Post by fattyox on May 18, 2015 13:05:13 GMT -6
When you hear about ‘going to the city’, you might think about going from the farm to the local downtown area. From where there is a lot of grass between homes, to where homes actually touch each other. Where you are constantly in the shadow of a building.
That’s what Ron Oddmin thought. But nothing could compare him for his first run in with New York City. This place was the city of cities. It felt like buildings were rising from other buildings. Smoke and steam rose from the uppermost vents of the high-rises, all the way to the sewer grates in the alleyways. It was tight and cramped. But, there was constant movement; a flow, almost like ants crawling in line through the sand.
From the plane-trip, Ron imagined arriving at LaGuardia Airport, and finding a well-dressed man with a neatly groomed mustache, holding a sign that read name. He fantasized about being led by this man, out a private door and into an awaiting limousine. Beautiful women, one blonde and one brunette, would accompany him in the back of the limo, pouring champagne and laughing. Then, he would be driven, non-stop, to his destination without having to sit for hours in gridlock. He envisioned himself meeting with the CEO of the VOW organization atop a 150 story building, amidst a rooftop garden and wet bar, and he would ink his first professional deal.
That was his expectation of his arrival in New Your City.
But that didn’t happen.
First, he sat on the tarmac for about 3 hours, due to a delay in which someone on the no-fly list was allowed to fly to NYC. After they had been detained off the flight, he finally made it into the terminal. There was no one there to meet him. All he had to go off of was the business card that Gary had given him last week, and it did have an address. But it did him very little good.
He had left the airport, and gotten a general sense of directions from an eastern European sounding woman. He couldn’t make out much of what she said, but she pointed in a direction, and began to walk. He found that it was difficult to walk with about 2000 other people at the same time, but if he just kept pace with who was in front of him, things were okay.
It took Ron about 3 hours of walking, and 4 more reassertions of where he was going, before he finally wound up at the destination. It was a skyscraper for sure. A modern, glass sided building that rose up into the air. It didn’t feel like it was 150 floors up, but deep down, he knew this would be the place.
Ron made his way to the front doors, where a doorman flanked each side. When they saw him approach, the guards both stepped in front of their respective doors, and stopped him.
“This building is private property, kid. Move along.”, One guard said.
“No, I’m supposed to be here. I have an appointment…”, Ron suddenly felt his mouth dry up like a sponge. Things were not going to his dream-scenario. Not at all.
The quiet guard looked sideways at his partner, and began to chuckle and laugh. “Hear him, Marv? He has an appointment here!! HoooWAAA HAAAAA!”
Marv merely bobbled in place, suppressing his laughter. “Nice try, kid. This building belongs only to the top tier celebrities and philanthropists, the world over. You don’t look like either. So scram!”
Ron raised an eyebrow. “Actually, I happen to be a very popular stand-up comedian from Iowa. I’m here to sign a contract with an agency who is going to make me so big that you’ll look back on this day and feel like a couple of idiots. Now please, step aside.” He spoke with unwavering confidence, such as that it even surprised himself.
Marv was the one to laugh this time. “Now I knows you is lying, or maybe jokin’! I know every tenant of this building. There is no such thing as a comedian agency here. Now get lost before I make you lost.” He ended his threat by cracking his knuckles.
Who did they think they were? And more importantly, who was really inside this building?? Now he definitely wanted in. Thinking hard, as a last ditch effort he reached into his pocket for that business card, and presented that to Marv and his buddy. Marv grabbed it and read it, flipping it over and every other way almost as to see if it was counterfeit money. He let his cohort see the card, and shrugged.
“Alright. I know there is no way for you to have this card unless it was given to ya. You can come in. But don’t make any trouble, understand?”
“Sure.” Ron responded. His head was now big enough that he felt miles above these lowly doormen. A door was opened, and he stepped into the immaculate atrium lobby.
