Collected Fictions (48 page)

MERCANTILISM

THANK YOU FOR THE OPPORTUNITY
to express my views and opinions. I am happy here. What is it. It is solicitous. Yet the dickens if I am not obliged to count another day when chicken a la king made no appearance for itself on the bill of fare. What can this mean. Is chicken fricassee also under fire. I have heard there are pressures. If forces are in sway, it is only fair I be told. Plus all thanks for my room. I used to be so crazy. I was really crazy. Throw your mind back to McCreery's. Maybe it wasn't spelled McCreery's. I used to have the impression a bug got in me from broccoli. Well, that's broccoli for you. I am a victim of constipation. It's my whole story. Is this really Bloomingdale's. I was in Russek's. I was in J. Thorpe. The biggest time I ever had was when I was in Wanamaker's and Arnold Constable's. Throw your mind back to DePinna's. Throw your mind back to B. Altman's. That's when there was smooth sailing with the chicken dishes. Remember chicken croquettes. So who is in the kitchen. Is there a procedure. Did I just worsen everything asking. What worsens things. I have to have more information. Which is it, laundromat or washateria. If I enjoy rights, I want to exercise them, thanks. They assigned me in Saks Fifth Avenue a sitting specialist as far as my sitting more conducively for evacuation purposes. I could use guidance. I would benefit from guidance. Well, here's hoping we see improvement. I'm no expert, but this can't be democracy in action. What do you think of this. Somebody such as myself sees his mother and father hugging each other and shuddering with each other when it rains on this pile of plywood outside their window, or is it plasterboard. Please extend to me the courtesy of answering. I'm looking for widespread approval and pronominal agreement. You know Korvette's, you know Filene's, you know Marshall Field. There never was a dissatisfaction in the old era. I hate to bother you with this. It's not I couldn't, if I put my mind to it, live without chicken croquettes. It's curiosity. Unless instead it's idle curiosity, which if it is, then fair enough, no problem, I stand corrected. Rogers Peet, Best's, they didn't want to come to grips with anything in Rogers Peet or Best's. Oh my God, Abraham & Straus and Peck & Peck and Gimbel's and Macy's. But if the rule is no outbursts, then here's my word on it, I never burst out. Praise be this is Bloomingdale's. Ever see tots dragged around Abercrombie & Fitch. Mentally, it's not sensible for consumers to say. Let's not split hairs. I spoke without thinking. Long Island Lighting Company and Brooklyn Union Gas. You ever hear of Long Island Lighting Company and Brooklyn Union Gas. What do you want to bet me, what do you want to bet me they're Market Span now, that they're Market Span now, and Sears Roebuck called me crazy. They don't tell you on the transistor. They don't tell you on the radio. Is this hypercritical. Please, did you ever come across anything as little as this is. The mistake I made dates back to Wallach's or Ohrbach's. In a word it was succotash. You can't wash anything too much. They speak of overwashing, but what don't they speak of. Look, if one thing is in there, then two things are in there. Work up your suds. Don't cut corners. Diligence pays off. Be thorough—plus that other word. Conscientious. I have not spoken concerning the Sunday Social Get-Together Hour. At the risk of monopolizing things, I would like to propose something. It's shy of an hour. It's short of an hour. Besides, I'm positive they're only oatmeal-flavored. There was a time when Bullock's was for everything this nation stood for. Don't take my word for it. I'm no whiz on elections. Another thing of vilification is what happened to the small fry. Please publish this with my name at the top of it, not at the bottom. Everything is so sick of being only itself. Well, you proffer your view and you proffer opinion and they sit there and take umbrage. It's a thankless job, don't worry, nobody's denying it. They're always