Failing Well

TOM

It took ten minutes this time. That made him happy. The usual was about twelve so this was a record. For a guy that never finished anything accurately, this was a moment of accomplishment. Ever since he was a kid there was a feeling of failure. It wasn’t the failure that stemmed from doing something wrong; it was the failure of not finishing the project correctly. Trying to finish too quickly was the problem. He felt that the answer to any approval was to show abundance. That way, they would look through the poor quality. It worked every time he tried it therefore it became ingrained in him that quantity was best. In order to get all this done, he had to work fast.
Carpentry was tried at one time but never commercially. He just did things when needed, usually for himself or for a friend. The corners never fit quite close enough. The angles were simple but it took a particular person to make it perfect. He wasn’t that person. The advantage that he thought he had was that he could get it done.
If it was a large project, he completed it in record time. He was bored easily. If things were not done expeditiously, he lost interest. Completion was more important to him than the project itself. Things were completed and he got his check. Do not examine it closely. No one ever denied him as being a hard worker. How could they? He always got it done.
It was stage scenery. The fake front fooled friends and family. Compliments were everywhere. He was happy but inside his heart, he knew he failed.


WALT

It was so beautiful that it took a discerning eye to appreciate it completely. It was fine with him; it was fine, period. Extreme time was taken to finish it right. He measured several times to make it perfect. He could never keep up with the demand; it took too long to get things done. Several hours, days or even weeks had to be spent to do it right.
As a young man, his father brought him up to do things so that he would be proud of his accomplishment. His problem was that he was unable to make that word plural.
His workmanship was impeccable with never a flaw. Those that were fortunate enough to receive one of his pieces were very happy. All that saw it wanted one. They were disappointed when he couldn’t make them fast enough so delivery was never completed. With any type of project he was doing, he made sure it was done precisely. More were needed to make enough money.
He was fired from a great many jobs. It seemed that the owners could not afford to keep him because his numbers for fulfillment did not match his hourly pay. He was very proud of the work he did and persons that saw his achievements reveled, but in his heart, he knew he failed.


SHARON

What a beauty! Any one that saw her was mesmerized. She was confident in her walk because she knew that all parts of her were perfect. She spent a lot of time making sure her make-up was just so. She was college educated, very attractive and single. From one to ten, she was a twelve.
After graduating from the university, she completed finishing school. This gave her the knowledge to dress, cook and create an air of perfection.
She was alone. A friend was hard to find. Her look and demeanor was beyond perfect. Women and men were afraid to try to know her. They were certain that they would be turned down. Those men that tried dating her could not get over her superior beauty. Her dates were a one-time affair. There were no repeats.
She was successful at work and promotion was easy for her. Her position was able to afford her to a high standard of life. Any assignment that came to her was completed with speed and accuracy. She was crowned with success with every request except that deep inside she was alone. She was as happy as anyone could be during the day and especially at work. It was when she was home, in the evenings, particularly in the evenings. This is when her world came to a halt.
She was very lonely. The only thing that would let the late hours go by were the thoughts of reporting to work the next day. In this way, she could shine again. The ladder of success was hers to claim, but away from work, she knew she was a failure. The men in her life were usually connected to her job. She just wasn’t about to go along with their demands. The cads leaned on her. They drooled on her, especially the married ones. She hated it. The way she turned them off caused her to change jobs. She left on her own or was forced out of a job.