It felt cool, but not because the air was on. Everything he saw, from the floor he walked on, to the ceilings and all the walls in between, were white marble. Monumentally large pillars were sporadically located, and were also smooth, shiny marble. There were some business-men in three-piece suits that hurridly rushed along with each other, dress-shoes clopping the floor like horses on paved road, to catch an elevator.
This place was very high class, and here stood Ron, wearing a red shirt and a gray blazer that he got from Salvation Army for nine dollars.
He wasn’t told to dress formal by Gary, but come to think about, a momentous occasion like this really ought to have warranted for more than his best looking black New Balance running shoes.
But, whatever. He was here, now. Ron was already in too deep, so what was the worst that could happen?
Upon the scan of his surroundings, he spied a long, marble desk that seated two security guards dressed in dark suits. The desk was high up, and at a tilted angle forward, so that it forced the guest to look up to the guards, but still be able to reach the countertop. Ron stepped up.
“Good afternoon. I am here to meet with a man named Gary for an appointment.” Ron stood prominently, with every ounce of him thinking he was as far above these people as he was the doormen. However, all these people did was look at each other with unimpressed expressions on their faces. They looked back to Ron. “And??”
Ron swallowed. “Well, you see, I just flew in from the Mid West, so I don’t know where to go here…” He let his words trail off into silence, before remembering the business card. He retrieved it from his pocket and handed it to the guard that spoke. She inspected it, and murmured to her partner.
While Ron waited, he decided to make small talk. “So, it’s probably all the way up at the top, huh? Just show me to where the special elevator is that goes to that floor and-“
The guard interrupted him by handing back the business card. “Head over that way, and go to B6.” Ron turned his head and looked to where she was gesturing. His gaze fell upon an elevator labeled ‘Freight’. With a cocked eyebrow, he looked back to the ladies. He himself gestured to the freight elevator, and they both nodded. They weren’t showing emotion on their faces, but their eyes seemed to be smiling all the same.
Alright, thought Ron. Special elevator. Maybe not as nice looking or as fast as the usual set of elevators, but he asked for it, he guessed. He went down past all the main elevators, and around the corner to where the freight elevator was. He pressed his finger to the hard, metal button to summon it.
Immediately, the doors clanged open with surprising speed. Also as surprising, was the sound they made when they were as open as they were going to get. No shock absorbency, he thought. Well, it was the freight elevator after all. He stepped into the cart, surrounded by musty rugs hanging from hooks near the top of the cart. They must have been there for protective reasons, but cast an unsettling smell of sweat, oil, and grease on Ron’s senses.
Looking at the buttons, he naturally started at the top. This building had 64 floors. He scanned the lines and rows of buttons, starting from 64, all the way to G (for ground floor). Then, he noticed, in a separate section below the floors, was what he was looking for. B1, B2, and so on, all the way to B6. He was pretty sure they had said B6. But why was it all the way down there? That didn’t settle too well with him. He hesitantly pushed the button, and the doors in front of him clanged shut with just as much force and surprise as earlier.
Then, the cart began its descent. As it moved, the single fluorescent bulb over Ron’s head began to flicker. His heart began to pound now.
He wasn’t used to being on elevators, but he immediately began looking around for an escape route. Within the timeframe of 10 seconds, he imagined he was going to die. A groaning noise coming from outside the cart in the rear seemed to confirm that fear. He closed his eyes, and began thinking of his most cherished moment from his life. From saving his popsickle sticks all week long so he can put on a comedy show for his parents. From getting his first kiss at his senior prom. From-
Suddenly, he was jerked from his thoughts and memories back into the real world by the sound of the elevator doors clanging back open. He stayed frozen in place, looking out into what he assumed must have been the B6 floor. There was no carpeting. There was no warm atmosphere. There was barely any light. An old lightbulb hung just over the entrance to the floor, and it appeared to be the only thing on from his perspective.
He stepped off the cart, and into this dark and dank environment. The doors clanged shut behind him; a familiar sound by now, but the loud echo that bounced back from the cement walls around him caused him to jump a mile anyhow.
