Excerpt from opening chapter of "The Quitter."

Life sucks and then you die. It was a joke on car bumper stickers when I was in high school. I never thought at forty that it would turn out to be my fucking mantra. There was a time when I was a young man in my twenties and I considered myself to be the lead character in my very own novel. Later, I mentally changed that role to a comic relief character in someone else's novel. Whose novel? Who knows? Not mine. Now, here I am, forty years old and I don't know if my life even equates to being an extra in a movie. Who am I? Fat guy #3 in copy shop. Yes, somehow I have grown fat. I'm not obese. It's not like I could be a contestant on The Biggest Loser but man oh man, I'm a good fifty pounds heavier than I was when I graduated high school. They say it happens to all of us. It doesn't. It just happens to some of us and for that matter, who the hell are they?



More specifically, I am Robert Daggle, assistant manager at Con-Kor Copies and More! The exclamation was added by some corporate weasel in marketing who apparently thought that somehow adding the exclamation after the word more was a fucking stroke of genius. In reality, it is the kind of unimaginative, marketing technique created by douche-bags with little imagination and then copied by even bigger douche-bags with even less imagination.


The Con represents Continental Copies, which was a small copy company started in East Lansing, Michigan somewhere in the mid-70s. Somehow they survived the onslaught of Kinko's long enough to merge with Korina Distribution Systems Inc. of West Memphis, Arkansas. Apparently, KDSI constitutes the More! part of Con-Kor. I am the assistant manager of store #572 known as the East Orlando location.


If you think the copy business is glamorous then you obviously suffer from a serious crack/meth addiction. If you think the copy business is relaxing then you are simply, severely uninformed. Our clients are mostly comprised of a bunch of procrastinators who waited until the last minute to complete whatever project they were assigned and then when their final product predictably comes out looking like shit, it is we who get the blame. More specifically it is usually me.


The manager of store #572 is the king of all douche-bags. Randy James is twelve years my junior. He is the laziest sack of shit to ever manage anything, anywhere, at anytime. Okay, I am sure there have been worse managers out there but he is definitely in the bottom hundredth percentile. So far, his greatest accomplishment is using his position to bang Misty Shallo. Misty is a nineteen year old copy clerk. As a copy clerk, she sucks. As a physical specimen of a woman, she is a freaking knockout. She's five foot six inches, probably about 110 lbs, dark tan skin, and really fake, platinum blonde hair. Nice tits too. I'm sure they are nothing more than skin covering plastic bags filled with saline solution but they sure as hell look great. Randy is so fucking good at being a douche-bag that I don't even think he and Misty are a couple. To Randy she is basically nothing more than a glorified fuck buddy until something better comes along.


Before you feel sorry for Misty, hold off. Misty is a number one, with a shiny, silver bullet, bitch. Most of my dealings with Misty are Misty ignoring me whenever I tell her to do something. I am of course powerless to do anything about her insubordination because of her "status" with Randy. Beyond the simple insubordination, I also have to deal with Misty constantly laughing at me behind my back. Frequently, whenever I leave an area, I am accompanied with little evil giggles coming from Misty and whomever Misty is talking to. Misty's derisive laugh has become my damn theme song. I tried being nice with Misty but Misty wasn't having it. I tried reprimanding Misty but then Randy called me into his office to have a "little chat." Apparently, Misty reported to Randy that I was deliberately giving her a hard time. I tried to explain to Randy what was going on. It's not that Randy didn't believe me, I'm sure he knew I was telling the truth, in the end though he just didn't give a fuck. I think he would have fired me long ago but if I go, who the hell is he going to get to do all the work? In the end, I have resulted to simply ignoring Misty but of course, like the proverbial bully, her actions towards me just get worse and worse. I'm not someone who would come in to work and open up on everyone around with an Uzi but I have to say, working with Randy and Misty gives me an inkling as to why someone else would.


"Bob, do you have the reports ready for my meeting. It starts in fifteen you know."


Fuck you Randy! "Sure thing Randy. They are on my desk. I'll go get them for you."


