Tokens, Pizza, and Booze

It was sunny today with nary a cloud in the sky.

Today's mission was one great urgency; something that might define our future, whatever that may be here in Chesapeake. Brian woke at 9:30, while I took the much needed opportunity to sleep in till 11:00 o'clock. As I previously stated vivid dreams have been causing a stir in my attempts to snooze. I love them and hate them at the same time. Last night was a shoot out between me and an old foe in the surreal locations of an abandoned Main Street, Beacon. He was armed with a paint ball guns and the bizarre assistance of the police. I was a lone protector with nothing more then a pellet gun and my wits. I don't know how it ended, but it was a frustratingly long battle.

But I digress...

Our mission was to hand in our stacks of job applications in hopes of procuring some form of income. Brian was vegged out to some Discovery Channel special while I scribbled away the same job history over and over and over and over again. Phone numbers, names, and addresses I never wanted to remember are now burned straight into my frontal lobe. I finished, nursed my wrist a bit, chugged some delicious Ocean Spray cranberry and hit the road, jack.

Chesapeake and the Hampton Road area is becoming oddly familiar like something I saw when I was younger and forgot I forgot about. Its only been 3 days and I already feel some comfort in my surroundings. Thats a positive thing. Brian drained some of his last dinero into his gas tank and we went from one depressing retail store to the next hoping for some glowing response from the management. Most were uninterested in outsiders to the state trying to take jobs from other hard working Virginians. One girl behind the counter at a hotel gave our applications gold stars to signal importance to the management. Regardless things were looking low.

Then, thankfully, I met a lovely woman named Tara who seemed more then happy to take our applications.

"What're y'all applying for?" said the semi-sweet assistant manager of Lone Star (a charmingly schlocky steak house)

As if planned, "Anything that pays money!" Brian and I said in unison. She smiled and set us up with second interviews tomorrow at 3 with the hopes of hiring us as servers. By this time tomorrow I could be a waiter in a charmingly schlocky steak house. I can't find any reason to argue with that.

As much as I'd like to count all the eggs I had in my one basket at the time there were many other hens waiting for their unborn young to be snatched. (Is that the proper way to turn that aphorism on its head?) So we moved along, trying to keep our spirits high, and kept selling our selves to uninterested people.

Now things are different in Virginia, this I know, but try this bit of proverbial fat to chew. Keep in mind that Chuck E. Cheese is an arcade aimed at children ages 8 to 14. Its spokesperson is a large mouse or rat who seems to have an affinity for pizza and video games. They usually host birthday parties to slews of kids hoped up on pitchers of coca cola looking to run rampant through the ball pits and slides. Its the typically tacky children's restaurant America does best. Nothing weird just yet.

So Brian and I, in a positive manner, charge the doors. We flirt with two middle-aged locals who are seemingly there to play ski-ball and finally meet the manager. He's was about 26, overweight, and sporting a pinky nail longer then the finger itself. (I was gonna follow this sentence with I'm not here to judge, but I'm a writer... Who the fuck am I kidding?) Trying to keep my attention off his pristine coke nail by focusing on his gawdy gold necklace the man lets us in on a new hurdle to over come: In Virginia you need a license of sorts to work with food.

It'll cost us $45 to get. I guess you gotta spend money to make money.

So while he continuously flipped our applications over back to front feigned some sort of false interest Brian nudges me from behind. It takes me a second, as my eyes were preoccupied by the outrageously bright pizza menu, by finally I find the strangest thing I've seen in the south so far. It was more bizarre then the Christian only bookstore/cafe. Weirder then the Arby's called Arby's Roast beef sandwiches are delicious. There, as if as normal as breathing air, was a beer tap. I can not make this shit up.

In Virginia... Chuck E. Cheese... Serves beer....

I'm slowly adjusting. These things are starting to feel commonplace. I'm not saying its wrong just saying its weird.

Brian

The Thrill of the Hunt

I don't know what it was, but something launched me out of my bed at the crack ass of dawn this morning.

The night was plagued with vivid and utterly surreal dreams that seem to be happening with some frequency. I don't know if its the change of location, the change of diet, or something in the air down here... But it my mind is on rapid fire. Its absorbing everything it sees, processing in, and shooting it out in new and exciting ways.

Today, after a well rounded breakfast of Honeycombs and name brand root-beer, Brian and I headed out the front door armed with our charm and good looks on a mission. We knew in our heart of hearts that if we want to survive in this new community we'd have to become thriving members of the local economy. What better what could we do that, but then to get a job in retail?
So we jumped in his car, which was luckily not towed today, and headed into the thriving metropolis of Chesapeake, Virgina.

