Monday, October 15, 2018

TIMECLOCK -- Entry #6

Entry #6 - Dead Man's Pockets

After an incredibly long and uncomfortable stretch of time, consisting of the hat guy and myself silently eating chicken strips… Okay, I ate silently; he ate louder than a freight train crashing into a room full of geese… What I’m trying to say is that neither of us said a word while we ate our poorly cooked, dry chicken strips. After that aforementioned long and uncomfortable stretch of time, the guy finally said something.

“So, where do you think we should look first?” he asked through the chicken.

“Look for what?” I asked in what I could only hope was a frustrated tone. Occasionally, you need to make your frustration known through a tone of voice instead of simply a swift kick to the face.

Violence only occasionally solves everything.

I felt like today would end up being one of those days.

“The lost city of Tawlanok!” he exclaimed at the top of his lungs and the bottom of his glass of water. “What have we been talking about?!”

I had no idea.

“I have no idea,” I replied softly. Suddenly, it dawned on me. I knew where to go with this. After eating another chicken strip, I decided to tell him. “But I do have some idea of where to look.”

I built up all of my confidence in an attempt to sound as confident as I could. If I could sound confident, he just might be willing to give me a ride to the shopping mall. If this man wasn’t going to drive me to violence, he could at least drive me to the shopping mall.

“Perhaps we should start by looking at the shopping mall.”

His eyes lit up with excitement in a way that looked very bright in this incredibly dimly lit bar. It was almost frightening, and he almost had pretty eyes under all that hat, except not quite.

“I never thought about looking at the mall,” he said as he slapped the table a few times. Of course he had never thought about it. I had only just now come up with the idea, and if he had thought of it before I did, he very likely would have said so. He said all sorts of things, and I don’t see this as something he would have held back. I couldn’t get the guy to stop talking. “Do you think it’ll be there?”

I didn’t want to discourage him. After all, he was the one with the car. At least I hope he had a car. Maybe he didn’t have a car. I don’t think I ever asked if he had a car or not. I decided to continue assuming that he had a car. “We can only hope.”

That was basically the truth. We couldn’t do much else but to hope. Hope and shop. I needed new shoes. I left mine at the bowling alley, and I had no desire to go back there. Also, I was no longer allowed to go back there. And as my father or some other person once possibly said, there is no sense in going backwards, when you have the lack of sense to go forwards.

I think that’s how the phrase went. It had something to do with backwards and forwards at least. Maybe I read it somewhere.

Eventually, we paid for our meal… I paid for our meal… and we left to try to find a mall. I had forgotten to find out if the town we were in even had a mall, but I would think every town would have a mall or at the very least an open-air shopping plaza and/or pavilion. Most towns I’ve been in have something like that, and let me tell you I’ve been to a lot of towns.

I’ve been to a lot of towns.

This particular town, or perhaps it was a city, this particular city was made up of rather large ornate buildings, scattered amongst a few smaller buildings that looked like nobody cared so much about them anymore. Perhaps no one did. I could understand why not, what with all these larger, more ornate buildings lying around all over the place.

We walked up and down a few streets, hoping to find a mall beside one of them, but we had no luck. Not good luck. Not bad luck. Simply no luck whatsoever.

Eventually, we stumbled onto something that I mistook for luck, but instead it was a body. A dead body. I’m pretty sure it was dead, because it didn’t move when I stumbled over it and fell face first onto its face. My face fell against the face of this body so firmly and forcefully, we might as well have been kissing. I think that’s what the man in the hat thought as well, because he took it upon himself to snap a picture for his photo album.

People don’t refer to alive bodies as bodies often enough. They only call it a body when it’s dead. I pondered this for a moment or two before eventually pushing myself up off of the person body and dusting myself off. I checked for a pulse, and once I was sure I still had one or two, I kicked the person body a couple times to verify its life status.

It was dead. Hat man and I agreed upon this thought, and at once we began to rummage through the person body’s dead pockets.

It was a man, in case you were wondering about the gender, although I’m not sure why that would make any real difference at this point. A dead person body is a dead person body, or so the saying goes.

