This Week's Theme:
"a letter arrives from an old circus performer who has found an undiscovered island"
Week: Zero
Due Date: January 5, 2009
Berntastic
Ryan McCoy
The only thing worse than working was being poor. So Bernie worked three different jobs and hated every moment. In most cities, one job would have provided enough money. He kept three jobs, however, because the only thing he liked better than doing nothing was doing nothing in The City that Never Sleeps.
Bernie walked into the kitchen shirtless, exposing his hairy and lumpy body. “Damn. You’re not working today?” He asked a fat bald guy eating at the table.
“Don’t be such a lump of coal. I’m using some vacation time. What about you?”
“No, I mean, later I do. I just called off sick from Starbucks but I have a party performance scheduled this afternoon. Christmas Eve is one of my biggest paydays of the year.”
Bernie poured coffee into his Darth Vader mug.
“Well that’s awful, that’s just so awful. I wouldn’t work today for five million dollars. I’m going to walk around the Square with the rest of that cocoa and tip all the carolers and bums. I love the city when everyone is jolly.”
Bernie made a yucky face and emptied Darth Vader into the sink. “Who the hell brews hot chocolate in a coffee maker? You’re such a loser. There’s not nearly enough caffeine in chocolate to wake me up. Maybe if I drink enough of it I could get fat like you and sleep all day, sounds like the life. Don’t roll your eyes at me, take that shit out of my coffee maker. Pronto.”
“Want to walk around the city with me?”
“Hell no.”
“You can’t sit around picking your butt all day on Christmas Eve.”
“I’d rather watch shemale porn. I’d rather be gay by myself than be gay with you and the rest of the world. I’d rather work.”
“Come on. It’ll be fun.”
“I do need some more weed…”
“It’s windy out there, so bundle up.”
Fifteen minutes later, they were walking down 42nd street. The snow had melted but it was still cold outside. They wore puffy coats and Bernie had on his rainbow afro wig. Drug dealers knew the fro meant he needed dro.
“What do you want from Santa?”
“Enough money to never work again,” Bernie responded. “Too bad he’s bogus. Keep your eyes open for any street pharmacists.”
“I want to see the Christmas tree, since you wouldn’t let me set one up.”
“It would take up too much space that we don’t have enough of, I told you.” A few women in Bernie’s age range walked by. “Hey. Merry Christmas. Take one. All of you, here.” He tried passing out his business cards, but they ignored him. “I come with 100% satisfaction guaranteed.”
“Ignore my roomie, he worships Scrooge.”
One muttered “creeps,” and they hurried on. Bernie made a slapping motion behind their backs. “Bitches. They need me to ejaculate a little Christmas cheer into their asses.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“Go fuck a drain.”
They walked past shops that were covered with green and red blinking lights, candy canes and nut crackers. It wasn’t dark enough for the full effect of the Christmas lights, but the streets were as packed as ever. Bernie’s roommate went near the Subway to listen to a saxophone player’s rendition of “Good King Wenceslas,” so Bernie parted off on his own mission. He weaved through the crowd, trying to identify someone with inside information. A man wearing an expensive duffle coat walked by holding a cardboard sign that said “Heaven” in black marker. Bernie tapped him on the shoulder, then puffed on an invisible doobie and whispered “got any?” The man looked at his afro and shook his head. He flipped the sign to its other side, which read “Hell.”
“Hot dogs!” cried a vendor desperate for business. Bernie took out his wallet. The vendor also disliked Bernie’s afro and waved him along, but Bernie refused.
“What? You got a problem with me?”
“Get away,” the vendor said.
“Sorry, I’m not actually ordering food.”
The vendor eyed Bernie suspiciously. “You want some Christmas tree, maybe?”
“No, definitely not. But um I’m trying to find weed.”
The vendor looked around. “Sorry, we don’t sell that, but we do sell christmas tree,” he winked.
“The hell? Okay, I’ll have that Christmas tree.”
The vendor ducked behind his cart to grab the goods. When he wasn’t looking, Bernie stole a bag of barbecue chips and snuck away.
He ate the chips. His precious free time was disappearing quickly. He thought about doing magic tricks and animal balloons later, which made him more depressed. Bernie wandered by the Fashion District, though he had just about given up on finding drugs. He tried passing out a business card to a boy but the mother called him a “dirty perv,” right in front of The Courtyard and all its classy people.
That was when a stranger came up to him out of nowhere. He wore a red Christmas sweater stitched with sparkling white angels.
“You looking for some dope, ain’t you?” he asked with a grin.
“How’d you know?”
“Your hair. Though I suggest you take it off, Boss gots a problem with homos. Just walk over to Premium Videos on the next block. Wish Boss a merry x-mas, he’ll hook you up.”
Bernie thanked him, but he refused to take off his afro. He walked to West 39th Street and found the place closed. He knew it was the right place because there was a sign out front that read MERRY XXXMAS SALE. He knocked. “Damn it. Anybody here?” He knocked again.
“Hello?” a voice called from inside.
“Hey, is Boss there? Merry x-mas, merry x-mas.”
The door opened for Bernie to enter. The store was dark. Bernie was led through video aisles to the back of the store where two men sat at a table. Bernie again wished everyone a “merry x-mas.” He was responded by angry stares. The man who appeared oldest stood up. He held a briefcase.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asked.
“I’m… Berntastic the Clown.” Bernie handed him a business card. “You’re Boss? I heard I’d find some good dope here. What’s it cost?”
“For you? Five hundred per fucking gram. Merry fucking x-mas.” Boss tore his business card apart. He blew its pieces into the air like snowflakes.
“Huh?”
“All you clowns are homos, so that’s the best deal you’ll get.”
Bernie seemed shocked. “I’m not gay. Your dude knew I was cool because of my fro. He knew you’d sell me some weed. I just need an eighth,” he said, waving his arms. “Look, I’ll take it off.”
“He’s getting violent, boys. Throw him out. Take the money he owes me for wasting my time.”
Bernie’s arm was grabbed by the first guy. “Wait, let go.” He craved weed, needed it. Nobody else dealt on Christmas Eve. He would never have been able to handle that afternoon Christmas party without knowing he could get high after collecting his check.
He squirmed forward and pushed Boss into the wall—bang!
Bernie fell to the floor. The suitcase Boss had held busted open on the ground, packed full of cash. It was the sweetest final sight he could imagine. But he was fine, he realized. He heard screaming and saw blood splattered on the wall. The other two men were confused until Boss started screaming “I shot myself!” and they hurried over to him. A huge red stain was spreading on his pants.
Bernie closed the briefcase and ran with it. Some bills flew out but he had saved most of them. He heard footsteps coming after him as he turned past the checkout counter. He unlocked the front door. Bang! He ran faster. He tore off his rainbow afro and disappeared into the busy streets.
Finally feeling safe enough to slow down, Bernie pulled his phone from his coat pocket. He had received a text during the chaos. He typed in a quick response and hailed the nearest cab.
Years later, when Bernie was living filthy like a king, he still had the following messages fondly saved on his phone.
Fr: Teddy
sup?? r u rdy 2 go home??
To: Teddy
stfu
Fr: Teddy
lighten up ffs its xmas!!
To: Teddy
im movin out. found an undiscovered island. fuck you