too hot and humid for one thing. Plus, if he went down to the Bible belt, he would be damned to hell for all eternity because he wanted to commit a small sin like dancing on Sunday or something. Besides, when you eat out, they give you grits with everything. “Here is your Martini and grits, sir.” No thank you. He wasn’t even sure what grits were but he didn’t want to deal with them.
Did he want to go out west? No, too phony and strange. With his luck, he would get caught up into some sort of weird cult whose members did yoga while wearing Reeboks. They would also worship a tree branch that they considered holy named Marvin. According to them, it was taken from the high holiest oak tree in the greater neighborhood and if he believed in it, he would find eternal peace with at least five virgins when he died. This was the same tree where people saw the image of Christ in one its acorns. He would either get caught up in all of this or he would become a junkie.
How about the Mid-West? Close, but no cigar. These are people who collect miniature tractors, for God’s sake! Their idea of a good time is to go down to the local A & P and watch the truck unload. And how many Amish people could he stand to be around without going nuts?
So what could he do? What could he do? He was starting to wonder if he was getting too picky. But then he thought that the whole point to this exercise was to do something totally different. If he was going to do it then he had to go all the way. How about Europe? Europe? Was he crazy? Why on earth would he want to go to Europe? They don’t even speak English! And they just love Americans, especially the French. Oh yeah, he would fit right in. All he would have to do is order the wrong wine with his cheeseburger and they would mock him forever. Italy? Forget about Italy. His mother’s side of the family was Italian and he couldn’t imagine being in a whole nation of those jamokes. A whole neighborhood full of women that looked like his Aunt Conchetta, always pinching his cheeks and trying to make him eat? He freaked out at the thought. Of course the woman could look like Sophia Loren he supposed, but with his luck, they wouldn’t.
He was sitting alone in his living room having a smoke, watching an old Monty Python show when it hit him. He needed something totally and completely different. He was in Great Britain when he was younger and loved it then so why not? He liked a lot of things about Britain. For instance, he was a huge fan of the Beatles and he loved all those British comedies they show on PBS. Granted, when he visited, he only saw the airport because he and his father were on their way back from Italy. They were in Italy to visit the same relatives he wanted nothing to do with now. But, he remembered that the people there treated him very nicely, the buildings looked nice and he loved their accents to boot. He figured, why not?
So he told everybody he knew what he was planning. The ones who didn’t think he was just outright nuts at least said they admired him because he was doing a daring if not amazingly stupid thing. Some tried to talk him out of but most didn’t. His mother couldn’t understand why he just didn’t want to live in their basement. After all, his father just redid it in wood paneling with new curtains and everything. It was perfect for a single guy. When she tried to explain it but she kept asking him why he was stabbing her in the heart. His father told him he was insane but then he whispered in Tim’s ear that deep down inside, he was jealous. He always wanted to have a huge adventure like this instead of being trapped a pit of despair.
Tim figured he could sell everything he owned which honestly wasn’t much. Not only would he have some extra cash on top of what he saved, but he could also have a totally brand new start. He was sure there must have been some stores like Wal-Mart and he could buy whatever he needed in one of those. Besides it would be way too expensive to take all that stuff with him. If he flew, security at the airport really didn’t have a sense of humor about certain things. If he sailed, then he probably would have to lug most of it himself anyway so why bother? Nope, travel light was his motto. He packed a couple of suitcases of the necessities like clothes and books. What else did he need?
One of the many jobs he had back home was working for the telephone company as an operator, so he figured he would try to get a job with their phone company. He faxed his resume, such as it was and he got a response within five days saying they would indeed be interested. They would interview him when he arrived. “That was a great stroke of luck.” he thought “I just hope now that pain in the ass of a boss I worked for would give him a decent review. “ The supervisor in Boston gave him a passing grade for two reasons. He was afraid of a lawsuit and he was really tired of hearing Tim say he was a borderline genius all the time.
He decided to fly instead of taking a ship mainly because it was cheaper. He could either take was one of those real fancy ships or ride on what was laughingly called a “budget ship” which was pretty much a tramp steamer with curtains. With his luck, he would probably have to bunk with some sailor who hadn’t seen a woman since the Vietnam War and he didn’t want to be someone’s “little buddy.”
So he took off from Logan Airport. Even though it was raining, he didn’t mind because he would have to get used to this kind of weather. You know old foggy London town and all that. His parents were there to say goodbye and while mother was clutching her handkerchief, beyond hysterical, the old man just kept shaking his head and muttering, “He’ll be back the lucky bastard, he’ll be back.”
After he settled in for the five hour flight, he struck up a conversation with the guy next to him across the aisle who was from Britain. Tim told him what he was doing and while the man was slightly amused at this young American’s plan, he also thought Tim was crazy. But, he took a liking to Tim as well and told Tim of a friend in London who could possibly help him in getting someplace to live. There would be a fee of course but no other hanky-panky. He gave Tim a card and told him to call when he landed all the while thinking “This poor bastard is never going to make it.”