so unappreciative of the pains you take. Well, they have their hands full. I was in Bergdorf Goodman when he was assigned to me. They act like you're mental. Facially, they were nothing to speak of. But at least the bill of fare, please, be serious, Swiss steak, Salisbury steak, pepper steak, you name it and it was accounted for, plus tapioca. This was America. Even in Klein's. Even in Two Guys. Even in May's or that other word, Walmart. They didn't stint. The kitchens blazed. This was back before the foreigners. This was when if you wanted light, if you wanted gas, then fine, fine, you opened your wallet and stated your wishes. They had things. They had desserts. It wasn't just all pleading innocent and mixing ammonia and bleach. If your mother and father don't tell you, who tells you. It's tragic what's going on. Is it down-to-earth. No, it is not down-to-earth. They tried stewed prunes on me. They knocked themselves out trying out stewed prunes on me. Morning, noon, and night, it was this constant incessantness of stewed prunes on me. The waste of it, the waste of it. How can everybody be fooled. They bamboozle you. The stewing industry gets together with themselves and pulls the wool over your eyes. You know the word hoodwink. You know the word bamboozle. Okay, so they pull a fast one—it's still pulling, it's still pulling, isn't it still the same difference. The dirty filthy rotten intelligentsia of it, Jesus. Wait a sec, wait a sec—hornswoggle, it's hornswoggle. They talk about the jet stream, but do they mean it. Once a month you hear them saying okay, we're sending out invitations for another steak dinner in the White House, but is it cancer or what. It's not just here, it's not just there, it's everywhere. You know what we've lost—we've lost our frame of mind. And what about minute steak—show me one menu anywhere with a minute steak on it. Or pudding. What about butterscotch pudding. Sure, the chairs are comfortable, sure. Nobody said the seating was not accommodating and judicious. Did I imply otherwise. I did not hear myself imply otherwise. But on a personal basis, we can't just keep ignoring what's staring us in the face. It's ridiculous. I'm used to acrimony, I'm used to accusation, I'm used to recrimination, I'm used to invective. But no customer on earth should be required to take guff like this. I take umbrage. I am taking umbrage. People are human beings. You want to know what I'd like to know. I'd like to know just who exactly controls the controlling interest. But you make a stink and what do they do. It's atrocious. It's abominable. You know the cloche, I know the cloche, everybody knows the cloche, but does it make us one bit healthier. You go to the main floor. You begin with the main floor. This is what I am asking you. So then you say to yourself all right, fine, fine, I will venture up to the mezzanine. But does it matter to them. Do they honor you for it. Sometimes I just want to cry. Sometimes I just want to wave a wand and make everybody have to blow on their bisque in the same cafeteria. But there is not a one of them—not one, not one—which doesn't take the position they're a private dignitary. And another thing I would like to inquire of you—when it comes to views and opinions, where is the ileum. And what precisely does it have to do with Lord & Taylor. You wonder in your mind what's it all coming to, what's making it all keep going downhill like this, but when in the world was wondering its own reward. I lay it all at the feet of vindictiveness. To be absolutely frank with you, I couldn't look another fruit cup in the eye. But does this let anybody off the hook. This is no Penney's, this is no Bond's, this is Bloomingdale's, for pity's sake. Nevertheless, somebody gave the order for them to clamp down on the givens. Or is it distribution, distribution, distribution, distribution. All of a sudden you suddenly notice everything is persona non grata on the bill of fare. You know what happened to Robert Hall, don't you. Don't we have better things for us to do than for me to make