LILLY

Under a bridge, with nothing to eat was the way things were today and almost everyday. Her mother, an alcoholic, kicked her out of the trailer when she was fourteen years old. All she could remember of her father was what her mother had told her. He was a crack head.During her mother's pregnancy he left her and then died while imprisoned for murder before she was born.
Walking the streets, she was always cold. Damp ground soaked through the holes of worn shoes as she struggled to maintain the simplest form of a very hard life. All those that were around her were beggars, prostitutes, or thieves. She refused to be like her mother. Her mother was probably dead by now.
Being on the streets for the past three years had hardened her but she avoided the temptation of drugs or drunkenness. The only things that she had in common with those other filthy faces was that she was homeless and broke.
Those that were successful would look at her with disgust as they walked by her while she tried to survive at the foot of downtown skyscrapers. They would simply shake their head while she tried to show them her art. If only they would take the time to look.
They were sketches; they were her life’s sketches. She scrounged empty bottles to buy paper and pencils to achieve her work. One would never know how she captured the essence of the homeless. The expressions of those that struggled in those dank alleys was amazing. The sad, forlorn looks of strife that surrounded her came out in her drawings. They made you cry as every bit of feeling of despair showed in her depictions. If only someone would take the time to look at them.
One drawing depicted a police officer making an arrest of a vagrant. The man was probably thirty years old but he looked as though he was much older. Wearing a worn and threadbare coat with pants that were torn about the cuff was the best he could do. The charcoal sketch had one tethered hand against the brick wall in an alley.
Lilly was able to capture the feelings in her drawings. Her art told the true story of what she drew. It was a snapshot that looked directly into the soul of her subject.
The cop was reaching up to force the vagrant’s other hand into the remaining handcuff. One shoe was half off caused from a feeble attempt to escape. The look of despair on his dirty thin face showed the unwillingness to comply but he was accepting the fact that he was caught. A small ragged dog was pulling on the pant leg of the policeman in an attempt to protect the man that was being arrested. The look on the animal was one of sadness because his master was going away. Scenes like these seemed to humanize the plight of those that were living on the street.
Her fingernails were chewed to the quick as she worked the magic of charcoal against her priceless paper. The shading and direction stretched to infinity while the background of buildings and city surroundings framed those magnificent drawings. Although she drew in black and white, all of those sketches had such wonderful detail and subject matter. You would swear that they were done in bright vivid color.
The winter that was about to come did not bother her because all she cared about was the artwork. She was able to survive three cold seasons and she knew that she could survive the next. A found, discarded overcoat was her savior. Enough empty returnable bottles and cans were her foundation. Her one hundred and ten drawings were her reason. Being without, was her failure.
Winter had passed and summer was on her. Lilly had to keep her belongings in a large plastic bag for fear of having things stolen. Those that lived on the street had no permanent place to keep things. This added to the misery.

One morning an older business man took the short time he had before a meeting to glance at one of Lilly’s drawings. He was taken with awe by the close detail of this piece and asked the price. “What do you want for this?”
The drawing was of a dozen of suited professionals trying to get to work on time. Some were running or walking fast onto stair steps that led to the buildings front door. The thing that the strange business man noticed was the desperation of expression on each of the faces of the subjects. The look on their faces seemed to be ruled by an unseen force that urgently demanded them to be on time. This push, press, shove was evident only in the faces of these controlled people; without touching each other, they were driven to make it into the building.
Lilly spoke up. “Is five dollars too much?”
“Sorry, all I have is a hundred.” He smiled and turned into his building after jamming the large bill into her coat pocket. “Keep the change; this is good!” He ran into the building.
With a frown that turned into a great smile, Lilly discovered that in her pocket was a real one hundred dollar bill. She knew what to do next. She would run to the nearest Salvation Army to buy new clothes and get something to eat. She knew the perfect place. It was a few blocks away and they served a vigorous fifty cent cup of coffee.


LANNY

One day old today with a constant smile as he was born. Those short arms jerking about in awkward movements would happen months later. Thick thighs and shoulders with triple chins and round head searched for mother’s milk. Legs were kicking as Lanny's powdered rear felt as smooth as silk.
Eyes were so wide that the dull searching stare was trying to sense everything around it. Soon the cloudiness would disappear making his eyes focus on a clear view of mom.
Laughing, gurgling, and drooling were the events now. On the stomach, on the back, able to lift up his head, building strength everyday was evident. Always laughing and exploring, this new life was testing the strange environment.
Constantly being fed and put to bed was from the start regularity.
A single candle was quickly removed so that the video could be taken of the destruction of a white cake with lots of frosting. Soon, someday, the little one that will be covered in sweet strawberry icing would be walking. Finding, running not yet throwing, bouncing, falling and still smiling, the experiments will start with everything.
Learning to tie shoelaces, the lifes of wonderment were soon to be. A few bumps and bruises and little ‘owies’ would teach life’s lessons for this little one.
Soon, the fact of a future school age will bring the knowledge for the future. The guidance that will follow through the years as each grade is accomplished will teach this youngster the failings of others. This learning opportunity will develop the chance to make choices to create its fate.
Perhaps this chance of brain enhancement will fend off failure, or enhance it.
This was all in his mother’s mind as she would plot her baby’s future.
This all could be true if someone hadn’t stolen Lanny from his stroller. Mom turned her head for a moment. Something caught her attention at the park. There was a commotion and she went to investigate leaving her little one alone for one moment. The loud noise and voices caused her to take a few steps away from her baby. Looking back through the busy crowd towards her lovely little helpless boy, she screamed with despair as she discovered that her little Lanny was gone.