This must have been a joke or something. Maybe Gary put them up to this. Got the doormen to hassle Ron. Had the security guards send him down here for a good scare. A wonderful bit of hazing for a young comic. Sure, Ron thought. He would just go back upstairs and break up everyone from laughing at the joke. He turned back around and began to call for the elevator, when the echo of a voice reached him.
“Where ya going? We have business.”
Ron swiveled his head back to the darkness beyond the light cast from the bulb.
“Yes…lets go. You’ve kept me waiting long enough.”
Ron finally recognized the voice as Gary’s. Why Gary was down here was beyond Ron’s scope of knowledge. But, nonetheless…he must have been in the right place after all.”
“I-I guess…I guess I see the irony here. The joke, right?” Ron called back, nervously, into the dark. He began to step into the darkness.
He took his time, taking slow and deliberate steps since he could not see much of where his feet were going.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about kid.”
Soon, Ron could look back and see the lightbulb, but it was far on the outskirts of the darkness that he was standing in now. He had no idea how far he had gone, or how close he was to Gary. But everything around him was hiding amongst the cover of darkness.
Ron’s mouth went dry again. He tried to swallow. “Am-I in the…right place?”
Almost immediately, he heard a clicking noise, and another lightbulb flashed on. Ron quickly covered his eyes. This one was about two feet away from him, and the sudden flash of new light temporarily blinded him.
“You are, Ronnie my boy!”
The voice was now much, much closer. No longer an echo. Slowly, Ron pulled his hands down from his face. As his eyes opened, he imagined a desk and chairs being there in front of him, with Gary in that suit, sitting behind it. But as everything came to focus, Ron involuntarily choked a forced breath in.
In front of him was Gary, yes. But he was not in a suit. He barely looked dressed, wearing a dirty white tank top, and a pair of tight shorts, or boxers, that consisted of a coarse design of vertical orange, purple, and white stripes. He loafed on an old, beat up couch with frayed edges and holes all over in cushions. As Ron looked all around him, he saw what he (unfortunately) believed to be Gary’s living space. Stacks of old newspapers towered over rubbish from street-vendors. Dirty clothes also were all over the floor, flat on the floor, as if they’ve been walked over many times.
“Welcome to my home. Have a seat, if you’d like.” Gary offered the empty spot on the couch, to the side of where his stubby legs could reach.
Ron shook his head. “No…no, I’d rather stand.” He swallowed, which was beginning to be more and more of a chore now. “So…is this where I’m going to be signing my contract?”
A smirk spread across Gary’s mouth. “Straight to business. I like your style, kid. Let me just get the contract here...” Gary had to lean himself up from his loung-position to reach for a fresh stack of newspapers. He knocked them over, letting them slide like lava would flow down the side of a volcano. “…and here we are.” He pulled a yellow piece of paper from under a few other newspapers, and handed it to Ron. He balked at it.
“This? This is my contract?” Ron accepted the paper, and looked down to it. It did have a lot of small writing, and places to sign. VOW was at the top, and under that, he finally found out what it stood for. Visionaries of Wrestling.
“Yeah, well im not really set up to get you all of what you’ll need to sign here, but this piece of paper, signed, will guarantee you a spot opening for our next show. And when you’re there, you can meet with the big boss about your full-time deal. But for now, we got to get you there.”
“So,” Ron started, processing the facts. “I’m going to be opening for this show? I guess I’m going to be there just to get the crowd warmed up for the wrestling matches at the show?”
“Exactly.” Gary had flopped back into his indent in the couch cushion. “Like I said, I liked what I saw at the club, and while I know you aren’t ready for the big time just yet, I think we can get you moved along. So, do you have a pen, or do you need to use mine?”
Ron accepted Gary’s pen. As he signed his first autograph on the dotted line, he thought to himself. This was, at the very least, as far from what he had imagined as he could think. He wondered if even signing his name at the time was a good idea. But everything lined up. In the worst way possible, apparently.
