Freddy

To brighten up the cosiness of his apartment, Phil had done some research.

A pet would be a good companion, he had read, but he was opposed to the responsibility this would entail. That’s why he had applied for a visa gold card he named Freddy.

Who had a round fishbowl from the aquarium shop with purple pebbles, plastic seaweed and a small shipwreck at the bottom. Freddy didn’t need to be fed, and he didn’t even mind if Phil forgot his weekly water change.

At first he floated on the water but because of the morbid view Phil had chained him to a tiny anchor so that he now happily swam around by the flow of the air pump.

Phil was very fond of Freddy, and had wrote the bank asking whether Freddy could not drown, but had only received a reply stating that the card had been plasticized and therefore water resistant. The bank was so insensitive he thought.

The Perils of Public Transport

Earlier that day he had checked the weather forecast, it would be chilly and grey with predicted rain showers, the perfect day for a trip to the coast.

Due to the prevailing pandemic, the occupancy on the trains was lower than usual, but he had nevertheless chosen the farthest end of the platform in the hope of finding an empty wagon. As soon as the doors opened, he deftly climbed in and closed the doors with the compulsion button to dissuade other travellers.

Walking down the aisle looking for a suitable seat, he thought nostalgically of his childhood when there still existed a third class. What not many people knew was that this was by far and with great distinction the best class. Then the first class, as now, had fabric upholstery, which was like a magnet for dirty blemishes and a hotbed of all kinds of microbes. The second class had fake leather benches, which was much more appropriate except for the frequent sweat stains. The third class with its wooden benches, on the other hand, had Phil’s absolute preference, but unfortunately they no longer made such a luxury. Everything had a fabric upholstery today and that worried him considerably. After all, he knew that the fabric on the seats was specially designed to hide stains from view.

Halfway through the wagon, his eye fell on a lump of dog hair on one of the benches, what a windfall. Now those people from the railways could try to fool him with visual camouflage, but they could not trick the nose of a dog, this had to be the best place, the expertise of the four-legged friend guaranteed that. Considerably less tensed, he flattered himself and closed his eyes to recover from the commotion.

Later that night, he woke up in an abandoned railroad depot. The trip had turned out a bit differently than planned but was certainly not disappointing.

The Theatre

As a lover of the fine arts, Phil decided to visit the local theatre. He had been putting it off for far too long. Although living in the area already for a few years he never attended a single performance. It was an impressive old building, with an abundantly decorated facade, high windows, and a large portal.

The timing of the show appeared rather unusual, 10 o'clock in the morning did not have the same atmosphere as an evening performance, but apparently there were no evening gigs at the moment. He dressed somewhat frivolously, which felt a bit undue for that hour of the day, but theatre audiences are known to be extravagant. He did not want to be outdone or out of place.

Upon arrival there was some hustle and bustle at the entrance but luckily there were no queues. The audience was not really as he expected, rather on the very old side and he could not notice any showiness. Gray and dull seemed like an accurate description, but he was not going to be put off by it. In the end it was about the play and not about its spectators.

When entering he searched for the ticket counter, but could not find it. The cloakroom was probably closed because it seemed inaccessible, but that wasn’t so much of a problem as it felt rather chilly inside, clearly they had cut back on the heating. He would have liked a hot coffee in the foyer before taking his seat in the hall, but needless to say, that was nowhere to be seen either. The property was clearly more about appearances than about comfort inside, it seemed to him, probably not owned but only made available to an amateur company. he gave up his hope for a quality drama, it probably became more of a form of support visit to an amateur initiative

The theatergoers entered the hall without paying an entrance fee, so he followed them stealthily. Although the pandemic was officially over and almost all measures concerning it had been, to his regret, abandoned, hand disinfection was provided upon entry. Phil was annoyed by the laxity of the others as they only dipped a few fingers and at most very lightly sprinkled their faces. It was a miracle that the pandemic had been contained in this way. With a strong sense of civic responsibility, he washed his hands thoroughly as per the strictest pandemic procedures. There was clearly not enough soap available as it all seemed to have been used up, luckily he still had the remainder of a bar of soap from a public toilet he had visited earlier in the week in his left trouser pocket. To him, cleansing the face or forehead, as many were shamed to do, seemed excessive and he refrained from doing so. There were disapproving murmurs behind him, probably because of the congestion he was causing, but he completely ignored them.