Other than that, the flight was uneventful and they eventually arrived at Heathrow Airport. Walking around the terminal, Tim thought to himself that it hadn’t changed much since the last time he saw it except for the soldiers standing around with machine guns. Once he located his bags, he grabbed a taxi and headed out to the big city.
The apartment or a “flat” as the natives called it was in London’s East End. It was not glamorous by any means but it had a certain charm. He was already starting to like this adventure and once he paid his first months rent, he took a walk to see the different sights of his new home. It seemed like he walked for miles and miles just entranced by everything he saw. The next day he found his place of employment. The interview went well and he was hired. He was to report bright and early on the 15th to Miss Ann Whitehall.
He worked there for about six months until one day it came to a grinding halt. He had a particularly nasty and uncooperative customer on the phone and wrangled with the man for a good ten minutes regarding a number that was disconnected. He was trying to be as patient as he could but the man just couldn’t get it through his head his friend’s number no longer existed. He kept asking Tim why this was so and of course, Tim had no idea. He kept trying to placate the man but he was having none of it.
He really thought Tim was conspiring against him by withholding the information. He was ranting and raving about how high the rates were and how it was such an outrage that customers should be treated in such a manner. In fact, he was thinking of writing a letter to the Queen herself just to state his case. Tim tried to calm him down and said that the Queen probably wouldn’t even see the letter because she had better things to do like watering the roses.
With that the man exploded and said “Give me your superior you impertinent little scamp! “ As he rang up the supervisor, he said, “Good riddance you miserable old coot! “ But he didn’t realize his mute button wasn’t on and the customer heard what Tim said. What Tim also didn’t realize was that the customer, Mr. Smythington turned out to be Lord Richard Smythington of Yorkshire first twice removed, a very important man. Outraged, Lord Smythington demanded to Tim’s boss that he be fired. Nobody calls Lord Smythington an old coot and gets away with it, not even his wife. He was ranting that in the old days, he could have had Tim beheaded for behaving in such a manner. Tim was sacked that afternoon and on the way home, he thought that if Smythington had really written the Queen, she probably would have read it.
Even though it wasn’t the best paying job in the world, it was all that Tim had. He tried to find work, but Britain did not have the best economy in the world at the time, so it wasn’t easy. When he did find work, it didn’t last long because he always felt the job was beneath him because after all, he was a borderline genius. The job just paid the bills and that was all.
He found himself drinking more and more. Even though he realized he was developing a problem, he really didn’t care. “I can stop anytime,” he would say to himself. So much for jolly old England.
So now here he was sitting alone in his now seedy looking apartment. He was broke, depressed and lonely. He couldn’t go back to America even though his mother would greet him at the airport with salami sandwiches. They would never let him live it down. Borderline genius my foot, they would say. He couldn’t stand the humiliation.
Since this was going on for about six months, he figured the only answer would be to commit suicide. But how would he do it? Should he slash his wrists? No, that would be too painful. Even though he was depressed, he wasn’t into pain at all. Should he hang himself? No, for the same reason. Besides, he would probably screw it up somehow and hang there like a piece of meat. Should he overdose on pills? That would be almost painless but what if they didn’t work? All he would have is an upset stomach and he would be even more depressed. No, the only way to do it was to stick his head in the oven and gas himself. The gas would overpower him and he would fall asleep and onto his final demise. Yes, that was it.
He went to the kitchen. He was a little nervous which he thought was funny at first but then he realized that he was committing suicide after all. He closed all of the windows in the apartment and turned on the oven. He sat on the floor next to the stove and waited for the gas to take him to another world.
He sat there for ten minutes listening to the hissing noise coming out of the oven’s burners. At first he thought he felt drowsy but then he revived. Another ten minutes passed, still nothing. He sat there for almost an hour and still nothing happened. By now he was getting visibly upset. Something should have happened by now.
What he didn’t know was this. In England and in most of Europe, they put a chemical into the natural gas to make it non-toxic. You could sniff the stuff through a mask and you wouldn’t even get a buzz. He sat there angry and confused. What could have gone wrong? “Can’t I do anything right?” he thought to himself.
After he was chastising himself for being such a screw-up and also being mad at the world in general, he pondered his situation for a second. Maybe this was a sign? Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all? Maybe he really was a full blown genius? It gave him a new perspective. Starting tomorrow, he would try to get his act together, seriously trying to find a new job and really making an effort to stop drinking. Besides, if all else fails, he could always go back to America and do something there. To hell with that they thought. He knew better.
Yes, he was pretty pleased with himself. He sat at the kitchen table so he could plot out his new future. As he thought, he reached for a cigarette. When he lit it, he ignited the gas and the explosion blew him through the side of the building. Timothy had gotten what he wanted after all, something totally different.
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