Norman

If you have been reading my blogs from the very beginning, you may remember a character by the name of Norman. The guy whose sole purpose is to ruin a person's day. Well, I decided to expound on Norman and make him into something more. Something other than just a blog. The first 2 chapters are done and I am now working on Chapter 3. I am taking a big step and publishing what I have so far here on this blog so I can get feedback. I want the feedback because I have sent the first 2 chapters off to some publishers that I found in a great book called "The Writer's Market." My wonderful father tracked the book down and I have put it to use. This has been a work in progress over the last year or so. Feel free to publicly or privately criticize. I can take it. I ain't scared. So here it is.....



NORMAN


Chapter 1

You think your job is a piece of shit? Try mine. I ruin your day. I don't mean in a meter-maid sort of way. It's a little more complicated than that. You see, I am dead. I no longer exist in your world. So, technically, I cannot give you a parking ticket. I am the guy that gets the meter-maid to give you the parking ticket. Okay, I know this is a little confusing. I understand that you are absolutely confused at this point and that you would probably appreciate some sort of explanation. Are you sitting down? This is going to take a while. Hope you have time. If you don't want to wait, if you don't feel like sitting around and listening to a dead guy explain how and why he gets to be the one that fucks up a perfectly good day, fine. Just don't get out of bed tomorrow. You're not going to want to. Trust me.
They say, begin at the beginning. So, let's try to do that. I guess I should tell you a little something about me. I'm 34 years old. Well, I was when I died. Not sure any more. I just know that the last age I remember being before I ended up here was 34. I was divorced, depressed, tired, stressed and unhappy. I was looking at a failed marriage, a new relationship that was the most amazing thing yet could never truly be realized, a daughter that I loved but would never be able to do justice to as a father, a dream lost and no foreseeable future. I was newly sober but slipping all of the time, I was addicted to sleeping pills because they made the world go away for a few hours, I had high-blood pressure, I had high cholesterol, I was losing my hair and I couldn't get out of high school.....mentally. So tell me, was it wrong for me to give up? Now wait a minute, before you go off half-cocked, thinking I did this to myself, you're wrong. I did not take my own life. Never believed in that. I was too afraid of what might happen to me on the other side. Little did I know..... Anyway, I was sitting at home one night feeling particularly sorry for myself (shocker) and I decided I wanted a drink. Not a Diet Pepsi. A Martini. A Tanqueray Martini. Up. Extra-Dry. With a twist. I had not touched alcohol in the previous 5 years but something told me that this was a different kind of night. This was the kind of night that only comes along every now and then. No work. No kid. No woman. The cat was there, judging me as usual, but at this point his opinion didn't matter. Repeats on T.V. No Dog the Bounty Hunter or Dirty Jobs. I was still a few hours away from the Family Guy on Adult Swim so I decided to get that drink. Now, this was funny.... As I got in the car, I realized that I could not hit any of the local haunts because there WOULD be someone there that knew I was sober and they would do their damnedest to stop me. Couldn't have that. Not that night. Drive a little further, right? No. New DUI laws. Knowing full well that I was about to get loooooooooaaaaaadddddddeeeeedddddd, I thought that was not a good plan. Going to have to buy the gin, martini glass, shaker, lemon and vermouth and bring them home. Who was I kidding? I didn't need vermouth. Still had to go far enough away that no one would see me. Drove to the Wal-Mart 2 towns away thinking this was a safe choice. First of all, who buys martini glasses at Wal-Mart and second of all, who buys gin at Wal-Mart? I figured I could sneak in and out, undetected. Well, you have to know that at this point, I am going to tell you that I ran into somebody at that damn Wal-Mart. You know it right? I did. Here's the good part. Remember the new relationship I mentioned earlier? No, it wasn't her. It had to be a relative of hers, though. Figures, right? Now I have to worry about her getting on the phone with my "friend" as soon as I walk away so I have to cover, right? Human nature and all of that stuff. I fumble through a casual greeting and notice that she notices the booze. I came up with one helluva story about some sort of entertaining I was doing later in the week. It was a whopper. I don't think she bought it. Truth be told, I never found out. I was just sure that she did get on that phone when I disappeared from her sight. I'll never know. I paid for my things and drove the 30 miles home. I set the gin on the counter, unwrapped the glass and shaker (it was a neat Wal-Mart combo for $8.88), cut the twists off of the lemon and got down to business. The first Martini of the night was so amazingly exquisite, words cannot even come close to describing just how incredible it was. I want you to try and remember the first, nervous, sweaty time you had sex. Undoubtedly, it was over as soon as it started but you felt like a weight had been lifted and you got a charge between your legs. If you have a clear memory of that, then you may get kind of close to how this Martini was for me. Charge between my legs and all. It was great. It went down so smoothly that I almost didn't get to taste it. This being the case, I knew instantly that a second was forthcoming. Damned if I was not correct. In just seconds, I had crafted yet another tasty adult beverage ready for consumption. I downed the second one almost as fast as the first one and subsequently the third, fourth and fifth ones..... They were so good. Like Nectar of the Gods. Manna from Heaven. I just did not want to stop. I didn't, either. Not until I had polished off the entire bottle. That's right folks. After 5 years being dry as a bone, I managed to down an entire bottle of gin in a span of about 47 minutes. Many naysayers will scoff at this. How can a person do that without killing themselves? Well, Mr. Naysayer, remember, I am dead. I am getting a bit ahead of myself for the sake of the naysayers and I shouldn't. They are not my concern. Getting this story out is. Well, as you can imagine, after that bottle of gin was gone, I was a tad bit fuzzy and probably was not thinking very clearly. It was during this muddled time that I took a couple of my prescribed Valium to help "take the edge off" and help me sleep. Like I needed help..... Apparently, right before I went into what I now know was my permanent sleep, I managed to make a few phone calls. The first was to my mother. My dear, loving mother. Poor thing, she didn't know what to think. I had called to inform her that I was moving to Djibouti, Africa. I wanted to move there because the capital of Djibouti was Djibouti. I thought that was cool. I just wanted her to know. I then called my "friend" to tell her it was all or nothing. Either she was with me exclusively or she would have to move along! I had plans! I was moving to Djibouti!!!!! Well, one of these fine women must have sensed something was wrong or perhaps I mentioned to one of them what I had done and they felt that the police and firemen needed to be notified. Just as I started to fade away, I heard faint thumping on my door. As I was blacking out for the last time, I saw several uniformed people hurriedly making their way towards me. This is where it gets weird. You now how you are always told that when you die, you will see a bright light ahead and you will be surrounded by Jesus, Grandma and your pet hamster you thought ran away but really died but Mom didn't tell you that because she found his skeleton behind the couch and thought you were too young to understand? I am going to play spoiler right now and tell you, that is not what happens. No floating above your body in the ER as Doctor's desperately try to save you. No escalator leading up into the clouds. No rickety staircase leading into the pits of Hell. Just black. Just nothing. At least, that is how it was for me. A few minutes (I guess) of black and then this. My job. My piece of shit job where I now sit and ruin people's days. Sucks, huh? Let me show you around...




