From where I’m currently sitting, in a tightly strapped sun-cracked lounge chair, I have both a view of Federal Highway and the “Clean Rooms and Affordable Rates” sign, but not much else.
In my lap I’m cradling a small bag of sundries I bought at the CVS pharmacy beside the motel, a dirty polo shirt with a Cheesecake Factory “Hi, I’m Alexandra” name badge haphazardly attached, a postcard my buddy Artie sent me from the equator, an “extremely cool” dolphin snow globe and a crumpled slip of paper that begins with the statement: “As you have been informed by your manager, your employment with the company will be ending effective today.”
That was a lot of todays ago - 112 to be exact - so I don’t mean to imply that I was terminated yesterday afternoon, got drunk and ended up at this dump. I wish. No, this has been a slow process. My wife Anna was supportive and then she wasn’t. There are a couple of things I understand her being upset about. One involved the police and those cheap, garbage tie handcuffs. I’m telling you right now, if you ever get arrested insist on real handcuffs. The police act like the shiny silver ones are only for special occasions or something now but they’re much more comfortable – less pinching – and if you ask nicely they’ll use them. Anyway, there were a few other incidents including the “Batteries and Tires for Life” policy at our Toyota dealer, an urban corn field and a community college mishap but it’s mostly just domestic/suburban nonsense and my 17-year-old daughter, Kristin, is on her way to pick me up so I don’t have time to get into all that. Just know, none if it was my fault.
Specifically, what led me here was more of the same but I’ll run through it real quick. We were visiting my brother-in-law (My brother-in-law is one of those people that everybody likes but you don’t know why) at their new house on the Intracoastal Waterway. It has four floors. I know, I know, so I’m kidding him about it, right? I checked if it was about a view, because I’ve got no problem how high someone goes for a view, but the water was completely visible from the third floor. "Three is somewhat unique. But what the heck do you need four floors for?" I asked. Granted, I asked more than once, but you know how you get something in your head that’s silly and you just can’t stop going on about it?
Oh, and you definitely need to know that during the whole four floors ordeal this “revolutionary” motion-sensor trash can near their wet bar was flapping like a clam every time I squirmed to get comfortable in the most uncomfortable six-legged chair (why would a chair need six legs?) I’ve ever encountered.
Apparently, my comments made my brother and sister-in-law a bit uneasy, and Anna half-heartedly defended me by saying, "Jeffrey only has opinions about small things."
"And tall things," I added, in a way that made our hosts want to freshen our drinks, which we hadn't even touched.
It was an awkward moment with that special kind of silence that could make even a monk cringe but those are sort of in style now, aren’t they? What with those wince inducing comedy shows and whatnot, awkward is the new suave as far as I can tell. So I didn’t think much of them nervously skittering off to search for honey roasted peanuts in the kitchen two flights down. From the Hardcover edition.
Excerpted from Nothing Happens Until It Happens to You by T. M. Shine. Copyright © 2010 by T. M. Shine. Excerpted by permission of Broadway Books, a division of Random House LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.