| Satire Fiction posted November 17, 2022 | Chapters: |
...4 5 -6- 7... 
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Living in a box
A chapter in the book In Real Time
Habits
by estory
He wasn't the sort of person you would have called crazy, just by seeing him around. He had a job, he didn't cause trouble. He just kept to himself, that's all. But he was the sort of person who always stepped squarely in the middle of tiles, never on the lines of their borders, or in the middle of sidewalk blocks instead of the cracks that separated them. If he stepped on a line it would be like breaking a rule, breaking something, making a mistake, and the day would be imperfect. It would be ruined.
He couldn't quite remember when he had started stepping into the middle of tiles, making sure he never touched any of the lines. It had been a long time. Maybe since high school or college. Maybe before that. And he couldn't remember why it started either. He just had this feeling, somehow, one day when he was looking at the tiles on the kitchen floor, that if he could get out of the kitchen without stepping on any of the tiles, it would be good. It would be perfect. And after he did it once, he felt he had to do it again. After a while, he could never step on the lines. If he stepped on a line, then all those years of not stepping on the lines would be for nothing. It would all be ruined.
It started to get the same way with the time. Once he got out of bed at exactly 6:00Am; and after that he had to get out of bed every day at exactly 6:00AM. To get up before that or to get up after that would be like stepping on a line. It would be like breaking something. Like that time he had broken his mother's Murano glass vase. The one that meant so much to her she didn't speak to him for a week afterward. The one that meant so much to her that she never spoke to him the same ever again. It would ruin everything. So he started setting the alarm clock for ten minutes to six. After a while, he got up automatically at a quarter to six. Then he would turn on the TV and watch the news. The first time he turned on the TV the ABC Morning News was on, and after that, he never watched anything else. To change the channel would be like crossing a line. He would watch the minutes change on the clock while he listened to the news. 5:57. 5:58. 5:59. 6:00AM. Then he would throw off the covers, sit up, swing his legs over the side of the bed, slip into his slippers and stand up before the clock could turn 6:01. It was always a relief when he did that before 6:01. He couldn't imagine what it would be like if it turned 6:02 before he did that.
Then he began to feel that he had to start the coffeemaker at exactly 6:05. It wouldn't seem right, somehow, to start it before then, or after that. He would put exactly three teaspoons of Chock Full O Nuts French Roast coffee and exactly a cup and a half of water into the coffeemaker. He would wait for the time on the coffeemaker to reach 6:05, putting his coffee mug on the counter, turning the handle so that it faced left, and setting the spoon and the screw in cover next to it on the counter while he waited. If the store was out of Chock Full O Nuts it would bother him. It didn't matter if Maxwell House or Folgers was on sale. If the store didn't have Chock Full O Nuts he would drive to a different store. Once he drove seven miles and went to three different stores before he found a deli that had Chock Full O Nuts. To tell the truth, he couldn't remember if he had ever tried Folgers or Maxwell House. He couldn't tell anyone if he could tell the difference between Folgers or Maxwell House or Chock Full O Nuts. Once a lady in the store where he worked told him that Green Mountain coffee was the best coffee in the world. It well might be. He had never tried it. He would never try it. He had never tried Dunkin Donuts or Starbucks coffee either. To do that would be like breaking a rule, stepping on a line or breaking something. An imperfection. An imperfect day, an imperfect order of things. When the coffeemaker clock read 6:05, he would turn on the coffeemaker.
In the same way he always made sure to do everything in the bathroom in the same order, every day. First, shave. Then, brush his teeth. Take a shower. Put in his contact lenses. Comb his hair. Get dressed. Pour his cup of coffee. Put in 1 1/2 teaspoons of sugar, then a tablespoon of hazelnut creamer. Rinse off the spoons and put them in the drainboard before he left the apartment. He always made sure to leave the apartment at exactly 6:25. If he was a few minutes early he would stand by the window and wait for the 6:23 train for New York from Oyster Bay to pass on the track next to the building. It was always a good omen.
He liked to leave 35 minutes before the start of his shift at the store, because he liked to be parked in the parking lot in the spot at the end of the lot so he could get out of the car at exactly 6:55. If there was traffic, road construction or an accident, the extra time would help him get to work ahead of time. He always punched his time card at exactly 7:00AM.