"Great, thanks. . . can you also get me a cup of coffee? Three sugars, heavy on the powdered cream."


"Sure thing Randy." I can hear Misty's giggles in the back. I see Randy give her a quick smile. I'm so glad I can be Randy's punching bag as part of some sort of sick foreplay for those two.


I go and get the coffee. I am tempted to spit in it but at the end of the day, as much as I would like to be the guy who does things regardless of the consequences, I have realized that it just isn't me. This job sucks but I desperately need it and with this shit economy, jobs are really hard to find especially for a fat, forty year old with a four year degree from Rollins College in Theatre History. A degree I might add that I am still paying on and somehow still owe more on that what I loaned out originally twenty years prior. Don't ask. Yes, it's possible.


I bring the coffee and reports to Randy. Randy is the quintessential ex-high school football player. His best days are behind him. He knows it. I know it. Misty doesn't have a fucking clue. He's overweight but not fat. I'm sure he once had the golden, thick hair of an athlete or a politician but as a fellow balding man, I can spot the thinning hair. I know he secretly uses Rogaine and other modern day snake oils in an attempt to fight a losing battle. In a way we are brothers, kindred spirits in a way. In all other ways, he is a fucking douche-bag that I have the misery of working for.


Misty is walking out when I get to Randy's office, she gives me a look of pure hatred as she passes me. Really, what the fuck did I ever do to you other than breathe?


"Thanks Champ." He says. I turn to go and I am stopped by Randy.


"Whoa! Wait a second compadre. Where are the highlighted parts?"


I turn around with dread, pick up the report and show him the highlighted areas.


"No, no, no. I wanted the color copier ticks highlighted in green and the B&W's in yellow not all in yellow. Really Bob, I thought I was pretty clear with you about this last time."


I want to shout at Randy. I want to tell him to stop calling me Bob, Bobby, Compadre, Champ, and whatever other name he can think of in his seemingly endless efforts to demean me. I want to tell him that he never mentioned he wanted the color copy ticks in green. I want to go find the email in which he just stated he wanted the ticks highlighted for him but I know that nothing good will come from insubordination. All I am left with is a simple . . .


"Sorry Randy. I will make sure that I get it right for next time."


"Be sure that you do sport. You know you can't just keep working like you have your head up your ass all the time. It's time to pull that puppy out, wipe the shit from your eyes and say good fucking morning to the world."


Fucking idiot! "Sure thing Randy. Again, I'm sorry." Randy gives me a dismissive wave and picks up the phone to start his teleconference with corporate. I turn out the door just in time to see the supremely, smug look of Misty.


I spend the rest of my day simply trying to avoid the two of them. I think there are employees who have some sympathy for me and what I go through but clearly none of them give me an ounce of respect. For the most part, no one wants to get too close to me for fear of aligning themselves on the side of the powerless.

Excerpt from Chapter 28 of Reflections of Colette Street (lightly edited) with Intro

First a little note, beyond being a writer of Generation X angst and depression, I am also a normal person.  As part of my "normal life" I am a member of a college fantasy football league.  The name of the league is a very cheesy "Dirty Bollocks."  It gives us Americans the appearance a flair of the creative that we use a Brit slang term for testicles.  The truth is the cbs fantasy website has language blockers for dirty words.  Bollocks slips right past it.  Even though the season is almost over, I was bored yesterday and decided to look for a symbol for our league.  I used Google Image.  You can imagine the fun images that flash on your screen when you put 'bollocks' into an image search engine.  Among those images was a woman who seemed to be at a meeting protesting something.  Something about the photo was intriguing.  She was pretty but that wasn't it.  There were plenty of other images with barely dressed females in seductive poses that I didn't bother to click on.  I clicked on her image.  What I got in return was the site of a fellow blogger named Philip Sinclair.  The image was of his deceased wife.  She had died of breast cancer and Sinclair created a blog to celebrate her life and work through her death.  At some point Sinclair used the term bollocks in one of his posts which Google then decided that a link to one of his wife's pictures was in order.  Regardless of the reason, I am glad I found the blog.  I saved it as a favorite and told myself I would read it later.  Later usually never comes but today was slow and later came much sooner than normal.  I started from the bottom and worked my way up.  Sinclair's blog, aptly titled "Afterburn" starts around late October 2007, less than two months after her death.  The last entry appears on Saturday, April 12th, 2008 and is in no way a "goodbye" post.  As to what happened to Philip Sinclair, I doubt I will ever know.  Hopefully he found peace, solace, maybe even some happiness somewhere.  Reading his blog reminded me of one of the later chapters of Reflections of Colette Street.  So I decided to post it.  It's down below.  If you want to skip my excerpt and read "Afterburn" I wouldn't blame you a bit.  Afterall, my writing is fiction and even the best fiction which mine is not, can't compare to reality.  Here is the link for "Afterburn." Afterburn