As he entered further, he was struck by the grandeur with which it was decorated, especially considering that this was an amateur company. There were posters on the walls of previous shows and to his surprise they were hand-painted. They may have been limited in equipment, but the dedication was impressive.

Phil just managed to suppress a cry of absolute amazement and disgust as this turned out to be a sado masochistic theatre production. At the front was a nearly naked man, with only his intimate parts barely covered, hanging in what looked from a distance like some kind of painful nail bondage. He was intrigued by the elderly who came to see this.

As soon as everybody was seated, an actor came on stage. It was a drag queen in a purple dress. Phil thought it was a pathetic performance, for it was a balding old man who hadn't even bothered to put on a wig and didn't wear any make-up. It seemed like a solo act with occasional singing, but Phil wouldn't call it a musical, by the lack of any singing talent. There was some interaction with the crowd who occasionally sang along. Phil had once seen an interactive rock musical with a transvestite that he really liked, but this one wasn't at that level at all.

The show started to take a long time and Phil was really looking forward to the break, he really wanted a snack. However, the break never came, to compensate the audience formed a long line and they were handed a single potato chip by the main character. Phil found this anything but hygienic and the single chip would only make him want more and he let it pass him by. He would rather pay for a real snack at the metro kiosk later.

The act was over and a tray was passed around to collect the entrance fee. Phil had asked the lady next to him how much he owed but was met with an angry look. On a whim he had made a small contribution to cover their operating costs. When the actor announced the end of the theatrepiece Phil stood up and applauded, he had not enjoyed the performance that much but did not want to discourage the amateur company in their quest for the art of acting. His clapping echoed painfully through the silence as he was apparently the only one who wanted to reveal his appreciation. The entire audience, who were clearly not happy with the show, glared at him.

Phil left the building disillusioned, the theatre was no longer what it used to be.

Towards professional prosperity

In the evening Phil would settle down with a glass of brandy on the sofa next to the table on which Freddy's aquarium stood, and tell him about the day's events.

He had been the victim of a robbery and found it a very pleasant and fascinating experience. After the obliged introduction which was rather short and, in Phil’s opinion, thereby unpolite, he continued to chat with his assailant. Who presented himself as Nigel and had previously worked as a doorman at the casino. From his customer-friendly perspective, he informed potential gamblers at the entrance of the mathematical success rates in games of chance, in order to build a sizable customer base. However, his employer did not share his long-term vision and got him sacked. To continue his expensive membership at the fitnessclub, Nigel had made a career switch into crime.

Phil was moved by his story and determined to put the aspirant on the right track towards professional prosperity. After all, he had read an interesting article on entrepreneurship. It said that impression and reputation were far more important than skills. Nigel’s appearance with his overdeveloped upper body, except for his brains surely, was certainly a good basis to continue working on, but still needed some improvement. Phil strongly recommended a facial tattoo to boost his career opportunities by giving him a more professional look.

After handing over his wallet, he pointed with a fatherly corrective look to his Swiss wristwatch which Nigel had seemly missed. Obviously Phil asked for a receipt for the transfer of properties, which was naturally given without hesitation. As well as Nigel’s personal details as he needed these to be able to provide an eulogizing reference.

The 2nd Wednesday

It was the second Wednesday and therefore his monthly appointment at the dentist. Which was the best day as schools being out and the waiting room usually full. Phil didn’t like bustle in general though enjoyed the frantic look on the children’s faces, they made him forget all his own worries. In addition, his favorite monthly magazine came out on the second Wednesday so he could read it as first. To do so he always arrived a few hours in advance anyway, preferably at the start of visiting hours. The dentist had suggested several times to move his visiting hour forward, but Phil had repeatedly declined, stating that this would not fit into his schedule.

Nothing was more annoying than a magazine with a crossword puzzle already partly filled in. As always, he carried a glue stick in the inside pocket of his blazer in order to stick the the crossword pages together, so that, after some fiddling, he could resume it untouched by others at a later visit. But that afternoon disaster struck.

When Phil opened the door of the waiting room, he saw an elderly lady with probably her grandson already seated. The little rascal wore a dark blue school uniform with shorts and was swinging around nervously with his bare lower legs. Phil was just able to suppress a cry of desperation when he saw the lout flipping disrespectfully through an obviously brand new Monthly. The painful sound of the tormented pages ripped through his brain. He wanted to give the old lady a reproachful look for her negligence and lack of guardianship, but found herself engrossed in a tabloid that she had apparently brought with her. How shameless to bring in such yourself, which clearly did not fit the policy.