BEN

Steady, deep even breathing filled the moss green painted room. Occasionally, it would happen; a crack from the hardened vinyl from the back of his lonely chair broke the silence of the room. That red, worn, heavy chair with the blackened edges and corners he found alongside the dumpster still served him after all these years. Still, not awake, with every adjustment he made, both skin and worn trousers pulled free from its captive sweaty surface, only to re-attach to him again.
Humidity was very high as the air felt like a warm wet blanket being sucked into his lungs with his every breath.
The tiny room was speckled with photographs that were torn from numerous magazines that were yellowing from the light, coming from the one room apartment’s lone window. Hanging by nails and thumbtacks of various lengths, they depicted smiles of un-related families posing in artificial happy situations.
A crackling cough disturbed the dormant space as its sound matched the breaking creases of the tired old furniture. Rusty patches of steel corroded the tubular legs of the used table that held a package of soda crackers and a single bowl and spoon.
A clank from the corner of the room echoed loudly from the compressor of an old brown refrigerator. As it kicked on, the sharp clank was replaced by its quiet hum. It was apparent that this was the only thing in this room that was all right. From the chipped porcelain sink to the scratched wood floors, this old man was on the edge of pure poverty and loneliness.
Somewhere along his long life, he had failed to plan for his future. He failed to promote companionship with a friend or wife.
From the plaque seen on his wall he had spent thirty-years, with the steel mill in town, but saved nothing. Old approached him before he could realize that it had happened. It caught him by surprise. Therefore, he lived in this bleak apartment with nothing more than a good running, small refrigerator that hummed.
He was happy with that and he was happy that he had to answer to no one. He could hear the other people that lived in the building as they argued and complained to each other. Often times, the police appeared because of loud noises and violent behavior. He didn’t have that problem; he was happy. The pictures on his wall proved to him he could be happy not having all that responsibility. They were pictures of fake situations that he wanted to stay away from; they were reminders of how to be false. In his mind, he had done well.

He woke up, stretched a bit, peered out his little window and was happy except for his future. His failure would soon be upon him once more.



Jamal’s Cafe

The small sign said: “OPEN 24”. Why not? Jamal served half-ass coffee and at fifty cents a cup, no one complained. The patrons in this poor neighborhood made this place the only one that was affordable. At ‘half a buck’ it was hard to justify brewing a home made cup. Two eggs and toast accompanied the coffee for under two fifty so you could see how the popularity of the café was a little better then fair. The occasional daily specials gave a little variety for those that could afford more then just the hot mug of bitter dark.
Except for the occasional morning coughs from customers were the unmistakable clinking of the metal flaps that would open and close atop the ridged glass sugar containers as regulars took advantage of free sweetener.
A cowbell attached to the top of the entry door to the diner gave its soft alert. Jamal looked up from his counter as the old man pushed hard to open the front door. “Want the regular old man?"
“I told you before Jamal. Don’t call me old man or I’ll start callin’ you the other name.” Ben pointed to him with a bony old man finger.
Jamal threw a smile on his face. “Yeah, yeah. You all havin’ just coffee again old man?”
“Sure.” Ben returned a quick smile. “You should treat your customers with a little more respect.”
Jamal was the only person that Ben would associate with. It was because of the length of time that he had been coming into “Jamal’s Diner. He visited for an hour or so when he could afford it furthermore it was a break from his wretchedly rotten life.
Poor was not a picnic.
Ben wandered over to the counter. “Jamal, anybody leave the paper?”
“Yeah, here’s most of one, no classifieds though—but leave it neat when you’re done.”
“I always do Jamal. You know that.” Ben walked over and sat at his table. “Shit head.” Ben said under his breath.
Ben picked up the pre-wrinkled paper and couldn't help but notice the string of robberies in the area. The reports stated that a group of thugs had robbed the local liquor store and several businesses. Each of the crimes was successful in stealing large sums of cash. There were no clues to the identity nor were there any other details. Ben pondered the news for the longest time.
The cowbell gave a ‘clung’ as a beautiful young woman struggled with the weight of the door. The four other customer’s heads turned towards her as though they were on a single puppet string being pulled at the same time.
Jamal tried to avoid staring at her. He had never seen her before. She seemed out of place in this neighborhood. He didn’t see many well-dressed perfects in his establishment. “Hi miss, may I get you some coffee?” He led her to a table next to Ben gently setting a menu on her table. “Here is our breakfast special of two eggs and toast with sausage or bacon. Oh, I also have hash browns if you wish. Oh I forgot pancakes too.” He said timidly. Jamal backed away from the table still trying not to stare at this woman.
She smiled. “Thank you, I think I’ll have coffee and a toasted English muffin if you don’t mind. Please leave the butter on the side. Do you have orange marmalade?”
“Yes miss.”
“Do you also have oatmeal?”
“Why sure we do. I’ll bring some brown sugar and raisins.” Jamal walked back to the kitchen but not before he topped up all of the others coffee cups. He soon returned with her coffee.
Ben looked at Jamal thinking to himself that Jamal was never this polite to anyone he had seen before. He then took a look at the woman and immediately knew why. Although his sexual desire for women was long past, he couldn’t help admire her striking beauty.
“Hello my name is Ben.” He extended his hand.
“Sharon.” She ignored his gesture.
Ben pulled his hand back wiping it on his shirt. He cleared his throat. “Nice to meet you Sharon. Pardon me for being so forward.” He looked at his hand but found nothing to offend her. “What brings you to the area?”
“To be honest, I lost my job about two weeks ago and I decided to look for other work.” She shifted in her chair and Ben noticed some redness in her eyes.
“Say, are you okay?”
Sharon felt, for some reason, an opportunity to vent her frustration. “I don’t know why I am telling you this but you do not look like a threat to me. I have tried to live my life in an honorable way but it seems that I have made many mistakes. I am constantly loosing trust by the men I work with. You know they rule the business world. I have never had trouble finding work but I have had to find many jobs. Mine just do not last very long. If it is not a jealous wife, it’s an inner office problem. Many of those that I work with expect more from me than I am willing to give. I am not the kind of person that puts out every time that it is demanded.” Tears glimmered in her eyes "I do not want to get back into the type of life that I have to guard every moment. Besides that, my funds are dwindling and I’ll have to find work soon.”
Surprised at seeing Ben talking with the new woman, Jamal delivered her breakfast. “Here you are, I hope you enjoy your meal. Please let me know if you wish anything else. I’ll keep an eye on your coffee. Let me freshen that up for you.” Jamal topped up her cup and at the same time gave a curious look at Ben.
Ben thought for a while and expressed his concern for what she had been going through. “You don’t look like you are desperate. I mean the way you are dressed and all.”
“That is the problem.” She blotted a small tear from her eye. “You see, things were going so well at where I worked that I felt obligated to update my wardrobe. I am afraid that I went a little overboard on my expenses. I am now faced with some very large bills. How was I to know that I was soon to be replaced by someone that has no scruples?”
Ben put his hand on his chin in deep thought for a moment. He cleared his throat so he could speak clearly. “You know Sharon I have an idea that might interest you. It would be completely different from what you have been doing. I too have a problem with money but I have somewhat of a plan that will get us both on our feet. It will take some finesse. I’ll need some time to put things together. Could you meet me here let’s say in three days?”
“At this point I feel that I would try anything to change my luck.”
Ben talked softly. “This may be a chance for you to get some pay back.” Ben and his old bones rose slowly and deliberately from his chair. “Nine: AM in three days then? That’s a Wednesday.” He walked out with a spring in his step and the clatter of a cowbell.
Sharon sat there for a moment thinking of what just happened. "He was a nice enough old man. At least he didn’t come on to me but not many did. Those that did were the bad ones. I have three days to wait and I’ll know what’s going on. Still, I don’t know."