a nuisance of myself. Yet who could warn prior administrations. The smartest people tried to reason with them, but would they listen. I'd sue if I wasn't just a figment of my imagination. I mean what I say—I'd get on the phone and get a lawyer and sue. I'd sue the broccoli manufacturers just on general principle. You think I'm being frivolent, but I'm not being frivolent. Things can also hide in string beans. If you were a bean in a pod, isn't it logical you would not be in sight in it. That's what happened to me even before I was aware of peas. Don't give me Bendel's, don't give me Burdine's, don't give me Bonwit Teller either. It starts with a vegetable. Or that other word, fruit. This is what it is to enact legislation. Watch for shifts. Be vigilant. Traditionally, when hasn't there been suspicion surrounding eggplant, kumquat, rutabaga, pear. First it flourishes, then it digs itself in, then it goes latent on you, or that other word, dormant. There is nothing that cannot come back to life as a nevus, as a clavus, as a papule, as a bleb. Don't expect me to make sense out of it for you. But neither should you brush me aside as a mere bagatelle. There is no action in political action. They want the wheel, let them have the wheel. You know the word joyride. You are familiar with the word joyride. Yes, I took the brunt of it but not because there was a ballot on it but because I know knavery when I see knavery. Plus underhandedness and mischief. This was the decade of the debate over due to and owing to, which one to cast your vote for, which one to cast your vote for, and now listen, now listen, will you just fucking please just listen. Because now it's all because, because, because, because. No one remembers, no one gives credit. Where are the mezzanines of yesteryear. You know what the battle cry once was. Give the citizenry gum. Bloomingdale's was the one hold-out. Is it still the one hold-out. This is what I'm asking. We believed in something. It's what our forefathers went to court for. It wasn't just Davega one day, Nordstrom's the next. There's not one speck of stomach for jurisprudence anymore. Where's light, where's gas. You want to be smart. Stay close to the radio. Get a transistor. Do you have batteries. Stock up on batteries. I'm high. Get a high room like I have. Mine could just sit and do it. Either one of them, they could just say to you okay, I'm ready to go and go. You're nuts if you think you can place any confidence in pine or in the other word, maple. Trust plywood. Even plasterboard if necessary. Remember Johns Manville. Here's a bulletin for you. They cut in and said it's Market Span. Forget Brooklyn, forget Long Island—it's the dirty filthy rotten Bronx we better get a committee together over and sit down and have an emergency symposium for. You see what I'm saying about passivity. It's alchemy. It's all this dreadful selfishness. My advice is lend yourself to the reclamation of the lowlands if you want anybody to believe you have any sincerity as far as the struggle to develop wellsprings. It's this thing in me. It's this old devil moon in me. Can you just feature it, the two of them hugging and shuddering in the precipitation. Did I write to my congressman or to the contrary. I'm talking weatherwise, completely weatherwise. Free access to the window. Lax groundskeeping. It's not like the old era when you had your Montgomery Ward and that was that. It's simple science. They come and swim up into you up inside of you even if if if if you never got down on your hands and knees and had even one lousy irrigation. Or even a nose drop. Look, are they trying to get us to subscribe to the idea chicken tetrazzini vanished of its own accord. Skip it. I am not retaining counsel. It was you and your thugs who sought me out, not to the contrary. Or that other word, shopping. Let alone inkling, how about inkling—so long as the whole thesis is only for everybody to sit around and act like they are better than I am and be just so fucking in a hurry about it on the escalator down to the bargain basement.

