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Sunday, April 27, 2014

All the Nuts aren’t with The Pancake’s Part 19

I take a step back from the chair. Chris’ snoring is steady. I stand there for about five minutes. I am completely still. “Anything Chris?” a voice inside my heads asks. “If you stir, I will stop”.

I watch as his chest rises and falls, he is out cold. It is clear that I have enough time to work out a plan before George gets home. Unfortunately, for me, Georges morning shift is new. New to me, new to Chris and new to George, I have no idea when he will arrive.

I rarely see Bill anymore. “Does he even live here?” The only time I see him is when he clomps through house, like a loud ghost. You can here him coming; he appears, complains, blows out a puff of cigarette smoke and stomps on, not to be seen again for days or hours. Even though it’s a brief moment in my day, Bill brings a smile to my lips and a chuckle to my heart.

Standing there watching Chris, I think, “How sweet,” I bet Chris was waiting to stay up for George to return home when he got drunk and passed out. Or maybe he was in the chair since last night drunk and passed out. Anyhow, my times running out,

I take three steps backwards, turn and walk straight to the liquor cabinet. The dogs begin to whine and cry. “Don’t worry babies, I’ll be back.”/I say in a soothing voice.

I begin to walk quickly through the house pouring random alcohol from various bottles on counters, tabletops and carpeting. Anywhere a stupid drunk might spill. When the bottle is empty, I leave it tipped over at the scene of my crime.

I walk to the basement, a dribble of booze here, a splash of booze there. I mimic the walk of a drunk, everywhere I lean or lurch, I let the bottle splash. Bill was right, there is a nastier queen living here. One that is nastier than Chris. One who is now going to seek revenge.

I am looking at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I knew that someone in this situation would snap. I just never thought it would be me.

I leave an empty bottle by the toilet.

On my way back upstairs, I turn on every single light switch. I even walk out and turn the pump on in the pool and turn on the deck lights. Kitchen, dining room and all the hallway lights get turned on as I walk by.

“I’ll be right back.” I whisper to the dogs. I place two fingers through the slats in their cage. They all bound around trying to lick my fingers.

I pause one last time by Chris’ chair. He is still sound asleep.

I pull out my lighter, placing a cigarette in my mouth, I turn and walk out the front door.

To be continued…

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writing "A Day in the Life/Down the Rabbit Hole". It cannot be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.





Sunday, April 20, 2014

All the Nuts aren’t with The Pancake’s Part 18

The car wheezes to a stop directly in front of the house. The fan belt spins a couple of extra times, causing the car to cough and sputter. I am now starting to have problems with my car. It registers hot the minute I turn it on. I have had to pull over twice last week, shut it down on the side of the road and open the windows. It allegedly cools the car down. A customer told me that.

I know that I am supposed to now park my car around the corner. It’s a Chris/George rule but I am worried that this may be as far as the car gets this morning. Sitting in front of the house, I take this as a moment to be alone, all alone.

I shake a Marlboro Light out of my pack, slide it into the corner of my mouth and light up. As I blow the smoke into the air, I lower my window. Somewhere in the distance someone is listening to Twisted Sister. I recognize the “Thump, Thump,” I am hearing.

“Oh well, I can’t sit in the car forever.” I say out load to no one. I pop the lock on the door and give it a big push. The driver’s door groans open. “Gotta get that fixed,” I think to myself as I swing my legs out. Standing up, I slam the door. It groans closed as well.

I lean against the car and power smoke the rest of my cigarette. Flicking it into the air, (so it’s not found in front of the house) I turn and head up the path.

Something is odd. I start to slow down when I notice that the front door is wide open and that the screen door is propped open as well.

The Twisted Sister music is pumping out of the front widows of Georges house.

I slowly climb the front steps. I’m not going to call out and announce myself until I know what is going on. I have never found Georges house like this, usually it is wrapped up tight, sealed like a drum. I have a bad feeling and it’s clear something’s wrong.

I step into the front entryway and peer around the corner into the living room.  The first chair closest to the doorway is George’s. The chair is in full recline mode and someone’s sitting in it.

I slowly lean forward to get a look at who is there. I am both relieved and pissed off when I see Chris sitting in Georges chair. His eyes are closed and a half bottle of Jack Daniels sits on the table between the two recliners.

The television is on as well and Chris is snoring, his mouth hangs open.

“Chris?” I whisper loudly.

He doesn’t stir or even acknowledge me, it’s clear he is out cold.

I tiptoe past the living room to search the rest of the house. The dogs have been locked in their kennels and they cry and whimper as I walk by.

“Hold on babies.” I whisper. “I’ll be back.”

Ten minutes later I have finished checking out the house. Chris and I are alone, all alone. I walk back into the living room and offer Chris a chance to change the plan I have just hatched. If he responds to me, I will change the course of what I am about to do.

“Chris?” I whisper a second time.

Still nothing, he doesn’t move. Twisted Sister is still playing at an ear deafening level from the speakers.

“It’s now or never!” my brain screams.

I reach across Chris and grab the neck of the Jack Daniels bottle. Slowly I raise the bottle above the sleeping Chris. His chest rises and falls, he is snoring steady.

I hold the bottle with one hand and uncork it with the other. Then I take the bottle and tip it forward. Jack Daniels begins pouring out of the top and onto the carpet. I make sure not to get any on me.