He took his coffee break at exactly 9:00Am. and always had the same thing: a toasted, buttered, cinnamon raisin bagel from the bagel shop in the shopping center. Sometimes someone was willing to drive to McDonald's for bacon, egg and cheese biscuits, or over to Dunkin Donuts for muffins and glazed donuts, but he always declined. After a while, the rest of the crew stopped asking him. It was the same thing with lunch; he always took lunch at exactly 1:00PM and he always had the same thing: a turkey sandwich with lettuce, tomato, salt, pepper and mayonnaise on a poppy seed roll, with a quarter of a pound of potato salad, an ice tea, and a quarter of a pound of rice pudding. Once, the clerk behind the deli counter laughed and asked him: "Gee mister, you sure you don't want to try something else today? I mean, you always have the same thing. Don't you get tired of the same thing? How about roast beef, or corned beef?" But he just smiled and said: "No, thanks."
He had four weeks of vacation and he always made sure that they were on the same weeks year after year. The third week of March, the second week of June, the third week of August, and the second week of October. He always did the same thing each week. In March he would drive to Caumsett state park and walk out to the great field and back. He would spend a day at Planting Fields, to see the daffodils bloom. He would take the train to the city and go to the Museum of Natural History, and then he would drive out to Fire Island. In June he would go to the beach, take a train into the city and go to the Museum of Modern Art, where he always had a beer in the courtyard, and then he would drive to Bushkill Falls. In August he would do a steak barbecue in the yard next to the building, take a drive to Bash Bish Falls, take a drive out to Orient State Park, and take a train to the city and watch the sunset from Rockefeller Plaza. In October he would take a drive to Kent Falls in Connecticut, take a walk in Shoe Swamp Preserve, take a train to the city and go the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and take a ride out to Shelter Island and walk through Mashomak Preserve. On the way home, he would stop at Duckwalk Vineyards and buy a bottle of Windmill Blush wine, stop at Osprey's Dominion and buy a bottle of Regina Maris Chardonnay, stop at Pindar and buy a bottle of Summer Blush, a bottle of Autumn Gold, and a bottle of Cuvee Rare Champagne, and then stop at Pugliese and buy a bottle of Sparking Merlot. He would drink them in that order over the holidays. He never drank any other wine.
He once thought of going out with this girl in the store where he worked, a nice looking girl, a nice girl. But then, he began to think, what if she gets up at a different time, what if she thinks I'm crazy for not stepping on the lines between the tiles or the cracks on the sidewalks, what if she doesn't drink Chock Full O Nuts coffee? What if she doesn't like going to the Museum of Natural History or Orient Beach State Park? What if she wants to go to California, or Hawaii? What if wants to move? What if she doesn't like All In the Family or Welcome Back Kotter reruns? What if she likes to watch soap operas?
What if she argues with me about something? What if she keeps me out of the bathroom passed time? What if she leaves me?
No, he thought to himself, it was better to keep things the way they were. That way, he could depend on them.
He wasn't the sort of person you would have called crazy, just by seeing him around. He had a job, he didn't cause trouble. He just kept to himself, that's all. But he was the sort of person who always stepped squarely in the middle of tiles, never on the lines of their borders, or in the middle of sidewalk blocks instead of the cracks that separated them. If he stepped on a line it would be like breaking a rule, breaking something, making a mistake, and the day would be imperfect. It would be ruined.
He couldn't quite remember when he had started stepping into the middle of tiles, making sure he never touched any of the lines. It had been a long time. Maybe since high school or college. Maybe before that. And he couldn't remember why it started either. He just had this feeling, somehow, one day when he was looking at the tiles on the kitchen floor, that if he could get out of the kitchen without stepping on any of the tiles, it would be good. It would be perfect. And after he did it once, he felt he had to do it again. After a while, he could never step on the lines. If he stepped on a line, then all those years of not stepping on the lines would be for nothing. It would all be ruined.