Gary took back the contract, and looked it over, making sure it was all in order. “Alright, Mr Oddmin. Glad to have you on board. Now, on a personal note,” he looked around Ron, causing Ron to follow his gaze, “I’m not in the best of conditions right now. I have been out looking and scouting, and I really think you can be the one to help me get out of this hell hole. So don’t let me down, alright?”
Ron nodded his head. “I’ll do my best, sir.”
Gary winced a bit. “Baaaahhh, kid. I’m no sir. Look where I live. Anyway, over there on top of that broken television set, is the address and a pass to get you into the event. It’s right here in the city, at the Manhattan Center. Just show up on the date, at that time, and you’ll go from there.”
Ron walked back towards the first light, where an old Magnavox floor TV was sitting. On top of it was a small piece of paper, with an address and time scribbled on it. Under it was a purple ticket, similar to many concerts or shows.
“And, hey, kid. Don’t break a leg, okay?” He laughed at his own odd joke. Ron thought to himself that Gary really should leave the jokes to the professionals.
“Alright then,” Ron stepped back away from Gary. “I guess I might see you there…” Ron’s last glance of Gary was him shrugging, and shutting his light back off. Ron’s surroundings suddenly got much darker again, except for the elevator door in the distance. Naturally, he made his way back there.
All in all, the circumstances to Ron’s walk of fame were shaky and unnatural at best. But the night is always darkest before the dawn, right? His New York experience was not what he had hoped, either. But at least he was alive. And with a new job!
Thinking about that while calling the elevator back, he remembered the ticket and address in his pocket. He pulled it back out because he wanted to put it safely into his wallet. But reaching to his back pocket, all he felt was his own rear. He frantically checked his other back pocket. His front pockets. His blazer pockets. But, almost as New York’s way of reminding Ron of where he was at, he came to the realization that his wallet must have been pickpocketed. Stolen. Gone. He let a low sigh of hopelessness and defeat.
And then there was the elevator.
CLLAAANNG!
That’s what Ron Oddmin thought. But nothing could compare him for his first run in with New York City. This place was the city of cities. It felt like buildings were rising from other buildings. Smoke and steam rose from the uppermost vents of the high-rises, all the way to the sewer grates in the alleyways. It was tight and cramped. But, there was constant movement; a flow, almost like ants crawling in line through the sand.
From the plane-trip, Ron imagined arriving at LaGuardia Airport, and finding a well-dressed man with a neatly groomed mustache, holding a sign that read name. He fantasized about being led by this man, out a private door and into an awaiting limousine. Beautiful women, one blonde and one brunette, would accompany him in the back of the limo, pouring champagne and laughing. Then, he would be driven, non-stop, to his destination without having to sit for hours in gridlock. He envisioned himself meeting with the CEO of the VOW organization atop a 150 story building, amidst a rooftop garden and wet bar, and he would ink his first professional deal.
That was his expectation of his arrival in New Your City.
But that didn’t happen.
First, he sat on the tarmac for about 3 hours, due to a delay in which someone on the no-fly list was allowed to fly to NYC. After they had been detained off the flight, he finally made it into the terminal. There was no one there to meet him. All he had to go off of was the business card that Gary had given him last week, and it did have an address. But it did him very little good.
He had left the airport, and gotten a general sense of directions from an eastern European sounding woman. He couldn’t make out much of what she said, but she pointed in a direction, and began to walk. He found that it was difficult to walk with about 2000 other people at the same time, but if he just kept pace with who was in front of him, things were okay.
It took Ron about 3 hours of walking, and 4 more reassertions of where he was going, before he finally wound up at the destination. It was a skyscraper for sure. A modern, glass sided building that rose up into the air. It didn’t feel like it was 150 floors up, but deep down, he knew this would be the place.