Walt

and Tom

They knew each other and were both carpenters but that is as far as the similarity. The only other thing was that they were both looking for work. After a fast breakfast, Tom was able to grab the want ads out of the paper that someone left behind at the café. “Hey Walt!”
Walt was busy with the sugar and creamer trying to soften the blow of the harsh contents of his cup. “Yeah, Jesus if this brew was any worse I’d of ordered a glass of milk.”
“I’m tryin’ to tell you something Walt.”
“What?”
“There’s a job opening for a couple of guys at the shipyard for a small crew of carpenters. Some guy is building a personal yacht and needs some cabinet work. That would your area of expertise Walt.”
It was no surprise that these two knew each other. Often times they were hired at the same site and Tom would pick up Walt in his pick-up truck to go to work. They lived close so it wasn't a problem to haul tools. The jobs had to be big enough to hire both of them so that the inequities of style would work themselves out. Walt would finesse wood and Tom would bash it together. This would drive Walt nuts but at least they would get things done.
Jamal brought the coffee pot so he could freshen up both men’s mugs.
“When you guys goin’ to work?”
“When we find some.” Tom uttered with disdain.
“I know that we are in the same boat here. We both need some dough.” Walt growled. “We gotta’ find something.”
Jamal looked at both men. “Well hurry up and find something. You guys are makin’ me broke with all this free java” Jamal laid down the bill.
Almost instantly Tom threw down the amount needed. “Hey Jamal, make your down payment on that Rolls with this.”
The three snickered as the carpenters rose to leave.
“It’s a long shot but let’s try to get that job.” Walt said.
They were back in two hours without a job slip. It seemed that the owner’s agent was hiring only union workers.

------>Continued<------

Impressum

Texte: Copyright@ Joe Parente All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage without permission from the author except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. The contents may be read by means of electronic means but not sold for monetary purposes unless the author has been contacted for advanced approval. parente.joe@gmail.com.
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 15.11.2010

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