Chapter 2


So, this is my desk. I assume you have noticed by now that there is not much to it. Just a standard desk. Couple of drawers with absolutely nothing in them. Seriously, I have looked. Believe me. I am not sure why but I keep checking. Every time I have a minute or two. I pretty much open them in the same pattern every single time. I first open the top center drawer. You know the one I am talking about. The one that is usually messy. You throw everything into it except what is supposed to be there. I always check this one first. I don't know why. I am not sure if it is a result of my death and subsequent after-life job assignment but I have become very OCD. I have to do things in a specific order. I don't remember being like that when I was alive..... I am digressing. Sorry. The next drawer is the big one on the bottom right. I open this one second and I always get a little sad when I open it. This is the drawer that you could always find snacks in back in the real world. Bags of chips. Peanut Butter and crackers. Microwave popcorn bags that might be a few days old but they're still good. No such luck. Never is anything in there. Kinda pisses me off. Not that I would eat anything anyway. Have not eaten anything since I got here. Weird huh? We'll talk more about that later. The next drawer I open is the one above the big bottom right one and then the top right drawer. Same order. Every time. Same results. Never even a dust bunny. So that is the basic make-up of the desk. Let's talk about the items on the desk. The first thing you will notice is this transistor radio. If I had to guess, I would say it's circa 1960. The sound quality is about as good as listening to a HiFi stereo underwater. Tinny as all get out. The only comforting fact is that I do not recognize any of the music playing so it's not like anything I care about is being ruined. Yeah, you heard right. I know none of the music being played. It is a mix of many different types of music and the style changes all of the time. Every now and then I will hear a tune that vaguely sounds familiar. If I think real hard, I can almost recognize some of the music. It is always right there. Just right at the tip of my tongue. Totally frustrating. Not to mention, there is just the one station. Also just one volume level. No dials. Just the radio with the unrecognizable music. Always playing. I will say that I never hear the same stuff twice..... It is constantly different. It almost seems to be evolving. Unlike me. No evolution here. Same shit, different day. Also on my desk, you will see a pencil. That's correct. One No. 2 pencil. Damn thing is never sharp enough. I always liked a sharp, fine point on my pencils. I remember that. This pencil is always stubby. No fine point here. Guess what? No sharpener, either. It's a dull pencil that never gets completely dull and yet cannot be sharp either. How is that for an interesting dichotomy? Oh yeah, the eraser is a never dull, too. Then we have my chair. Standard 1950's office chair fare. Metal. Creaky. Uncomfortable. Some type of cross between pleather and Naugahyde on the arm rests. Oh so sheik! No lumbar support. No swivel capabilities. It does roll, though. Apparently, my superiors for this position feel that less is more. Perhaps they get more production out of me when I have nothing to distract me. Speaking of my superiors, I will just bet you are wanting to know more about them, right? You'd like to know, since I am dead, who it is I actually work for, right? When you find out..... let me know.....



Chapter 3


Yes, you heard me right. I have no idea who it is I work for. At first, I thought, well, this must be heaven because I am not in a pit of fire and brimstone.... What the Hell is brimstone, anyway? Does anyone really know? I know I have heard a definition somewhere, I just don't really remember.... Or care.... Anyway.... Since I am constantly surrounded by this fluorescent white glow and my clothing is what I had on when I died, only white, I figured I had made it to heaven. All of that sinnin'. All of that drinkin'. All of that druggin'. All of that cussin'. All of that hate, anger, avarice, and revenge. All of it swept under the rug like a neat pile of dust bunnies and I got a free pass to Cloud City. Where's Lando? Heh heh.... Where's Lando.... Like "Where's Waldo," but it's Where's Lando......As in Lando Calrissian.....Cloud City.... Star wars..... Oh never mind..... I figured I was supposed to be looking for some Pearly Gates. It was supposed to be me, a Rabbi and a Pastor at the gate being asked a series of questions by St. Peter to determine our worthiness. Nothing. No white light. No gate. No St. Peter. I was never much into world religions so I was never very clear on any other interpretations of the afterlife but I am damn sure no one expects what I got...