Thursday, 23 February 2012

Arguing with God (Part III)

Go back to Part 1:

Meanwhile, in a different part of the space-time continuum, it was 1980. Jimmy Carter was President, 'Threes Company' was a popular TV show, and corduroy suits weren't ever going to go out of style.
In an average 24-hour convenient store it was 4 A.M. A large, bald, lonely man sat behind the counter drinking coffee. His name was Vince...

Vince McAber slowly, but diligently, peered over the tarnished white rim of his coffee cup. He had indeed seen it. Something in the murky black liquid had moved!

Swish...Splash! Yes, there it was again!

Little did Vince McCaber know (and he did know very little) was that right in front of him, in the depths of his putrid java, life had evolved. And even littler did he know that this life form, which had been accelerated to its current form by super intelligent aliens, was to one day grant man a higher path of awareness and metaphysical knowledge.

"Oh well, hope it doesn't taste any different," Vince muttered, shrugging. And with that he held the cup up to his face, turning it more and more as he gulped and gulped and gulped and then chewed.
Vince thought that he had heard a small, high-pitched scream when he had chewed. It had tasted a little like marinaded chicken with brown sauce. Licking his lips, he sat back and hoped that whatever it was that he just swallowed didn't give him gas.

                                                                   * * *

Gary Gimbart had held three different high paying jobs in the past six months. At the height of his careers, he had been an internationally renowned criminal attorney. But then that came to an end when six men in white coats were holding him down as he screamed something about Jimmy Carter, 'Threes Company,' and the longevity of corduroy suits. After that he had been a biochemist for a leading marine harvesting firm but, as the conclusion to what happened there involves a jar of Miracle Whip and several sticks of celery, it won't be mentioned here.

Nothing ever worked out for Gary Gimbart.

He had a feeling that things wouldn't change as he made his way into an average 24-hour convenient store at 4 A.M. Gary needed to satisfy an excruciating urge for the saltiest potato chips he could find and possibly, if he liked the working conditions, apply for a job.

He now stood infront of the counter behind of which sat a man who was mumbling something about marinaded chicken with brown sauce as he peered into an empty coffee cup. Gary was in awe as this individual was so ugly that it was indescribable. He was fat, bald, and just had an aura of supreme unattractiveness about him. Gary was about to look away when the attendant noticed him standing there.

Like a dying bass, Vince peered at Gary and then suddenly recoiled in disgust: "Oh God, you're disgusting!"

"What? What?" Gary shrieked, wondering what could be so bad about his own appearance that a man who seemed to think that personal hygiene and grooming was a thing for parliament and very important barbecues, would be disgusted.

"Nothing!" Vince squinted, grading the severity of the horror and then, out of pity, looked away. "Nothing at all."

Gary plodded his face with his hands, trying to find something that may have grown, bled, or fallen off. He was a very average looking man with brown, curly hair, matching eyes, and a bristly moustache.

Coincidentally, what Gary didn't know was something that Vince knew even littler of. Aside from having tasted like marinaded chicken with brown sauce, the second ramification of swallowing the advanced being was that Vince's body was now utilizing the near magical tissues, creating superhuman abilities with some strange side-effects. For the next 72 minutes (62 in Newfoundland and Labrador) Vince would have extremely sensitive yet deranged vision. And furthermore, this ability would return every 24 hours (Except on Sundays when the following Monday is a civic holiday). What all of this meant is that when Vince looked up and saw Gary's face, he was not seeing it as you or I would, but he saw Gary as if he were an advanced being from the Sarturus-Alphangeti star system, sent here to help humankind along its evolutionary path... Which, apparently, isn't very pretty (unless Larry King wearing a sombrero and speedo swimming briefs is your idea of pretty).

"Anyway," said Gary, trying to change the subject. "I'm looking for a job."

Vince looked relieved. "Really? That's great: When the boss hired me he didn't tell me that we're open 24-hours a day and that I'm the only employee. I've got to go home: I'm tired."

Go to Part IV.