We didn’t find much in the pockets of the dead man’s person body, so I then went through the pockets of the annoying man with the hat, and he in turn went through my pockets. Coming up empty all the way, we both had a very profound sense of dissatisfaction. Someone had to have something in their pockets, but this just didn’t seem to be our day.

I heaved a heaving heavy sigh of heave, and the man with the hat did the same. We both looked over to the dead man’s person body to see if he also would heave a heavy heaving heave of a sigh, but to no avail. Dead person bodies don’t heave nor do they sigh, although I think I heard once somewhere about air being released at the moment of death.

That was not this moment.

What was this moment however was just then at that moment, when I suddenly had a thought. I typically have quite a few thoughts, but this one thought in particular caught my thinking attention and made me go “Hmm.”

“Hmm,” I said aloud, and the man in the hat said “What?”

“I said ‘Hmm’,” I replied, and the man in the hat said “Oh, okay. I thought that’s what you said.”

“Yes, very much so,” I said back to him, and we went on like this for some time, which I am sure is of no concern to you, as you are likely as bored with this conversation as I was at the moment.

The moment I had the thought that made me go “Hmm.”

I had thought to look in the dead man person body’s shoes, in case he had something in them aside from just his feet and socks.

He did.

I found a letter stuffed under his left foot in his right shoe. A letter addressed to me.



Monday, October 08, 2018

TIMECLOCK -- Entry #5

Entry #5 - Love At First...

Upon entering, I was smacked in the face with the smell of beer and a pool cue. The pool cue hurt almost as much as the smell, so I found a table and sat down.

“What’ll you have?” asked a bored-looking waitress. She was young and gaunt, with the sunken eyes of a pharaoh. I figured she was likely hard up for money and soft down on luck. “Also, would you mind getting down off the table?”

I didn’t mind.

I sat on the booth bench, or whatever it’s called, and ordered something from the menu. My exact words were “I’d like to order something from the menu, and it doesn’t matter to me what it is!”

The waitress responded almost as exactly as I had ordered. “So what you’re saying is that you’d like me to decide for you?”


“I don’t get paid enough for this,” she retorted while crinkling up her nose in what I can only assume was disgust.

This signified the end of the conversation, and she walked away into the darkness of the bar. Satisfied with my order, I saw back to wait for my food, drink, or whatever the woman would order for me.

At that precise moment, and not any moment later, the man with the hat from before sat down on the other side of the table.

“You’d better get down from there, or a very bitter woman will come over and ask you to.”

He pondered this or something else for a moment before sitting down on the other booth bench, or whatever it’s called. I figured he didn’t want to talk to that woman any more than I did, which, for the record, wasn’t very much at all.

“I bet you’re wondering how I’ve found you,” he started. He was right. I was quite definitely wondering just that and nothing else. I wasn’t really in the mood for a lot of wondering, so I decided to limit myself to one thing at a time. In that moment, what I was wondering was how he had found me, but I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction that he was right. He was, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.

It didn’t matter anyways, as he continued speaking before I could neither confirm nor deny his suspicions.

“I’ve been following you ever since you stood in the middle of the road over by the bowling alley.”

“Let’s not speak of the bowling alley,” I implored. It was still a bit of a sore topic for me, due to  all the bruises I’d sustained during all of the fighting and crying. “And while we’re on a subject, you really need to stop following me. It’s not a very good past-time, and I’m certain I am not the least bit entertaining.”

“Entertainment is not why I follow you,” he said calmly. Almost too calmly in fact, and I began to fall asleep.

My nap didn’t last very long though, because I was awoken by that nasty waitress asking the man in the what what he wanted from her.

“What do you want from me?” she asked him harshly. She struck me as a very rude woman, very rudely with the back of her hand across the back of my head. “Wake up. This isn’t a hotel.”

I knew that.

“I know that,” I said.

Ignoring me, she turned back to the man with the hat. “I suppose you want me to decide for you as well?”

“That would be wonderful!” he said with a stupid grin on his stupid face and a stupid hat on his stupid head. I think he was starting to annoy me. I think he was starting to annoy the waitress as well, because she simply walked away simply, muttering something simple under her simple breath.

She was a very complicated woman, and I think I was in love.