THE PRACTICE OF EVERYDAY LIFE

WHAT IS IT? YOU THINK IT'S ME?
If it's me, then, okay, then I'm not arguing, then it's me. But what I mean is am I just being too stippy-minded all of the time? Because some of the time I think I am all of the time being just too stippy-minded for my own good. Like take this word come which they use. How come it's come? Didn't you ever stop to think I don't get it how come it's come? How come people don't say go? You know, I'm going, I'm going, I'm going! I just for once in my life would like to hear somebody screaming my God, my God, I'm going! Oh, but they can't, can they? They say they're going and you think they're making a peepee. You say to somebody I'm going, the first thing they're going to think about you is what are you doing, are you making a peepee? Remember when your mother said to you will you please for godsakes go already? Remember when your mother would stand outside the door and say to you I don't have all day, so for godsakes will you please go already? My mother used to do that. My mother used to say make and go. Make was to, you know, make was for you to make a number two, whereas go, go meant do the other one. It was like make was like this productive thing, wasn't it? You make and, presto, if you did it, you made something. There was like this poiesis involved. It was like taking a dump was like having this poiesis which was involved. Okay, I am just thinking my thoughts out loud. Or how about this—how about aloud? You don't hear people saying aloud anymore. Who says aloud anymore? But so who's in charge of these things like this—humanity saying out loud instead of saying aloud? Remember when everybody used to call it a Coney Island Red Hot? There were these places that sold you these frankfurters and they called them Coney Island Red Hots. Forget it. You're not interested. I was just over at my friend Krupp's. I was just over at my friend Krupp's place, and I am trying to make this point to Krupp about something, I am sitting there trying to make this important point to Krupp about something, but all Krupp is doing is saying show Gordie how you can sneeze, Lulu, show him. Do I want to hear a dog sneeze? Is this like what the thing of my life has finally come to? I have to sit like a gentleman somewhere listening to a dog sneeze? I had a point to make. But does anybody want to hear the point you have to make? What they want for you to do is for them to get a dog to sneeze and make me have to be the audience for it. I used to be a serious person. I used to read things and have things to say about them. Now all I do is go around being an audience for everything, not excluding canines. There's this bum coming along wheeling along on the sidewalk with these five shopping carts rigged up like with these boards and things to make this one big crazy like outboard thing out of it with all of this wire and with a radio going down in it somewhere and all this shit of his in it and like outriggers. I spent days and days thinking to myself Gordon, what is the word for what that looks like to me? Look, it's too complicated for you. I'm not going into it with you because it's looks to me like it's far too complicated for you. Like I see this father in the park having a catch with his kid in the park and the father keeps tossing the ball over the kid's head and the kid keeps having to go hustling after the ball and then has to keep coming all of the way back with it to where he was so that when he throws the ball the kid won't be too far away from the father for the ball to get to the father when the kid tries to throw the ball back. You know how long I stand there and watch what I just told you? You would not believe how long I stand there and watch it, this sad sorry sight like that like just what I just told you. But like it's necessary for me to do it is the sum and substance of my thinking. I'm witnessing, I'm witnessing. It is an act of sociable conscience as far as I go as far as, you know, as the grief of the kid in this context goes. Who else is willing to do this? Do I see anybody else who is willing to do this? I'm in this video store asking for these great old movies from the great old days and there's this kid there with his mother there and I am listening and I am hearing and can anybody believe what I as an involved bystander am hearing? Because check me out on this—it's the same little kid screaming no, I am not getting any fucking movie with any fucking sword-fighting in it, it's either people shooting or I'm telling! Actually, I have to tell you something, the kid's theory of thinking, you have to go along with it, shooting's better. But here is the other thing—who's he think he's telling, the father? I mean, it's the same father, right? But honestly, how come people stand there and say that, I'm telling? So who are they telling? Oh, excuse me, excuse me, whom—I'm fucking sorry, whom. So did I tell you about there's this lady I see pick up this mitten I see her see on the sidewalk and goes and sticks it up on top of this fire hydrant like it is going to be up there for it to say hello to all of the passing parade and asking them hey, hey, did any of you losers lose me? Go tell her. She is probably somebody who you can tell. Man oh man, I should have gone up over to her and told her about all of this stuff which I am telling you about, exclusive of the thing about her herself. A concerned citizen. A responsible member of the socialist framework. I bet anything that lady is a serious individual just like I used to be. Boy, do I miss it, being the conscience of the people. Now all I do is go around stealing toilet paper from places and being everybody's public person so they can look at somebody and say him. Oh, schooner! It just came to me, schooner. Lucky thing for you I am the kind of a human being who keeps going after things even when they go way over my head. I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. I guess I just wanted to get in another go again by way of making this look like I am trying to make this look like I maybe really made something. And another thing—right, right, I should have said his. Which is the whole point of the thing, isn't it?

His?

Meaning mine?

Fine, then make it weewee, swell.