A short time later, the cabinet door opened and the dentist came out grimacing, “Next patient please”.
Whereupon the child completely froze in fear and the monthly magazine landed on the floor.

Phil bent down and gingerly picked up the gem from the floor, sniffed disapprovingly and loudly through his nose and carefully smoothing out the pages. Rejecting, he gestured to the dentist. “No, my appointment is only in an hour”.

The Case of the Missing Pebbles

While Phil struggled with the unwilling keyhole on his frontage, a nervous figure poked a small cardboard box between his ribs. Wanting to ask what this rude nudge meant, yet he was drowned out by the many honking horns of blocked cars and a city bus. But the delivery man had also already got back into his van, without checking the correctness of the handover.

Waiting for the elevator in the hallway, Phil realized that these might have been the new purple pebbles he ordered. The gravel in Freddy’s aquarium had turned greenish, and so did his friend. Phil went to the pet store two days earlier to buy an algae control agent as well as a new bag of pebbles. However, the purple ones were no longer in stock. The salesman, an annoying young man in irremissible white sneakers, had tried to sell him some blue ones. Though everyone in the pet care sector should know that a drastic change in the living environment causes a high degree of stress. Therefore Phil insisted on ordering a bag of purple pebbles from the manufacturer. He wasn’t confident that this brat had actually placed his order, but apparently he might have been a little too judgmental. Relieved with an almost negligible increase of trust in one’s fellow man, he entered his apartment.
However when Phil opened the delivered box, he immediately bursted into a rant. For this was not at all what he had ordered. The box contained not a single pebble, not even of a different color. Phil furiously searching the despatch note pasted on the box for the name of the parcel service, to be surprised to see that the shipment was not addressed to him. The box was destined for Mrs. Gladstone, as always the damned widow was the cause of mayhem and disaster.

Naturally, he wanted to return the box to its rightful owner, righteous as he ever was. But that turned out not to be such a foregone conclusion, just as the delivery had gone wrong, there could also have been an incorrect address printed on the delivery note. Phil realized he shouldn’t be too gullible. Perhaps it should have been addressed to him after all, in such case it would be very difficult to reclaim the box if it were hastily and thoughtlessly handed over to someone else, for not everyone was as honest as himself. Before jumping to the wrong conclusions, he had better inspected the contents of the box in more detail. The contents would likely more accurately reveal the recipient’s identity than by an in all probability carelessly prepared shipping label, furthermore since the recipient was currently undetermined, there was logically no question of any invasion of privacy. As a matter of fact, he was always very discreet in such matters.

He had already rummaged cursorily through the box searching unavailingly for his pebbles. But what he had not noticed before, but now found all the more bizarre, was the emptiness of the box. That is to say, it was not empty as one refers to as void, but only contained packaging material, some soft padding used to ship delicate products, without any so to say actual content. It was an absolute mystery, one that Phil could clearly never get to the bottom of. Considering further investigation seemed to have no use and concerned about the possibility of being falsely accused of unlawfully abstracting the item that should have been in the box, he got rid of the parcel through the hatch of the waste shaft in the hallway. He had a reputation to maintain for impeccable integrity.

The following week he was called by the pet store with the message that his order of purple pebbles had arrived. It was about time, because Freddy already had to spend a whole week pebblesless. Without delay, Phil took his raincoat and hat and left, passing Ms Gladstone at the front door where she was arguing with a delivery man about a wig she had ordered but never received. It didn’t surprise him, he was glad to pick up the pebbles himself from the shop instead of having them delivered to his home, you could never really rely on those services; a gang of dodgy crooks if you asked him.

The Coffee Killer

While Phil stood in the queue at the supermarket checkout, he secretly inspected the contents of the cart in front of him. One’s groceries told a lot about a person’s lifestyle and manner. The irritating individual in front of him clearly had no knowledge of cholesterol and should not have opted for four-ply toilet paper if he did not want to be faced with the impossibility of finding a plumber in a short time. The stupidity of his fellow man continued to annoy Phil, as he pondered that thought, he saw Ms Gladstone, the widow who lived one floor above him, at the front of the line placing her shopping items on the conveyor belt. The content of a neighbor’s purchases was of course far more interesting than that of a, fortunately, completely stranger.