Excerpt of Chapter 28 "Reflections of Colette Street."

It's been a couple of weeks since Felicity died. Felicity's parents wrote me a very sweet letter telling me that they were not planning on returning. They gave their alma instructions to let me in and to take whatever I wanted of Felicity's before it would all be packed up. The only thing I want is Felicity and she's not there. I will not be going to get anything. I have debated to write back to Felicity's parents and tell them about the engagement and the ring that I almost bought. I realize that all I would accomplish is to cause them more heartache for nothing more than a flimsy attempt to assuage my guilt.



I have started back at work and it has been rough going. I am simply taking a couple of shifts to get back into the swing of things. I have told Red that I am pretty much through right now with playing for a while. Red told me he understands.


I have to go to work tonight and I am dreading it. Everyone but Sinjin seems to steer clear of me or look at me with looks of pity. Sinjin, for the most part, has avoided that with me. I have made small talk with him and though he is reluctant, I have found out that Sinjin and Jane are actually dating exclusively. At no point since I have known Sinjin has he ever dated anyone exclusively. Sinjin is tight lipped about Jane but I suspect that is more out of a courtesy to me for what I am going through. The last thing I want to hear about is "new love." The romantics can pedal that shit somewhere else.


I have decided that it is too hard to stay in my flat the entire time. I can't sit there too long without seeing some constant reminder of Felicity. One time it was opening the cabinet to see the coffee mug she always uses . . . used, and another time it was something as inane as seeing a scuff mark on the floor that her shoe made. Lately, to keep myself occupied, I have been doing some touristy sight seeing. Today, I am heading out to the New Territories to see the Mui Fat Buddhist Monastery. The Monastery is really two buildings. One is a pagoda styled building that dates back to 1950 and the other is a modern glass and steel structure that accompanies it. It is a place that I have wanted to see but never got the chance. It's odd that as my time in Hong Kong is coming to a close that I am now becoming the consummate tourist. In a way, I guess it makes sense. I know that this may be my last chance to see these wonders.


I arrive at the monastery in time for lunch. The only food that you can obtain is vegetarian which is fine by me. Lately, I don't have much of an appetite and I literally have to remind myself to eat.


After lunch, I head into the older monastery. It is an amazing site. I enter the door to the pagoda by walking in between two large columns that are at least fifty to sixty feet tall. On each column are two golden, Chinese dragons that are constricted around the columns. On the outside of the columns, the monastery is protected by two, large, stone Chinese Lions. Once inside, I am simply in awe. There are thousands of depictions of Buddha everywhere. It seems that every way Buddha can be represented, he is represented here. The popular Western image of Buddha is as a fat Chinese man with a jolly smile but many of the depictions show Buddha as skinny, young and serene. I can also tell that the depictions are not just Chinese. Many of the Buddhas feature the customary headdress of Thailand. Others look more like paintings from India. On the second floor, I am again in awe of three Golden Buddha statues that are each about fifteen feet tall. For the next hour I take in everything the monastery has to offer. I cannot help but think how much better it would be if Felicity were here with me. I wonder if she had ever visited the Monastery. It bugs me that I don't know the answer and that I will never know the answer.