Branding me unemployed
Unsurprisingly I woke up yet again to Gordon's snoring. Now it's every other night. Waking up, I had no idea that today was going to be like every other day ; but I suspected it. After visiting down memory lane for a few minutes I stepped off the bed, accidentally pushing my doormat that read 'Billy's Salon' to the side of the door as I walked out the room. My mother's life was in despair when I had told her fifteen years ago that I had wanted to be a stylist, wickedly assuming the rear end of the lifestyle. Ever since I've been sharing an apartment with Gordon, the man behind the flashing screens and categorized appointments that were once the heart of 'Billy's Salon'. Nowadays Gordon sleeps in and I make the beds, the breakfast, the excuses for his 'temporary' work absences. Sometimes I do sigh about the path our lives had taken. We'd once been so talented but the magic had been eaten away by bankruptcy and hard-earned vacations. Gordon had made an unworkable swap with me that week; that I would call in a repair technician to fix his computer and he would agree not to bring his group of D&D to the apartment that weekend. It wasn't that he couldn't work it out himself, only that if Gordon touched the thing it'd damn near implode. His ambition, churlishly, was always evident. As celebratory as I'd initially been it couldn't be done. My cell had been cut off and I had no way to get it back until I could pay my bill. His was the only phone that was still working. A shame, I had been looking forward to a weekend without trails of nacho cheese sinking its way through the floor.
After engorging my stomach with warm chocolate pancakes that within ten minutes were infiltrating my digestive system I knocked several times on Gordon's door.
"I don't have all the time in the world!" I called after maybe the fifteenth time.
I opened the door and kept it open with the side of my foot. Gordon's room had been almost the same the entire time he'd lived there - that I saw anyway. I had no problem with it, only that he stuck bits of paper on his walls with internet passwords on them so that he wouldn't forget them. Understandably from a potentially convenient point of view, on the other hand though what about when friends came over? Nobody ever stepped foot in his bedroom besides me but there was a first time for everything. Internet history, email, IM records.. I'd seen it all. How else would I spend my time? Working? Nah, society didn't deem me useful anymore. In truth, I hadn't felt a spark since I was ten and helping my classmates rock out. Gordon apparently feels the same but Gordon was too easy to laugh at. I could never tell if he was being serious. I saw Gordon with bedcovers twisted around his legs, black straws of hair sprawled all over the pillow that was folded under his head.
"You'll have to call the technician. Grow a backbone, button your lips and apologize to him. Nobody likes to be insulted."
"Well he wasn't doing it right" Gordon's deep voice groaned before his face lit up like he'd just solved the answer to a puzzle, "and how can I button my lips if I'm apologizing?" a cocky grin spread on his face.
Explaining anything to him before noon was impossible so I walked out. The end table next to the worn-out blue sofa in the living room held several letters. In my head I figured that Gordon had brought them in before he went to bed. I was beyond being shocked by his sleeping hours. "What's this?" I asked myself out loud. There was a disturbing logo on this letter, a cross between the controversial swastika and a binge of squares. I didn't know what it was, I couldn't keep my head quiet. My first thought was that me and Gordon were being evicted. Maybe it was another magazine article spreading more lies and false rumours about School of Rock. Everyone knew School of Rock was something amazing, the press couldn't ruin it. Still, turns out that even the best bands could fall like leaves and become trodden on by the heavy boots of critics. They tried the band's patience almost every day, sounded like a nightmare but it became a laughing matter to some members. It had been difficult to deal with at the time. It didn't phase me or Gordon anymore. We didn't really have a relationship with any of our old band members anymore.
Back to this letter, well I didn't open it. In the moments that would lead to my pulling out the letter from it's envelope Gordon dragged his ass through the door.
"I threw up in the tub, don't take a bath."
Oh, I do love his wit.