Avocados, Almonds and Spinach
I’m watching you apply skin cream everywhere
I’m investigating the dark underbelly of storm clouds
I’m looking at a picture of four asses lined up in a row
I’m writing with a yellow golf pencil that says Midway Par 3
I’m thinking about eating avocados, almonds and spinach
I’m imagining James Brown ice skating
I’m watching a purple martin take a mosquito from the air
Gustov Waxer
I was urinating in a Wawa bathroom and absorbing the graffiti when the name “Gustov Waxer” appeared in my mind.
Random names often come to me “out of the blue” – especially, I’ve noticed, while traveling, often at rest stops during long car trips. I washed my hands, “smashed” the button on the blow drier and kicked a Nike through the door. A lion roared as I drifted by the Milky Ways and soft pretzels beside the cash register.
Who was this Gustov Waxer? A Romanian spy? Gambler from Monaco? Brazilian pimp? Disco DJ? A Swiss accountant? A professional Jai alai player from Uruguay? A love struck strawberry farmer with a “checkered past”? A car thief specializing in the “acquisition” and “distribution” of luxury vehicles planning his last big score? A nobody? And what was he doing in a Wawa in New Jersey?
I merged back onto the freeway with Waxer riding shotgun. His eyes hidden behind dark glasses. His lips sealed. The scenery was black and white cows with their skulls buried in the light green grass. Silos. Wind turbines. A military airport. Waxer cracked his knuckles. Cleared his throat. We rolled southward.
I pulled into a guest spot at the Palms. Popped the trunk and removed two black duffel bags. Waxer exited the passenger side and I pressed a bag to his chest. We checked in. Planned to meet for drinks poolside in an hour.
I turned on my laptop and opened a blank document. I typed: “Gustov Waxer.” Watched the cursor blink. Closed it. Checked my emails. Ignored the agent again. Changed into a pair of teal trunks and a white cotton t. Grabbed my phone, money, keycard, sunglasses and went down to wait for Waxer by the pool.
I ordered a beer then a tequila pineapple with club soda, then a beer while I waited for Gusto to show. I listened to the voices in the water. Eyes closed. I went back to the bar. Ordered another one and asked the bartender to ring Waxer’s room.
“I’m sorry sir,” he went. “There’s no guest registered here under that name.”
I looked out at the ocean. There was one of those giant cargo ships with the stacks of multi-colored containers way out there. What would be in them? Mineral wax? Axles? Soccer balls? The containers were orange, blue, brown, red, green and yellow.
“Can you check again?” I asked. “G-U-S-T-O-V-W-A-X-E-R.”
Early in the Morning
I went to the window to see
if it was still
storming. It wasn’t.
There was only the rainy tree
and, sitting on a branch, the dentist
holding a wet duck in his lap.
It was a green and brown one.
Yacht Rock
wearing all white, hair super feathery, gold chain, feeling super-calm
singing in silky smooth voice: I just sank your super expensive giant boat, girl
I loaded a 15-ton boulder on the deck, baby. It’s gone, my bad. (Oh, oh, baby)
(Jazzy guitar solo)
The Play Dumb Gambit
I walked into the hotel a little late for one of my bellman shifts. I felt good. Light. Moving easily through the day. My clothes felt comfortable. I was pleasantly stoned. I went into the lobby and bumped fists with Donnell. Donnell was always bragging that he got $50 tips from hot women who he later fucked of course. He had a good imagination. An important skill for any successful bellman.
“You getting fired today bitch,” he said.
“Fuck you.”
“Nah for real though doggy. You watch. Theresa wanna see you.”
“It’s probably she wants to give me a raise. Promotion. I’ll be your boss. First thing I’m doing is enforcing the dress code on your ass,” I said as I tucked his chain into his shirt.
“Don’t touch my chain.”
Denise came out of the office.
“Theresa wanna see you before you clock in,” she said.
“I already clocked in.”
“Well she still wanna see you.”
She smiled at Donnell.
I went up the steps to the second floor where the offices were. I couldn’t think of any offense I’d committed worthy of getting fired. Besides smoking weed on the roof, being consistently late, stealing beers and sleeping on the job.
I was about to knock on the door when it opened. Rufus the walrus-faced security came out with a huge grin on his face.
“Theresa wants to see you,” he said happily slapping my back.
I made a kind of grunting noise and went in.
“Good morning Theresa,” I said.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “Please close the door.”
“Oh yeah, good afternoon. What’s up?”
Theresa worked her way up at the Palms. She started in the laundry room, then housekeeping, then the front desk, then front desk manager, now she was just under the general manager. I didn’t really know her title. She was nice. She smiled and made a gesture indicting I should sit.
“We’re going to have to let you go,” she said.
“Why?”
“Well, Rufus brought something to my attention,” she paused. Giving me a chance to make an admission. But since it could have been any number of things, I kept quiet and waited.
She shuffled some papers on her desk and handed them to me.
They were print outs from a surveillance camera. I could tell it was the one in the corner of the coffee shop. There I was. Sitting cross-legged eating a bag of chips and reading a newspaper on the couch. There I was dumping the nearly empty bag of chips into my mouth. Now I was at the cooler selecting a soda. Back to chilling on the couch. Various shots of me casually drinking my soda. Lounging. Looking quite relaxed actually.
For some reason, I wondered how many people die each year by choking on chips. Some chips were actually pretty sharp.
I quickly considered the best way to respond to this rather incriminating evidence. I tried a gambit. The Play Dumb Gambit. A classic.
“What’s the problem? These are pictures of me on my 10-minute break.”
“These pictures are from 10 p.m. Long after the coffee shop was closed. You’re stealing,” Theresa said. She had shifted her attitude from sweet aunt-style to professional business-handler type. She wasn’t smiling.
I smiled. When attempting a gambit the best strategy is to see it through to its logical conclusion but you should always leave room for improvisation. Abandoning your strategy halfway could only lead to a disastrous and untenable position. I transposed into the Unwritten Thing Regarding Occasional Free Chips and Soda for Employees Gambit.
“My shifted only started at 6,” I said. “I thought we were allowed to have one snack from the coffee shop during our shift. Maybe it was like an unwritten thing. I don’t know. I don’t really remember where I heard that. Someone told me though. I didn’t realize I couldn’t be in there when the shop was closed.”
“You cannot be in there when the shop is closed. And there’s definitely no ‘free snacks’ policy.”
“I didn’t know. I can pay for the snacks if that’s the problem. I really thought it was just like a little unwritten perk of the job. I don’t know. I wouldn’t knowingly risk my position at the hotel for some chips and soda though. It really was just sort of a misunderstanding. I’m sorry.”
She frowned at me.
I waited.
“I should fire you, but I’m going to let you go with a warning,” she shook her head. “Don’t let me catch you in that coffee shop after hours again.”
“Thank you Theresa,” I said. “Sorry again for the misunderstanding.”
I walked out and shut the door and went back down the steps. I saw Donnell standing in front of the TV.
“Theresa told me to tell you to tuck that chain in or you’re fired,” I said.
“You still work here bitch?”
“Man, I got a raise, I told you. Where’s the carts?”
“Shit, I don’t know, fifth floor.”
I tapped the elevator button and rode it to the fifth floor. The doors opened. I could see Rufus at the far end of the hall.
He was drinking a soda and eating a bag of chips.
***
Mike Andrelczyk is the author of four poetry collections including “!!!” (Ghost City Press, 2023).
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image: Charlotte VanWerven
Rejection Letters 