Ron made his way to the front doors, where a doorman flanked each side. When they saw him approach, the guards both stepped in front of their respective doors, and stopped him.
“This building is private property, kid. Move along.”, One guard said.
“No, I’m supposed to be here. I have an appointment…”, Ron suddenly felt his mouth dry up like a sponge. Things were not going to his dream-scenario. Not at all.
The quiet guard looked sideways at his partner, and began to chuckle and laugh. “Hear him, Marv? He has an appointment here!! HoooWAAA HAAAAA!”
Marv merely bobbled in place, suppressing his laughter. “Nice try, kid. This building belongs only to the top tier celebrities and philanthropists, the world over. You don’t look like either. So scram!”
Ron raised an eyebrow. “Actually, I happen to be a very popular stand-up comedian from Iowa. I’m here to sign a contract with an agency who is going to make me so big that you’ll look back on this day and feel like a couple of idiots. Now please, step aside.” He spoke with unwavering confidence, such as that it even surprised himself.
Marv was the one to laugh this time. “Now I knows you is lying, or maybe jokin’! I know every tenant of this building. There is no such thing as a comedian agency here. Now get lost before I make you lost.” He ended his threat by cracking his knuckles.
Who did they think they were? And more importantly, who was really inside this building?? Now he definitely wanted in. Thinking hard, as a last ditch effort he reached into his pocket for that business card, and presented that to Marv and his buddy. Marv grabbed it and read it, flipping it over and every other way almost as to see if it was counterfeit money. He let his cohort see the card, and shrugged.
“Alright. I know there is no way for you to have this card unless it was given to ya. You can come in. But don’t make any trouble, understand?”
“Sure.” Ron responded. His head was now big enough that he felt miles above these lowly doormen. A door was opened, and he stepped into the immaculate atrium lobby.
It felt cool, but not because the air was on. Everything he saw, from the floor he walked on, to the ceilings and all the walls in between, were white marble. Monumentally large pillars were sporadically located, and were also smooth, shiny marble. There were some business-men in three-piece suits that hurridly rushed along with each other, dress-shoes clopping the floor like horses on paved road, to catch an elevator.
This place was very high class, and here stood Ron, wearing a red shirt and a gray blazer that he got from Salvation Army for nine dollars.
He wasn’t told to dress formal by Gary, but come to think about, a momentous occasion like this really ought to have warranted for more than his best looking black New Balance running shoes.
But, whatever. He was here, now. Ron was already in too deep, so what was the worst that could happen?
Upon the scan of his surroundings, he spied a long, marble desk that seated two security guards dressed in dark suits. The desk was high up, and at a tilted angle forward, so that it forced the guest to look up to the guards, but still be able to reach the countertop. Ron stepped up.
“Good afternoon. I am here to meet with a man named Gary for an appointment.” Ron stood prominently, with every ounce of him thinking he was as far above these people as he was the doormen. However, all these people did was look at each other with unimpressed expressions on their faces. They looked back to Ron. “And??”
Ron swallowed. “Well, you see, I just flew in from the Mid West, so I don’t know where to go here…” He let his words trail off into silence, before remembering the business card. He retrieved it from his pocket and handed it to the guard that spoke. She inspected it, and murmured to her partner.
While Ron waited, he decided to make small talk. “So, it’s probably all the way up at the top, huh? Just show me to where the special elevator is that goes to that floor and-“
The guard interrupted him by handing back the business card. “Head over that way, and go to B6.” Ron turned his head and looked to where she was gesturing. His gaze fell upon an elevator labeled ‘Freight’. With a cocked eyebrow, he looked back to the ladies. He himself gestured to the freight elevator, and they both nodded. They weren’t showing emotion on their faces, but their eyes seemed to be smiling all the same.
Alright, thought Ron. Special elevator. Maybe not as nice looking or as fast as the usual set of elevators, but he asked for it, he guessed. He went down past all the main elevators, and around the corner to where the freight elevator was. He pressed his finger to the hard, metal button to summon it.