It started to get the same way with the time. Once he got out of bed at exactly 6:00Am; and after that he had to get out of bed every day at exactly 6:00AM. To get up before that or to get up after that would be like stepping on a line. It would be like breaking something. Like that time he had broken his mother's Murano glass vase. The one that meant so much to her she didn't speak to him for a week afterward. The one that meant so much to her that she never spoke to him the same ever again. It would ruin everything. So he started setting the alarm clock for ten minutes to six. After a while, he got up automatically at a quarter to six. Then he would turn on the TV and watch the news. The first time he turned on the TV the ABC Morning News was on, and after that, he never watched anything else. To change the channel would be like crossing a line. He would watch the minutes change on the clock while he listened to the news. 5:57. 5:58. 5:59. 6:00AM. Then he would throw off the covers, sit up, swing his legs over the side of the bed, slip into his slippers and stand up before the clock could turn 6:01. It was always a relief when he did that before 6:01. He couldn't imagine what it would be like if it turned 6:02 before he did that.
Then he began to feel that he had to start the coffeemaker at exactly 6:05. It wouldn't seem right, somehow, to start it before then, or after that. He would put exactly three teaspoons of Chock Full O Nuts French Roast coffee and exactly a cup and a half of water into the coffeemaker. He would wait for the time on the coffeemaker to reach 6:05, putting his coffee mug on the counter, turning the handle so that it faced left, and setting the spoon and the screw in cover next to it on the counter while he waited. If the store was out of Chock Full O Nuts it would bother him. It didn't matter if Maxwell House or Folgers was on sale. If the store didn't have Chock Full O Nuts he would drive to a different store. Once he drove seven miles and went to three different stores before he found a deli that had Chock Full O Nuts. To tell the truth, he couldn't remember if he had ever tried Folgers or Maxwell House. He couldn't tell anyone if he could tell the difference between Folgers or Maxwell House or Chock Full O Nuts. Once a lady in the store where he worked told him that Green Mountain coffee was the best coffee in the world. It well might be. He had never tried it. He would never try it. He had never tried Dunkin Donuts or Starbucks coffee either. To do that would be like breaking a rule, stepping on a line or breaking something. An imperfection. An imperfect day, an imperfect order of things. When the coffeemaker clock read 6:05, he would turn on the coffeemaker.
In the same way he always made sure to do everything in the bathroom in the same order, every day. First, shave. Then, brush his teeth. Take a shower. Put in his contact lenses. Comb his hair. Get dressed. Pour his cup of coffee. Put in 1 1/2 teaspoons of sugar, then a tablespoon of hazelnut creamer. Rinse off the spoons and put them in the drainboard before he left the apartment. He always made sure to leave the apartment at exactly 6:25. If he was a few minutes early he would stand by the window and wait for the 6:23 train for New York from Oyster Bay to pass on the track next to the building. It was always a good omen.
He liked to leave 35 minutes before the start of his shift at the store, because he liked to be parked in the parking lot in the spot at the end of the lot so he could get out of the car at exactly 6:55. If there was traffic, road construction or an accident, the extra time would help him get to work ahead of time. He always punched his time card at exactly 7:00AM.
He took his coffee break at exactly 9:00Am. and always had the same thing: a toasted, buttered, cinnamon raisin bagel from the bagel shop in the shopping center. Sometimes someone was willing to drive to McDonald's for bacon, egg and cheese biscuits, or over to Dunkin Donuts for muffins and glazed donuts, but he always declined. After a while, the rest of the crew stopped asking him. It was the same thing with lunch; he always took lunch at exactly 1:00PM and he always had the same thing: a turkey sandwich with lettuce, tomato, salt, pepper and mayonnaise on a poppy seed roll, with a quarter of a pound of potato salad, an ice tea, and a quarter of a pound of rice pudding. Once, the clerk behind the deli counter laughed and asked him: "Gee mister, you sure you don't want to try something else today? I mean, you always have the same thing. Don't you get tired of the same thing? How about roast beef, or corned beef?" But he just smiled and said: "No, thanks."
He had four weeks of vacation and he always made sure that they were on the same weeks year after year. The third week of March, the second week of June, the third week of August, and the second week of October. He always did the same thing each week. In March he would drive to Caumsett state park and walk out to the great field and back. He would spend a day at Planting Fields, to see the daffodils bloom. He would take the train to the city and go to the Museum of Natural History, and then he would drive out to Fire Island. In June he would go to the beach, take a train into the city and go to the Museum of Modern Art, where he always had a beer in the courtyard, and then he would drive to Bushkill Falls. In August he would do a steak barbecue in the yard next to the building, take a drive to Bash Bish Falls, take a drive out to Orient State Park, and take a train to the city and watch the sunset from Rockefeller Plaza. In October he would take a drive to Kent Falls in Connecticut, take a walk in Shoe Swamp Preserve, take a train to the city and go the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and take a ride out to Shelter Island and walk through Mashomak Preserve. On the way home, he would stop at Duckwalk Vineyards and buy a bottle of Windmill Blush wine, stop at Osprey's Dominion and buy a bottle of Regina Maris Chardonnay, stop at Pindar and buy a bottle of Summer Blush, a bottle of Autumn Gold, and a bottle of Cuvee Rare Champagne, and then stop at Pugliese and buy a bottle of Sparking Merlot. He would drink them in that order over the holidays. He never drank any other wine.