I couldn’t remember if the man had told me why he was following me, and by that point, I no longer cared. I had grown weary of the entire situation, and came to the very swift conclusion that the best course of action was to let the whole thing drop.

The love of my life was none too pleased with this.

“You know that I’m going to have to clean all that up, don’t you?” she asked as she brought a plate of chicken strips and barbecue sauce to the table.

It wasn’t exactly what I wanted, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. She seemed like the type of woman who was hard to please, and our growing relationship was already strained by us not knowing each other and her very clearly not liking me at all. I found no reason in making things worse…

“Thank you for the food.” I figured buttering her up a bit was the best course of action.

“Put that butter down and don’t change the subject.”

She was on to me.

“Hey lady,” the stupid annoying man chimed in. “Perhaps you could stop interrupting us. We have important things to discuss.”

I didn’t agree with him, both vocally or at all.

Either way, the love of my life turned in a huff and walked out of it. My life, that is. She walked out of my life as angrily as she had walked into it, which, if you have been paying as little attention as I have, was fairly extremely angrily.

I had the strong sense I would never see her ever again. Most of that came from hearing her shout back to me that she never wanted to see me ever again.

She’ll come around.



Monday, October 01, 2018

TIMECLOCK -- Entry #4

Entry #4 - A Beginning To An End

I only remembered the name of the place I was setting out to find, because I had taken the initiative to write it on my hand in blue ink. When you need to make certain you remember an important piece of information, such as what to buy at the store, where you parked your car, or names of lost civilizations, you should always write it on your hand in blue ink. It helps you to remember, and the blue makes sure it’s less likely to smear off in case of moisture.

As I stumbled my way down the street and around the corner, I had the strong sense that someone was following me. I’m fairly certain this feeling was brought about by the fact that I could see that someone was following me. I decided to confront him, but not yet. I had to be sure.

I took an immediate sudden turn into an alley, narrowly missing the alley and smacking face first into a brick wall. Just as I had expected and kind of weirdly hoped, the suspect walked right into my back. He was following my every move.

“Hey watch where you’re going, buddy,” I shouted quite crossly at the stranger.

“I think I could say the same to you, mister,” came a low rumbling voice from under the hat… He was wearing a hat. “You walked us straight into a wall.”

This was when I decided to get rough. “Well, if you hadn’t been following me…”

“Hey, what I do with my time is none of your concern.” He was right. What a person does with their time should be of no concern to other people. It was the way of the world, and it was as it should be. I felt I should apologize at once.

“I’m sorry, mister, uh....” In the shuffle, I had forgotten to ask the man his name. I had forgotten to give mine. Perhaps we should exchange insurance information. That’s the sort of thing you do when you get into a rear-end collision, I believe. Sure, normally automobiles are involved, occasionally bicycles… At least one time, an elephant was involved. I saw it with my very own eyes… Yet then again, my eyesight never was very good… The elephant was hard to miss though. Where was I? Oh right, introductions. “Look, my name is Richard Flint, and I’m an unemployed professional. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of you alright,” said the man in the hat. “But not from your place of lack of business.” Where else would someone know me from? Perhaps he’d seen my play. “You’re looking for Tawlanok, am I right?” He was.

“You are,” I replied.

“Well what would you say if I told you I could help you find it?”

I blinked very rapidly, mostly trying to get the eyelash out of my eye. It worked. I resumed blinking normally. “I would say that you’re likely full of bull donkey.” I’m not sure what a bull donkey was, but I wasn’t in the mood for profanity at that precise moment. “If you knew how to find it, you’d have found it already and it would no longer be lost, thus rendering my current and newfound search for the lost civilization completely pointless… in which case, I shouldn’t need your assistance whatsoever, so you offering it to me would also be pointless.”

The man was taken back a little and taken front a lot. “Your circular logic impresses me.” It impressed me as well, but I decided against stating it aloud as he had done. Instead, I simply stood there feeling very intelligent and quick-witted while the man also stood silently saying nothing. I'll tell you, it was a lot better than loudly saying nothing, as many people often do… Although I will admit that it was far more awkward, and after an hour or two it made me feel incredibly uncomfortable, so I decided it was time I spoke up.