Immediately, the doors clanged open with surprising speed. Also as surprising, was the sound they made when they were as open as they were going to get. No shock absorbency, he thought. Well, it was the freight elevator after all. He stepped into the cart, surrounded by musty rugs hanging from hooks near the top of the cart. They must have been there for protective reasons, but cast an unsettling smell of sweat, oil, and grease on Ron’s senses.
Looking at the buttons, he naturally started at the top. This building had 64 floors. He scanned the lines and rows of buttons, starting from 64, all the way to G (for ground floor). Then, he noticed, in a separate section below the floors, was what he was looking for. B1, B2, and so on, all the way to B6. He was pretty sure they had said B6. But why was it all the way down there? That didn’t settle too well with him. He hesitantly pushed the button, and the doors in front of him clanged shut with just as much force and surprise as earlier.
Then, the cart began its descent. As it moved, the single fluorescent bulb over Ron’s head began to flicker. His heart began to pound now.
He wasn’t used to being on elevators, but he immediately began looking around for an escape route. Within the timeframe of 10 seconds, he imagined he was going to die. A groaning noise coming from outside the cart in the rear seemed to confirm that fear. He closed his eyes, and began thinking of his most cherished moment from his life. From saving his popsickle sticks all week long so he can put on a comedy show for his parents. From getting his first kiss at his senior prom. From-
Suddenly, he was jerked from his thoughts and memories back into the real world by the sound of the elevator doors clanging back open. He stayed frozen in place, looking out into what he assumed must have been the B6 floor. There was no carpeting. There was no warm atmosphere. There was barely any light. An old lightbulb hung just over the entrance to the floor, and it appeared to be the only thing on from his perspective.
He stepped off the cart, and into this dark and dank environment. The doors clanged shut behind him; a familiar sound by now, but the loud echo that bounced back from the cement walls around him caused him to jump a mile anyhow.
This must have been a joke or something. Maybe Gary put them up to this. Got the doormen to hassle Ron. Had the security guards send him down here for a good scare. A wonderful bit of hazing for a young comic. Sure, Ron thought. He would just go back upstairs and break up everyone from laughing at the joke. He turned back around and began to call for the elevator, when the echo of a voice reached him.
“Where ya going? We have business.”
Ron swiveled his head back to the darkness beyond the light cast from the bulb.
“Yes…lets go. You’ve kept me waiting long enough.”
Ron finally recognized the voice as Gary’s. Why Gary was down here was beyond Ron’s scope of knowledge. But, nonetheless…he must have been in the right place after all.”
“I-I guess…I guess I see the irony here. The joke, right?” Ron called back, nervously, into the dark. He began to step into the darkness.
He took his time, taking slow and deliberate steps since he could not see much of where his feet were going.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about kid.”
Soon, Ron could look back and see the lightbulb, but it was far on the outskirts of the darkness that he was standing in now. He had no idea how far he had gone, or how close he was to Gary. But everything around him was hiding amongst the cover of darkness.
Ron’s mouth went dry again. He tried to swallow. “Am-I in the…right place?”
Almost immediately, he heard a clicking noise, and another lightbulb flashed on. Ron quickly covered his eyes. This one was about two feet away from him, and the sudden flash of new light temporarily blinded him.
“You are, Ronnie my boy!”
The voice was now much, much closer. No longer an echo. Slowly, Ron pulled his hands down from his face. As his eyes opened, he imagined a desk and chairs being there in front of him, with Gary in that suit, sitting behind it. But as everything came to focus, Ron involuntarily choked a forced breath in.
In front of him was Gary, yes. But he was not in a suit. He barely looked dressed, wearing a dirty white tank top, and a pair of tight shorts, or boxers, that consisted of a coarse design of vertical orange, purple, and white stripes. He loafed on an old, beat up couch with frayed edges and holes all over in cushions. As Ron looked all around him, he saw what he (unfortunately) believed to be Gary’s living space. Stacks of old newspapers towered over rubbish from street-vendors. Dirty clothes also were all over the floor, flat on the floor, as if they’ve been walked over many times.