He once thought of going out with this girl in the store where he worked, a nice looking girl, a nice girl. But then, he began to think, what if she gets up at a different time, what if she thinks I'm crazy for not stepping on the lines between the tiles or the cracks on the sidewalks, what if she doesn't drink Chock Full O Nuts coffee? What if she doesn't like going to the Museum of Natural History or Orient Beach State Park? What if she wants to go to California, or Hawaii? What if wants to move? What if she doesn't like All In the Family or Welcome Back Kotter reruns? What if she likes to watch soap operas?
What if she argues with me about something? What if she keeps me out of the bathroom passed time? What if she leaves me?
No, he thought to himself, it was better to keep things the way they were. That way, he could depend on them.
He couldn't quite remember when he had started stepping into the middle of tiles, making sure he never touched any of the lines. It had been a long time. Maybe since high school or college. Maybe before that. And he couldn't remember why it started either. He just had this feeling, somehow, one day when he was looking at the tiles on the kitchen floor, that if he could get out of the kitchen without stepping on any of the tiles, it would be good. It would be perfect. And after he did it once, he felt he had to do it again. After a while, he could never step on the lines. If he stepped on a line, then all those years of not stepping on the lines would be for nothing. It would all be ruined.
It started to get the same way with the time. Once he got out of bed at exactly 6:00Am; and after that he had to get out of bed every day at exactly 6:00AM. To get up before that or to get up after that would be like stepping on a line. It would be like breaking something. Like that time he had broken his mother's Murano glass vase. The one that meant so much to her she didn't speak to him for a week afterward. The one that meant so much to her that she never spoke to him the same ever again. It would ruin everything. So he started setting the alarm clock for ten minutes to six. After a while, he got up automatically at a quarter to six. Then he would turn on the TV and watch the news. The first time he turned on the TV the ABC Morning News was on, and after that, he never watched anything else. To change the channel would be like crossing a line. He would watch the minutes change on the clock while he listened to the news. 5:57. 5:58. 5:59. 6:00AM. Then he would throw off the covers, sit up, swing his legs over the side of the bed, slip into his slippers and stand up before the clock could turn 6:01. It was always a relief when he did that before 6:01. He couldn't imagine what it would be like if it turned 6:02 before he did that.
Then he began to feel that he had to start the coffeemaker at exactly 6:05. It wouldn't seem right, somehow, to start it before then, or after that. He would put exactly three teaspoons of Chock Full O Nuts French Roast coffee and exactly a cup and a half of water into the coffeemaker. He would wait for the time on the coffeemaker to reach 6:05, putting his coffee mug on the counter, turning the handle so that it faced left, and setting the spoon and the screw in cover next to it on the counter while he waited. If the store was out of Chock Full O Nuts it would bother him. It didn't matter if Maxwell House or Folgers was on sale. If the store didn't have Chock Full O Nuts he would drive to a different store. Once he drove seven miles and went to three different stores before he found a deli that had Chock Full O Nuts. To tell the truth, he couldn't remember if he had ever tried Folgers or Maxwell House. He couldn't tell anyone if he could tell the difference between Folgers or Maxwell House or Chock Full O Nuts. Once a lady in the store where he worked told him that Green Mountain coffee was the best coffee in the world. It well might be. He had never tried it. He would never try it. He had never tried Dunkin Donuts or Starbucks coffee either. To do that would be like breaking a rule, stepping on a line or breaking something. An imperfection. An imperfect day, an imperfect order of things. When the coffeemaker clock read 6:05, he would turn on the coffeemaker.