“Listen here.” I wasn't sure where else he would listen, but I've heard people say that before, and it always seems to get my attention. “You seem like an eccentric enough guy, what with your hat and all, and you seem pretty interested in finding Tawlanok same as me…”

“I, same as I.”

“Absolutely, you and me are the same… so how's about you tag along on my journey, for it is destined to be a fantastic quest at that!” I wanted to end my pitch with a bit of a flourish at the end. I dug back into my Shakespearean days and all the acting skills I had acquired, and I rounded the whole thing out with a grand hand gesture, complete with a pompous look on my face as us thespians are wont to do.

The man just gave a simple shrug and said “Yeah sure. I don't see why not.”

I chose to believe that the overwhelming grandeur of my performance had stunned him into a sort of dry shock, unlike those wet kinds that you hear about so often, and that his lackadaisical response was merely due to his feeble mind being unable to process how marvelous an actor I am.

I didn’t exactly know where to begin, and I’m fairly certain neither did he, but we weren’t about to let that bring us down. As any good explorer will tell you, the best way to start exploring is to find a place to start exploring and just go from there. Actually, it’s practically impossible to get them to stop telling you things like that. You don’t even have to ask, they’ll just keep telling, whether you want to hear it or not. Sometimes the only thing to do in that situation is to walk away.

That is also what I decided to do in that exact moment.

I walked away so exactly and so momentously that it caused quite a stir. People all over were looking and pointing and talking about how well I was walking away that it stopped traffic. Well, to be more accurate, I stopped traffic. I stood in the middle of the road and kept traffic from going anywhere.

If I couldn’t go anywhere, neither could they. These cars weren’t going to move until I had decided on a starting point for my great adventure.

A bowling alley seemed the most obvious choice, partly because it was right there in front of me, flashing its obnoxious neon sign-lights in my face.

Ignoring all the honking and profanity and beverage cups being thrown my way, I made my way across the rest of the street, making a few other peoples’ ways across as I went. It’s only polite to think about the needs of others every now and then, but mostly now.

Once inside the bowling alley, I turned around and went immediately back outside to make sure I was in the right establishment and hadn’t missed or something like that. When entering a building, it’s always a good idea to take a moment to verify that you are where you want to be… in case someone asks.

The moment I set foot back inside, I forgot why I was there. So, I rented out some shoes and decided to play a couple rounds.

I’m not very good at golf.

After much arguing, fighting, and crying with the management of the bowling alley, and agreement was made. I was to pay seventy-five of my hardly-earned money, and in exchange, I was to never set foot in that bowling alley ever again. I decided to be the better man and extend that courtesy to every other bowling alley I came across.

“Go the extra mile,” I told myself. So I began walking.

I’m not entirely sure how far a mile is, but I think that it’s something along the lines of three city blocks. At least, that’s the conclusion I came to when I saw that shady bar after walking for three blocks. It was dark and not very well lit on the inside either. I went inside. That’s how I know.


Read the gathering adventure HERE!

Monday, September 24, 2018

TIMECLOCK -- Entry #3

Entry #3 - What's Lost Is Lost

"Never heard of it," I said smartly, yet feeling a bit dumb.

"Not many have, but this is almost definitely one of them." I thought about asking him how he knew this information, but he was going to tell me anyways. I just knew it. "Here, I'll tell you how I know this information." I was right. I'm always right... Well, maybe not always, but most of the time... Sometimes I'm almost completely right about things, and I'm somewhat certain this was one of those times. I've been known to be wrong though.

The stout little man prattled on. “This is most definitely a lost spoon of Tawlanok. I know because I came from there.”

“Fascinating.” I was not at all fascinated. Mostly I was simply impatient and wanted to know how much cash I could get from this lost spoon. It was just then that it dawned on me. “You do realize that that spoon there in your hands is not exactly lost, right?”

Franco stood for a moment staring at the spoon, a slight look of confusion on his face. His reply came in a voice slightly weaker and far more timid than before. “No, no, I’m fairly certain this is one of the lost spoons.”

“But it’s not lost. It’s right there in your hand.”

“Well, it was lost, at the very least.” He was backtracking. I had him right where I wanted him. “It was lost, and apparently you found it.”