“Welcome to my home. Have a seat, if you’d like.” Gary offered the empty spot on the couch, to the side of where his stubby legs could reach.
Ron shook his head. “No…no, I’d rather stand.” He swallowed, which was beginning to be more and more of a chore now. “So…is this where I’m going to be signing my contract?”
A smirk spread across Gary’s mouth. “Straight to business. I like your style, kid. Let me just get the contract here...” Gary had to lean himself up from his loung-position to reach for a fresh stack of newspapers. He knocked them over, letting them slide like lava would flow down the side of a volcano. “…and here we are.” He pulled a yellow piece of paper from under a few other newspapers, and handed it to Ron. He balked at it.
“This? This is my contract?” Ron accepted the paper, and looked down to it. It did have a lot of small writing, and places to sign. VOW was at the top, and under that, he finally found out what it stood for. Visionaries of Wrestling.
“Yeah, well im not really set up to get you all of what you’ll need to sign here, but this piece of paper, signed, will guarantee you a spot opening for our next show. And when you’re there, you can meet with the big boss about your full-time deal. But for now, we got to get you there.”
“So,” Ron started, processing the facts. “I’m going to be opening for this show? I guess I’m going to be there just to get the crowd warmed up for the wrestling matches at the show?”
“Exactly.” Gary had flopped back into his indent in the couch cushion. “Like I said, I liked what I saw at the club, and while I know you aren’t ready for the big time just yet, I think we can get you moved along. So, do you have a pen, or do you need to use mine?”
Ron accepted Gary’s pen. As he signed his first autograph on the dotted line, he thought to himself. This was, at the very least, as far from what he had imagined as he could think. He wondered if even signing his name at the time was a good idea. But everything lined up. In the worst way possible, apparently.
Gary took back the contract, and looked it over, making sure it was all in order. “Alright, Mr Oddmin. Glad to have you on board. Now, on a personal note,” he looked around Ron, causing Ron to follow his gaze, “I’m not in the best of conditions right now. I have been out looking and scouting, and I really think you can be the one to help me get out of this hell hole. So don’t let me down, alright?”
Ron nodded his head. “I’ll do my best, sir.”
Gary winced a bit. “Baaaahhh, kid. I’m no sir. Look where I live. Anyway, over there on top of that broken television set, is the address and a pass to get you into the event. It’s right here in the city, at the Manhattan Center. Just show up on the date, at that time, and you’ll go from there.”
Ron walked back towards the first light, where an old Magnavox floor TV was sitting. On top of it was a small piece of paper, with an address and time scribbled on it. Under it was a purple ticket, similar to many concerts or shows.
“And, hey, kid. Don’t break a leg, okay?” He laughed at his own odd joke. Ron thought to himself that Gary really should leave the jokes to the professionals.
“Alright then,” Ron stepped back away from Gary. “I guess I might see you there…” Ron’s last glance of Gary was him shrugging, and shutting his light back off. Ron’s surroundings suddenly got much darker again, except for the elevator door in the distance. Naturally, he made his way back there.
All in all, the circumstances to Ron’s walk of fame were shaky and unnatural at best. But the night is always darkest before the dawn, right? His New York experience was not what he had hoped, either. But at least he was alive. And with a new job!
Thinking about that while calling the elevator back, he remembered the ticket and address in his pocket. He pulled it back out because he wanted to put it safely into his wallet. But reaching to his back pocket, all he felt was his own rear. He frantically checked his other back pocket. His front pockets. His blazer pockets. But, almost as New York’s way of reminding Ron of where he was at, he came to the realization that his wallet must have been pickpocketed. Stolen. Gone. He let a low sigh of hopelessness and defeat.
And then there was the elevator.
CLLAAANNG!