After getting turned down by the local Walgreen's (We're overqualified anyway) we stumbled upon an amazing discovery. Like a shining beacon over the horizon we saw the glowing beauty of a movie theater. Logic dictates that where there is a movie theater there must be a mall. Lo and behold, there a mall did sit. It seemed ripe for the plucking. A mall is usually a plethora of commerce and always in need of college dropouts like myself who will whore themselves out, usually in some sort of khaki panted uniform, for a little more then minimum wage. Yet I was sorely let down.

The mall was more of a labyrinth forgotten by time and hidden far off the main road. It stank of old days, haunted by the ghost of a once thriving hang out. I could feel the howls of Orange Julius poltergeist's hanging in the air. Trying to remain upbeat we began our search. With bright smiles we went from store to store (four of which were Footlockers I kid you not) collecting application after application from people that we were clearly smarter then. Beggars of course can not be choosers. We made our way through, passed by forgotten fountains and a sad excuse for a cookie stand, and came to the end... Where a hotel lay?

I kid you not. It looked like Donald Trump had hidden away a failure long forgot and we found it. Black and shinny, made of marble, and with the scent of fresh, fluffy towels... Of course we got our applications and moved on our search.

From Chuck E. Cheese to Benigan's to the hallowed halls of Food Lion (Google it folks!) the overwhelming feeling of defeat loomed in the air. Our hands were full out applications, but our hearts were filled with dread. So we went exploring and headed towards Virgina Beach. It seemed like a good idea.

After driving around, watching the 7-11's and Arby's fly by with such frequency I felt I was in a Hannah Barbara cartoon, it loomed in the distance. The sandy shores of the beach came into focus and there it was... The depressed, quiet, off season streets of Virgina Beach... I don't know what we hoped to find. Scantily clad women? Drunken college kids? Fun at every turn? It is February and the truth just hit home... Our new home...

Virgina is a once a week a year kind of state.

We walked to the sandy shores, dipped our finger tips in the salty waters, and stared off into the distance. Out there, beyond the ability of human site lay so much. The open water beckoned and for an instant I thought I heard the siren's calling me to my doom. We turned away, Brian and I, pulled our sweatshirts in tight, and headed back to the car.

We didn't say it, but it didn't need to be said. Together we were gonna do this.

...I hope.

Brian

Song of the South

What have I done?

I do apologize if that feels a bit too bleak to be an opening statement for a blog, but perhaps this story (if that's what it becomes) will be come one of tragic warning. You see it seems I have made a mistake. In my young, spongy mind the only thing I needed in my life was a drastic and unexpected change. So in Piscean fashion I skipped logic, packed up, and relocated myself with nothing more than an overabundant collection of DVD's, a few ironically funny t-shirts, and merely $300 to Chesapeake (word that seems harder to spell then it is), Virgina.

You see I was nothing more than a mere blip on the global radar residing in Beacon, New York. It was an up and coming arts community a mere stones throw from the glitz and glam the big apple; New York City. I was working in a coffee shop, fashioning myself a writer, and serving the local, thriving hipster community. I had garnered myself quite a reputation amongst these mac users and between you and me, made the best latte in town. Of course the bottom fell out, I grew sick of the over abundance of opinions floating around, and my coffee shop deciding to close its doors. I was unemployed, out of college, bored, and uninspired. This is the worst position a writer could find himself in.

My friend Mike, who was trapped within the confines of military service, had just settled in Virgina and offered me a spot in his new home. Well who was I to argue? I weighed the options in my head. The only things to stay behind for (aside from friends, family, familiarity, and a great bar) was my own comfort. I strongly believe that when you find yourself comfortable then its time to make a change. It was the fear that I had settled into the position of nothing more than a townie that convinced me to pack up and beat street.

Of course I could not do something so stupid alone. I called a meeting with my very own conscious and a few too many Roxy Rolles (thank you, you magnificent bastards at Magic Hat) I decided that I could not ruin just my life. How would I sleep at night knowing that somewhere in the back of my gray matter that I could have conceivably ruined two lives? I approached my longest friend and faithful confident Brian and asked him to join me on the excursion. He nearly pissed himself with glee.

So in traditional American half-ass manner we packed our bags, we bid our farewells, we nostalgically drove through the town that had shaped us, and we moved away... To Virgina. To Chesapeake, Virgina.

From the Union to the Confederacy.

I am now jobless, without a college degree, slowly loosing my only coinage, without a car, without a sense of familiarity, without a lick of information, and without any clue what exactly I am doing.

But I have a place to live so I suppose that is a start.

Within the first day Brian had his car towed and I realized I had no socks. I guess it can be said without hesitation that we are off to a rocky start. We rescued his car from the pound for $125 and rescued my feet from impeding stank with a trip to Walmart, draining from me another $4. We ate only one meal today consisting of the most expensive pizza I have ever had at $20. I'm not any closer to finding a job.

I can look forward to warming weather, the beach, and hurricanes. Apparently though I am just in time to catch the tail end of the 16th annual poetry festival at the Russel Memorial Library.

I'll let you known.

Thanks for reading.
Brian