Damn. He was right. I had found it. I found it right there lying on the ground outside my apartment building. Either way, I might still be able to get something for it, lost or not. I decided to try my luck.

“Well, what do you suppose it’s worth? Perhaps there is a sort of reward in place for whoever managed to find it…” When all else fails, go the passive-aggressive route. That’s what my mother taught me.

“Oh this is priceless.” Damn. No price, no reward. “All of Tawlanok holds these spoons in high regard! Why, the provisional government would potentially shower you with riches if you were to return this spoon to them.”

Riches. I could use some of those. I was on the right track.

“Well hand me back the spoon I found and I shall return it to them forthwith!” Sometimes I like to use words like forthwith, because it makes me sound pretty educated, I’d like to think.

“Oh I can give you back the spoon, no problem,” started the ball of Franco. “but I don’t think you can return it to the people of Tawlanok.”

“And why not?” I thought as I asked aloud, “And why not?”

“Well, because much like this spoon once was, so is Tawlanok.”

His answer left me pretty confused. “I have no idea what you mean by that,” I decided to tell him.

“Tawlanok is lost.” Was everything lost these days? It certainly seemed to me like things were just going missing left and right around here now. Franco continued on without any urging from me. “You see, I am from Tawlanok. I came here fifteen years ago, and I can’t find my way back.”

“So it was you who lost it.” I was starting to get fed up with Franco and his weird, cryptic, occasionally moronic talk.

“Well, yes. I suppose so.”

“And just like I found the lost spoon,” I was building to something here. “I will be the one to find Tawlanok!” I had finally found a mystery to solve. Either that or I was just very bored. Also, I’m fairly certain that I just wanted to show this weird little man how much better than him I am.

Yes, I am fairly certain it was all just to boost my own ego.

“Take me there at once!” I shouted at the owner of the pawn shop.

“Take you where?” he replied, acting just more than a tad baffled.

“To Tawlanok, you buffoon…” Had he been paying attention at all to our conversation? “You must take me to Tawlanok at once!”

“I told you not even a few moments ago that Tawlanok is lost… quite possibly forever. I could not take you there even if I wanted to, which I very well do not.”

I was shocked at his sudden rude behavior. I decided it best to play it down and just work on removing myself calmly from this conversation. “Well then bully to you, you snide little man! I hope a walrus eats your face!” I calmly stormed out of the establishment as violently as possible, letting the door slam as calmly as I could to cause several glass figurines to break in the process.

As I walked away in a huff, I worked to collect myself from all this calm and began to think to myself aloud and not at all in my head, “I don’t believe I ever found out if the man even had any pawns for sale… Well it’s no matter. I suppose I had best be getting to finding this Tawlanok place after all.”


Read the growing adventure HERE!

Thursday, September 20, 2018

I Confess (1953)

Beefing on Hitchcock
I Confess

The thirty-eighth film by Alfred Hitchcock was a long time in the making, a full eight years spent on the script alone. 1953's I Confess was, in my opinion, a work of art and heart. Commonly stated as his "most Catholic" picture, the movie takes from Htichcock's own personal faith and incorporates many aspects of the church, religion, and priesthood.

The story follows a young priest who receives the confession of a man who has just killed someone. He himself ends up being implicated and eventually brought to trial for the murder, as he can not break the confidentiality of a confession, even if it means proving his own innocence. This brings twist to Hitchcock's common "wrong man" theme, common to viewers nowadays, yet not broadly familiar at the time.

Starring Montgomery Clift as Father Logan, Anne Baxter as a lover from his life before the priesthood, and Karl Malden as Inspector Larrue, the film is full of suspense and angst, and manages to keep you on the edge of your seat whilst taking its time with the plot. Clift's method acting style draws you in to the fraught emotional state of the priest, even though it apparently clashed with Hitchcock's own style of directing behind the scenes. For what it was worth, the two conflicting styles merged together on screen beautifully to create a simple, yet intriguing picture.

In the end, I highly recommend this movie to anyone who has yet to see it, and personally consider it top-tier Hitchcock, even though it never seems to fall in with his most popular and well-known films. That's a shame.