In the same way he always made sure to do everything in the bathroom in the same order, every day. First, shave. Then, brush his teeth. Take a shower. Put in his contact lenses. Comb his hair. Get dressed. Pour his cup of coffee. Put in 1 1/2 teaspoons of sugar, then a tablespoon of hazelnut creamer. Rinse off the spoons and put them in the drainboard before he left the apartment. He always made sure to leave the apartment at exactly 6:25. If he was a few minutes early he would stand by the window and wait for the 6:23 train for New York from Oyster Bay to pass on the track next to the building. It was always a good omen.
He liked to leave 35 minutes before the start of his shift at the store, because he liked to be parked in the parking lot in the spot at the end of the lot so he could get out of the car at exactly 6:55. If there was traffic, road construction or an accident, the extra time would help him get to work ahead of time. He always punched his time card at exactly 7:00AM.
He took his coffee break at exactly 9:00Am. and always had the same thing: a toasted, buttered, cinnamon raisin bagel from the bagel shop in the shopping center. Sometimes someone was willing to drive to McDonald's for bacon, egg and cheese biscuits, or over to Dunkin Donuts for muffins and glazed donuts, but he always declined. After a while, the rest of the crew stopped asking him. It was the same thing with lunch; he always took lunch at exactly 1:00PM and he always had the same thing: a turkey sandwich with lettuce, tomato, salt, pepper and mayonnaise on a poppy seed roll, with a quarter of a pound of potato salad, an ice tea, and a quarter of a pound of rice pudding. Once, the clerk behind the deli counter laughed and asked him: "Gee mister, you sure you don't want to try something else today? I mean, you always have the same thing. Don't you get tired of the same thing? How about roast beef, or corned beef?" But he just smiled and said: "No, thanks."
He had four weeks of vacation and he always made sure that they were on the same weeks year after year. The third week of March, the second week of June, the third week of August, and the second week of October. He always did the same thing each week. In March he would drive to Caumsett state park and walk out to the great field and back. He would spend a day at Planting Fields, to see the daffodils bloom. He would take the train to the city and go to the Museum of Natural History, and then he would drive out to Fire Island. In June he would go to the beach, take a train into the city and go to the Museum of Modern Art, where he always had a beer in the courtyard, and then he would drive to Bushkill Falls. In August he would do a steak barbecue in the yard next to the building, take a drive to Bash Bish Falls, take a drive out to Orient State Park, and take a train to the city and watch the sunset from Rockefeller Plaza. In October he would take a drive to Kent Falls in Connecticut, take a walk in Shoe Swamp Preserve, take a train to the city and go the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and take a ride out to Shelter Island and walk through Mashomak Preserve. On the way home, he would stop at Duckwalk Vineyards and buy a bottle of Windmill Blush wine, stop at Osprey's Dominion and buy a bottle of Regina Maris Chardonnay, stop at Pindar and buy a bottle of Summer Blush, a bottle of Autumn Gold, and a bottle of Cuvee Rare Champagne, and then stop at Pugliese and buy a bottle of Sparking Merlot. He would drink them in that order over the holidays. He never drank any other wine.
He once thought of going out with this girl in the store where he worked, a nice looking girl, a nice girl. But then, he began to think, what if she gets up at a different time, what if she thinks I'm crazy for not stepping on the lines between the tiles or the cracks on the sidewalks, what if she doesn't drink Chock Full O Nuts coffee? What if she doesn't like going to the Museum of Natural History or Orient Beach State Park? What if she wants to go to California, or Hawaii? What if wants to move? What if she doesn't like All In the Family or Welcome Back Kotter reruns? What if she likes to watch soap operas?
What if she argues with me about something? What if she keeps me out of the bathroom passed time? What if she leaves me?
No, he thought to himself, it was better to keep things the way they were. That way, he could depend on them.
 Recognized |
I think I would classify this piece as a dark comedy. I felt that a repetitive, minimalistic style would underscore the theme here of someone being trapped in a small box of life of his own making. All of us have habits, of course. And all of us deal with life events that shake our being. But if we can't clear these life events from our psyche, then these habits we use to stabilize our sense of self can get out control. Here this person has written a personal tragedy for himself, in order to deal with a life event, and seals himself into this box he can't escape from, while the larger world and life outside grow and move on, leaving him behind. It's funny, but sad. I like to write these odd little pieces, some people might call it boring, but I think if you look into the piece, you will see scary elements of this in yourself, or someone close to you. And you might wonder what the way out might be estory
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