Chris doesn’t move or even stir as Jack Daniels splashes off the carpet and back on the recliner. Once I’m done I reach across Chris one more time and set the bottle back on the table, but this time I lay it on it’s side. It looks like it has been carelessly knocked over.

The truth is, it wasn’t and it’s about to get worse for Chris.


To be continued…


Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writing "A Day in the Life/Down the Rabbit Hole". It cannot be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Sunday, April 13, 2014

All the Nuts aren’t with The Pancake’s Part 17

My shift at Denny’s brings with it all the human misery that can blow in the door. You want to see a side of the world you only need to see once? Work the graveyard shift at a Denny’s.

I am amazed. I have seen it all in the booths and counter seating at America’s favorite place. I have witnessed pregnant teens, (12 years old) smoking cigarettes show up at Denny’s after boozing it up at a party. Not just once but several times. We joked that it was rampant and must be something in the water.

“I guess it’s just what a pregnant teen mother smoking cigarettes craves in the middle of the night. She craves, Moons over my Hammy!”

I have had to watch the teen-age boyfriend pull together whatever pennies he has to pay the bill, before stumbling out, climbing in a car and peeling out of the parking lot with his drunk pregnant girlfriend by his side.

I have had a grandmother (in her 80s) flash me her breasts. Allegedly it was to “change me,” at least that’s what she yelled to her table of drunken octogenarian friends who cackled with delight at the sight of her flat hanging breasts.

“Oh yeah, it changed me alright. It changed me for good. Unfortunately, some things you can never un-see.”

I personally have called the police on at least five separate occasions since I started working here. There have been fist fights, slap fights, water fights, soda fights and pancake wars.  I have had trays pulled out of my hands with food on them. I have had someone try to help me by taking one glass off the front of a full tray, not realizing it was going to flip in the air and cover everyone at the table with sticky soda.

I have found my tip hidden in the ashtray, in left over food on the plate, waded up in garbage and the ever-current popular way of leaving a tip under a full glass of water. Yup, under water. Interested? Here’s how. Take a full glass of water, drop in money, cover with a piece of cardboard, flip over place on table, quickly removing cardboard. Viola! Water stays in glass and forms a seal.

There is no way not to get soaked trying to get your money.

As a waiter at Denny’s I have been blessed, saved and prayed for. I have been a shoulder to cry on, a friend to the friendless and a punching bag to several drunk rednecks. I have been forced to answer to a snap of the fingers, someone yelling garcon and to the cry “Hey Faggot.”

I have had food, drinks and ice cream thrown at me. I have waited on little people dressed as superheroes and never even asked them once “Why?”

I have served, smiled and choked down many snappy retorts or comments that could get me beaten to death if I spoke my thoughts out loud.

And finally the topper on the cake, I have cleaned a full smooshed up turd off of a toilet seat in the men’s room with a paper towel. Yes, I can do it all.

You name it and I have seen it on the graveyard shift at Denny’s.

This morning after my shift finishes, I find myself driving home when I realize that I am in a foul mood and very short of patience.


To be continued…

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writing "A Day in the Life/Down the Rabbit Hole". It cannot be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

Sunday, April 6, 2014

All the Nuts aren’t with The Pancake’s Part 16

Through Chris’ influence, George starts to create additional rules for the house. These rules include but are not limited to pool time, shower time, don’t be in the house at a certain time, don’t park in front of the house and no television in the living room after a certain hour.

Chris could care less about any rules; he just wants to see what he can get George to do on his behalf. George has taken to creating signs with the new rules on them. Heading to the pool? There is a hand written sign on the door that list’s the pools new hours. Didn’t see it before? Probably wasn’t there the last time you walked by.

My theory is that Chris doesn’t have a job, or a hobby or a life.

“Child, you are wrong about that theory,” Bill says to me one day during our daily conversation about Chris. “That boy’s hobby is leading George around and making up rules.” Bill lights up a cigarette, takes a deep drag and blows the smoke into the air.

“What if we kill him?” Bill asks me with a wistful sigh.

“We can’t kill him and every time we try to get any revenge against him, George finds out and more rules pop up.” I remind Bill.

The tension in the house builds and builds. At this current time, I have no money to find a new place, so I am stuck. Truth be told, I am barely hanging on by a thread.

At Denny’s my hourly salary is $2.35. The wait staff talks about often we get stiffed on a bill. You wouldn’t believe the reason actually tell me I don’t get a tip. The number one reason they don’t want to leave one is because I’m a fag. I have actually had customers ask me to send over a waitress because, “They don’t want a fag waiting on them.” If I don’t make tips, I don’t eat. My weekly paycheck goes to paying my household bills.

So I am already trying to find another job. Let’s see I have a GED and waiting skills I learned at Denny’s, so my job field is slightly limited. Oh and don’t forget my skills at illegally driving a delivery truck and working in a spa where you can smoke while you work out. That job field is completely non-existent. Right now it will be easier to deal with the rules of the house. Chris will slip up. My experience is that liars and thieves always always do.

Chris and George are drunk all the time now. Sadly, I have heard George pleading with Chris for sex. Chris is holding out until he gets everything that he wants in the house. Oh, he’ll give him a little here and there but he is a true puppet master. I think that George is 30-40 years his senior.

Chris is a power hungry asshole, who is also a little sociopathic. Bill and I always try try to stay one step ahead of him.


To be continued…

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writing "A Day in the Life/Down the Rabbit Hole". It cannot be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

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