Monday, September 17, 2018

TIMECLOCK -- Entry #2

Entry #2 - Spoon Appraisal and A Latex Llama

That's how I got to the pawn shop. Actually a very expensive taxi ride is how I got to the pawn shop. I suppose it would have been cheaper to go to a pawn shop in my own town and not six states over, but I felt like a road trip. I also felt like going on a road trip, and the taxi driver didn't seem to mind all that much either. I think he was just lonely and craved human companionship.

Speaking of human companionship, I once tried out an online dating service that didn't involve computers or the internet. I was a bit confused about how they were able to call it "online" without the internet, but as they didn't even have a website, I couldn't figure out any way to ask. I wasn't even sure how to set up my profile, and the whole thing seemed rather inefficient and quite possibly entirely one big scam...

So after a few dates, I deleted my account somehow and moved on with my life.

Oh right, the pawn shop. Thank you for reminding me.

I took one step into the cluttered, dusty shop and immediately knew I was in the right place. Right there on the front of the counter, in big red letters, the phrase "We appraise spoons" was written in a very neat and tidy cursive. Honestly, I was more astonished that anyone knew cursive anymore than I was that they had made a sign so utterly specific to my exact need.

So I traipsed right on in and rang the bell that sat on the counter, in hopes that I could get some service.

"Hey! Be careful with that bell! It's an antique," came a shout from the back room. "You break it; you buy it."

"That seems an incredibly inefficient order of business," I replied. "Say I want to buy something that isn't broken."

"I'm not going to say that. Who am I to know what you want to buy?"

I stood confused at the question for a brief moment, before I remembered that I didn't actually want to buy anything at all. I then concluded that I should inform the man that I didn't actually want to buy anything at all.

"I don't actually want to buy anything at all," I said, quite sure that the argument had now been won in my favor.

"I suppose there's no sense in arguing with you about this," came the reply, which made me intensely proud. Feeling a newfound sense of boldness in my glory, I carried on taking charge of the situation.

"Yes, I actually stopped in to get this here spoon here appraised, and I read there on your sign there that you do such a thing here in this fine establishment here." I was getting good at this.

"Incredible!" shouted the weird little man as he finally stepped out from the back room. "I not only just put up that sign this morning, and I never thought I would get much business for it so soon... or ever. But here you are standing there, spoon in hand, wanting my appraisal of said spoon. I could just shoot myself with glee!!"

He began to grin a strange thin little grin that seemed to stretch from the left side of his face all the way to Arizona, which I can tell you is a long ways away. Actually I think Arizona might have been to his left, so that analogy doesn't actually work as such, but you get the point.

"You see, spoons have always been a big hobby of mine," continued Franco. His name was Franco by the way. Franco was a good four feet tall, four feet wide, and I'm fairly certain he was also four feet front to back. The man was round, is what I am trying to say. His grey hair reached his shoulders, except the hair that was on the top of his head, because there was none. He was bald with a mullet. He was round and bald with a mullet. But at least he was happy. Well, happy is an understatement. This round, bald, mullety lump of a man was ecstatic.

He went on about how ecstatic he was. "I can't even begin to tell you how ecstatic I am," he said. "Someone actually wants me to appraise their spoon! Yes, I just love spoons. I love to look at them, feel the roundness of the spoony part, admire the craftsmanship of the handle... Occasionally, there are logos and pictures on the top of the handle that tell you where the spoon is from! Did you know that you can also use spoons as a utensil to eat with?"

"Go figure," I said, placating the crazy little blob as best as I could. I felt it was best to appease the man, as he was apparently a tad unhinged. I also couldn't help but wonder what he thought normal people such as myself did with spoons, if not eat with them. I decided not to bother asking.

"Let me see that fine spoon of yours." I handed him the spoon cautiously, in case he tried to bite me or something. "Ah yes, let's see what we have here," he mumbled softly as he placed a monocle over his right eye. You don't see monocles all too often anymore, but then again, you don't really see a stuffed llama covered in black latex very often either…

Yet here I was looking at both. “Why would someone pawn a latex llama?” I started to think to myself. I was about to have an answer too, but Franco cut me off mid-thought.