Ms Gladstone was clearly very hygienic, unlike some of the other senior citizens, her apartment must have been immaculate, for she had taken a particularly large assortment of cleaning products. No less than four large plastic half-gallon cans of floor cleaner, two bottles of glass cleaner, six tubes of special stain removers, and nine air atomizers. It must have smelled very piney at her place. She also bought five new blades for her coffee grinder. That terrible grinder.

Several times a day he heard that device running for at least a full hour with a sound like a broken wood chipper. The amounts of coffee that old cake had to drink every day were hallucinatory, such an excessive caffeine consumption at her advanced age was irresponsible. How was it possible that the witch could even sleep at all? The entire building was terrorized by her addiction.

Mr. Papworth, the neighbor who lived in the apartment across from hers had already complained that his Bulldog, Plato, started to drool excessively every time because of the noise. The vet couldn’t find the cause, the pills he prescribed against nausea hadn’t helped, so the drooling must probably had a psychological cause. Phil didn’t need any medical studies to realize that the poor animal was tormented by the sound of the coffee grinder.

He heaved a sigh of relief when he saw Miss Gladstone at the end put a pack of ground coffee on the belt. Could the old pie finally come to her senses? But no, as he was reminded by the cashier who was just scanning the five blades, which did not bode well. How was such possible ! that old tormentor sat all day grinding pre-ground coffee! Phil left the queue and went back to the liquor aisle, going to get an extra bottle for his nerves.

While leaving the supermarket, he was stopped at the door by the security man who asked if he could check whether all his groceries had been paid for. Phil was on the boil by now, they’d better check those old dragons, for it was they who surreptitiously robbed the supermarkets. On his way back through the park, he passed the clubhouse for the elderly. A crime syndicate if you asked him. They couldn’t fool him with their feigned awkwardness using their walkers and teflon bladders. He didn’t trust those old thugs, playing chess in the park. It seemed to him criminal masterminds who were going through the tactics of their next heist. Phil didn’t trust chess players anyway, he was more of a card game guy.

Arriving in front of his apartment building, he saw the towing service tow the postal service van. It had been there for weeks, roughly since the conflict between the mailman and Ms. Gladstone. He knew it, the delivery man had smelled trouble and disappeared with the valuable contents of that parcel. The bloke was probably lying by a pool in some tropical resort right now. Phil had considered to inform the police since his escape, but realized that the package had also passed him, and preferred not to highlight that.

When Phil opened the door of his apartment he heard the deafening sound of the coffee grinder starting up again. How could pre-ground coffee make such a hell of a noise, he wondered. That old shrew had a compulsive disorder, she killed the entire aroma of that coffee with all her frantic grind. He knew she was very well capable of such a murder. Never trust a pack of quality beans in the hands of an old hag.

As usual, soon followed by excessive flushing of the toilet, no wonder given the laxative effect of so much coffee.

Piccalilly flavoured cocktail nuts

Phil folded his cardboardbox and switched off the light on his helmet. He gestured at the sullen silhouette descending down the aisle for a small bag of piccalilly flavoured cocktail nuts and a ginger ale. It was an older but still robust figure in a tank top, with a haggard beard and, judging by the anchor tattoos on his arms, Phil guessed a retired sailor. Completely different from the lovely young ladies in their pink and green uniforms in the modern complex. But this didn’t seem like an appropriate workplace for benignant ladies.

As the lights in the hall went out again, Phil unfolded his box and lowered it over his head. In the darkness it was somewhat difficult to find the switch by feel, but he feared the reading light on his caving helmet might cause an uproar with the people around him. Therefore, the cardboard box was in fact for discretion and conflict avoidance.

Phil opened his book to page 35 where he had left off before the snacks and beverages break. It was a detective pocket novel he had found for a very reasonable price on the carousel in the supermarket. The cover with the half-naked lady in a pool of blood was also appropriate for the accommodation, it was definitly the right choice, but Phil knew all about it, the best indication to estimate a book remains by all means its cover.

