|When George and Rose lost their marbles (standard:fantasy, 5267 words)|
|Author: AGLapitino||Added: Sep 16 2002||Views/Reads: 1731/1095||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|A satire. Two people encounter problems in their lives escape to another reality.|
WHEN GEORGE AND ROSE LOST THEIR MARBLES George could feel a presence hovering above him. Something was going to happen. He sighed wistfully, murmuring to himself, "Oh, I do hope so!" These days, he seemed to be engulfed in an aura of limbo, wandering lost in familiar places. He smiled apologetically, hell, I'm going through a middle age crisis. Impulsively he looked into the mirror on the wall for reassurance and was flabbergasted and downright horrified when he did not recognize his own image. "Who the hell are you?" he asked politely, staring at a cherubic face crowned with dark curly hair. He was in his cubicle at Island Realty. He stared down incomprehensibly at a stack of property analysis sheets on his desk looking for an answer. He cried out, "Where am I?" In the stillness of the cubicle, guilefully enhanced by a filtered yellow light, there was no answer, only a slow permeating suffocation. George jumped from his chair looking for an exit. He stumbled into the hall and bumped into a plumpish woman with a beehive coiffure and a sparkling smile. "H'ya doing, Georgie boy?" she asked with gusto pushing her face right under his nose. George bounced back into his cubicle and sat down. Mystified, he rummaged around the desk and pretty soon it dawned upon him that the person who occupied the cubicle was someone evidently engaged in the sale of bargain real estate. Was that he? "My God," he moaned, I'm a salesman of bargain real estate!" He sat motionless for a long time trying to comprehend how it all happened. Whatever the reason, he had to escape. From somewhere in the recesses of his memory a newspaper cartoon flashed brightly of a guy peeing on his desk and saying, "I quit!" Could he do that? During the days that followed he at slumped in his chair and said hardly a word to anyone for the entire day. His production, never inspiring, went from mediocre to nada. He spent most of his time in the cubicle. Every now and then he would stand and stretch his arms, yawn loudly, thump his chest and grunt, "Yeah, me born again man. You said it!" From along the row of cubicles the plumpish woman with the sparkling smile would answer, "Attaboy Georgie! Give them hell!" He dreamed of escape. He wondered if he could find himself by becoming a mailman or possibly go out west and herd cattle. Eventually, his mind would go blank and he had difficulty remembering the simplest of things, like having lunch or time to go home. The sales manager, Tom Kantor, a no fool straight up guy, soon realized good old Georgie had achieved too soon that proverbial state called death of a salesman. In what was considered astute jump-start therapy Tom materialized each morning in George's cubicle, grasped Georgie with both arms and shouted hard into his face, "Hey, Georgie! When the going gets tough, the tough gets going! Go, man, go!" George nodded, smiled and said nothing. Back at his house, his wife Terry had been staring at a growing pile of unpaid bills. Worst of all, provisions for her three teenage eating-machine sons were not only scarce but also limited to yesterday's white bread and outdated bologna. After periods of wringing her hand while considering the possibility of flying the coop and screw all, she got the bright idea of getting a job. In her very first interview she landed a sales position at Splendid Fashions on Main Street. It was the first job she ever had, having married George fresh out of High School. To her amazement and joy she was an immediate success. Customers sought her advice on everything and did their best to buy out the store. The owner, Salvatore Russo, looked on happily rubbing his hands in keen appreciation. Pretty soon Terry's Click here to read the rest of this story (682 more lines)
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