"Holy crickets! Do you know what you have here?!" I answered as surely as I could, "A spoon?"

I thought my answer was sufficient, but I guess Franco felt differently. "Oh this is so much more than that! This is one of the lost spoons of Tawlanok!"


Read the full adventure HERE!

Monday, September 10, 2018

TIMECLOCK -- Entry #1

Entry #1 - A Play Of Words

My story begins with a spoon. But not just any spoon. That would be far too vague. No, this particular spoon is magic. Well it's not magic in and of itself, but it is magical. It contains magic. Or harnesses. I'm not entirely sure how actually, considering I am far from an expert on all things magic. To be brutally honest, I'm not even sure the spoon is all that magical really. That's just what I overheard when the guy at the pawn shop was telling me how magical the spoon was and when that guy told me I should gouge out my eyes with it.

Maybe my story shouldn't begin with that spoon. Perhaps I should start off with a little bit about myself instead and then lead into the spoon... The spoon isn't all that important really. The story isn't even about the spoon so much as it is about everything that came after the spoon and the pawn shop and the eye gouging... But again, I'll start a little before all that.

My name is Richard Flint and I'm professionally unemployed. The lady at the employment placement office asked me what I'm good at, and I told her "being unemployed."

"I'm sorry, we don't have any openings for that skill set," she replied in a relatively unemotional tone.

"But you do have jobs..."

"Oh yes. We have plenty of jobs, just not any that involve not having one."

So that's when I decided to go on my own and start a private firm. There isn't a lot of call for unemployed people, maybe it's a supply and demand thing? But I'm fine with that. If I was to get too much business, I wouldn't feel comfortable calling myself unemployed anymore.

So for the most part, I simply fill my overabundance of free time by doing things I think I might enjoy.

I was in a play.

Several of us unemployed people (When you're unemployed, you meet a lot of people in the same boat, so to speak. And by boat I mean situation.) Anyways, several of us caught the acting bug. Not a real bug, although Joey had a pet cockroach he kept in a matchbox. Oh yes, the play.

It was called "A Death Of A Salesman," not to be confused with the already existing play "Death Of A Salesman." I'm not sure the author knew about the other one… if he had, I think he would have sued. The guy's name was Tony and we all thought that the play might be good, considering his last name was Shakespeare. Like father like son, or so we thought.

It wasn't until later that we found out that Gregory Shakespeare was his uncle and not father, so that explained a lot. Maybe the talent missed his side of the family.

"The play is about a door-to-door gerbil salesman who lost his worldly possessions in a grease fire, and he becomes really depressed and he dies a little inside," he said.

Some guy named Grover spoke up, "So he’s not actually dead?"

"No, see, his death is mostly metaphorical and not quite as severe as you might think. He’s simply lost his zeal, desire and ability to sell."

The play didn't do very well, but my role as "Grocer number 2" (I also played "Interested Customer number 6”) led me to get a part time job as a bagger in a grocery store. I figured it wouldn't eat into my unemployment business too much, so long as I put as little effort into the job as possible.

It didn't help matters much that my eyesight is horrible though. I can see just fine, but more or less I'm almost entirely blind. Someone suggested wearing glasses, but I couldn't see my own face well enough to get them on. I kept missing, which is precisely what happened with the grocery items I was tasked to bag. You can only drop glass items beside a brown paper bag so many times before they fire you. Take that advice to heart, in case you're thinking of doing something similar.

But my poor eyesight is what leads me back to that spoon from before... I found a spoon. I could see that perfectly after I tripped on it, which is probably what made it so easy for me to find.

There it was just lying there on the ground outside my apartment building. So of course, I picked it up, gave it the old once-over, and shoved it into my pocket, because that's the sort of thing I have been known to do.

After walking around a bit, doing various things like buying lottery tickets and then throwing them away immediately on the assumption that I've already wasted my money anyways, I finally decided that I should get the aforementioned spoon appraised.

I did a little digging and discovered that there is no such thing as a "spoon appraisal service" nor is it a good idea to use random spoons for digging in other people's yards.

It was then, and only then, that I decided to take the spoon to a pawn shop.


Read the full adventure HERE!