The hall had lost some of its former grandeur, the gigantic gilded chandelier that probably once hung centrally from the ceiling had been replaced by neon lighting on the side walls and the large velvet curtains had apparently been given a different purpose somewhere else. But it seemed like a plausible place to find a mutilated corpse, much relating to the story he was reading, and most likely in the toilets, but given his fear of contamination, Phil didn’t feel like venturing there, not at this place. There weren’t many conversations, which worked out well, for they didn’t interfere with the script of the book, and that’s what it was practically all about.

In the new complex he had stared at the posters for hours before having to make a forced decision. None seemed to appeal to him and once the performance started, his aversion only increased by the minute. Today’s movies were utter nonsense and any acting talents were clearly barred at all times. The storyline of the cheapest station novel by far outclassed any movie script. So that was exactly what Phil had done.

When he had finished his book, he folded his cardboard box back together, forgetting to put out his light first, which caused a slight panic among the other visitors. The film wasn’t done yet, but because of the lack of storyline, that wasn’t much of a problem. He took off his slippers, bent over and reached for his pair of shoes that he had slid under the seat in front of him. Got up and left the cinema. Once outside it started to rain but luckily the bus stop was just in front of the adult movies theatre. Moreover, the quarter around the railway station was not a pleasant area to walk around at this late hour.

Daily Bread

“Holy Moses!”, He stammered. To which the latter apologetically asked, “yes Father?”
“I'm not addressing you! It's only a saying, idiot”, He snapped curtly.

He always denounced it when they took him so literally. It was one of those days when everything went haywire. The whole setup had gotten so out of hand that he lost all overview. The complexity of all this had reached problematic proportions. No matter what He did to straighten things out, unexpected complications always cropped up with unwanted side effects. He had hoped to be able to spend his old age in more peace and quiet and decided to make it a day off.

“The hell with it”, he sighed, and retired with a reading book and a bottle of liqueur in the garden of Eden. The executives had to manage for themselves that day, after all, that’s what they were hired for in the first place.

Phil, unaware of this confluence of events, stood frustrated in front of the bakehouse’s automat. With the intention of buying bread for breakfast the next morning, he had inserted the coins into the slot, but the device failed to fulfill its obligations thereon. The bag of bread, which in principle already rightfully belonged to him, got stuck just on the edge of the abyss. The machine was already half emptied, so thus far served its purpose satisfactorily; but now decided to make Phil’s day a little more unpleasant.

He had once seen a construction worker shake the machine like a man possessed, But did not think such behavior in public was appropriate. He considered taking the whole automat home to devote himself to the problem in privacy. But it seemed quite heavy to him and he doubted it would fit in the elevator at all. As he pondered what the other remaining options were, he saw a group of young teenagers passing by on their way to the arcade hall.

There were four of them, the vicar’s three bastard sons and their half-sister Lucy. The first son was Mike, a bully who, as a toddler, always chased the pigeons on the street swaying tree branches. The second son was Gabriel, an irritating smartass like his father, who always spoke the loudest. The third was Ralph, a timid dork who seemed good for nothing. Lucy was different, she was a sweet girl who loved cats and picnicks at the cemetery. They seemed to Phil as if sent from heaven, with their slim arms.

Phil gestured to them that he could use their assistance. He explained the problem and suggested that perhaps one of them could reach up to his bread through the hatch. Gabriel interrupted him in a pedantic tone that such a thing was clearly not allowed. Whereupon Phil immediately wanted to punch him in the ear, but with great reluctance suppressed this impulse.
“The bread has already been paid for” he corrected the wiseacre, “so technically it’s not stealing”.
“Stealing of any kind, technical or otherwise, my Father would never approve such,” Ralph stuttered.
“But Father is not here”, Lucy said mischievously, “He's recovering from a burnout in the garden”.
“Exactly”, Phil replied delighted, “In my time boys had a bit more audacious pluck”, he added vehemently.

Mike who felt wronged by this allegation, picked up a stone garden gnome from one of the front yards, and swung it with bravado towards the glass of the vending machine. Hindered by Gabriel who wanted to withhold his brother from such illicit intervention, he missed his target and instead hit lazy Russell, the lifeguard at the municipal swimming pool, passing-by on his moped squarely in the face. The unfortunate drove head-on into the machine, which shook violently, and the bread fell into the collecting tray at the bottom. Phil let out a cry of excitement, pushed the seemingly lifeless body aside and quickly grasped for his purchase which was now within his reach. "Thank God", he sighed, to which Lucy responded, "Well damn it, you ungrateful one" and then disappeared in a flash of darkness.