A Life in the Day

by Bob Grubb


Johanne Sebastian Smith was born in 1959 but mosts peoples call him Jack. It was in a smallish town known as Townville, and he now lives in another place. This story is the story about Jack and not about when he was born or where. Instead, it is about growning upwords in Merica, which he was very proud of because he just happent to have been borned their ( forineers should note that Townsville and the other places is in Merica ).

When Jack was younger he learnt to take the fruits of Merica in hand, pinch it with his fingernails, and sniff off its glarious fruit. His parents being otherwise preoctopus, left his rearend to be done by television and the Merican Pubic Inswitchtution. And so for example he learnt of the Merican victory in World Wart II and this Instituitionless was supplemented by McHale's Navy and Hogan's Heroes. His understanding of the roots of culture was firmly enhandsed by the Flintsones, the plan for the future by the Jetsons.

All of this of course was firmly notted together by Merican football. The Presidecency was symbolized by the quarterback; the Congross by the opposing teamsters; the Soupcreme Quart by the referees. Yes, Merica was the home team and it was their ball, so if any other countries wanted to play they had to play by Merican rules, because it was their ball and Merica Rules. The policy of "Walk Softley and Carry a Big Schtick"was replaced with the "Strut Proudly and Own the Ball" policy.

All of this of coarse, has little to do with Jack, let alone I Dream of Jeanie. Our story begets when Jack was 15. It was springtime that year, just after he was 14 the prior year. As was the style that day Jack was shagged, platformed, polyestered, and bell bottomed. Presidecent Ford was pardoning anybody who would appoint his. The big Bi-Sintenial was just two years aways and calculators costed more than a box of Cheerios. Merica had just defeeted the Vietnamadians by running away quickly. The poor Nammers never knowed what hit them.

The current trend amongst the youths of the day, as Jack were one, was a Back to the Earth movement. Jack wondered how everybody left in the first place but shruggingly decided to joint. It was becoming very hectic, this Merican pace of living, hell it was even running out of naturalized resoreses like gasolean and cheese puffs. Mayhabs it would be best to leave the Merican behind and to live off of the land. And so, the lad left his schoolarly and his parents (who were later to notice that they had not missed him), and set out to find hisselves in somewoods where there were trees and stuff.

Later he returned for seeds. " I know longer feel as though I am walledin", he said inspiterd by a required reading he had neglected. This phase past quicksome because Jack was without the guidance and approvalments of televilshun. So he came back -seedless yet still with growths under his belt.

Now at last Jack was ready to partake of the Merican Dream. You know, the one he learnt about in school in his Weekly Reader. It included videophones, personal aircars, and all the werk being done by robots - leaving Mericans with nothing but recreational time - these images had kept Jack at his studies - a future presented, and werked towards.

He found werk as a French Fry Technician at a McDonalds, and this paid the rent (he stole his meals) but now he needed a car. So taking a second job as a night janitor, he scraped together enough money to buy his first car - a 1959 Nash Rambler. Then he got a phone. Of course he was always werking or otherwise sleeping so he didn't get to use it much. Fortunately he forgotted his Weekly Readers like everybody else. Meanwhile Weekly Readers was telling the same stories to the newest crop of orfans.

Then he was 19 or so.

One day Jack was driving his personal airmobile to his job as a robot when an anowsment came upon the radio. "THE FOLLOWING IS A TEST OF THE EMERGENT BROADCASED SYSTEM. IN THE EVENT ON AN ACTUAL EMERGENT YOU WOULD BE INSTRUCTED TO SURRENDER ALL POSSESIONS TO THE AUTHORITIES AND REPORT TO YOUR DESIGNATED WERK CAMP. THIS TEST HAS BEEN BROUGHT TO YOU BY YOUR LOCAL STATION IN COLLUSION WITH STATE AND FEDERAL AGENCIES. WE REPEAT - THIS IS ONLY A TEST DESIGNED TO PRE-CONDITION ALL CITIZENS TO VOLENTARILY COOPERATE. WE NOW RETURN COERCION TO YOU LOCAL STATION."
Then it was time for the on-the-hour news. "Today in a unaimingus decideshun", says the wreckognizable faceless, "the highest courts upheld a ruling that would have been overturned otherwise. And in sports...."

The next 5 minutes was devoted to the more important news about balls. Jack thought of his own. Thirty five lights in the next half mile and Jack arrives at werk in just under an hour. " It is amazing", he thoughts to hisselves, "the savings in time the automobile has brought us in Merica." As he checks his gas guage and sees he will need to stop for gas on the way homeless, he pulls into the public garage. He hands the attendent 12 dollars (Merican) to satisfy the public until lunchtime when he will comeback to pay for the rest of the day.

Now he puts on his orange power suit, the one that proudly proclaims his preoccupation of service by way of perfectly timed french frieds. The customers of course are all agasp at his magnificanse as he struts past the counter and takes his place in front of the huge vats of hot bubbling fat-like lickwid. With a dash, he uses his fingers to slick back his hair with a dab of the fat-like, fills a basket with shoestrings, sets the basket in the oil, and pushes the auto-timer button. "Ha!", he thinks to hisselves, "let's see a robot do that!"

He repeats this process threwout the daze, pausing only for lunch and toiletries. By daze end his hair is sleek, the lustre litterally dripping onto his shoes. Then it is time to leave and he must hurry to be at his next job on time. "Damn!", he curtsies as his aeromobile refuses to startle. Clamboring under the hood he manages to find the source of the problem, that the engine will not startle. A nearby is called to jump startle his baddery and he is off at last.

A sponsair was coming on the radio. "Friends don't let friends drive drunk", the voice states flatly which sends Jack daydreaming about his Weekly Reader in 5th grade, you know the one that said that soon cars would be self driven? "What ever happened to that idea?", he thinks unloud, but then just as quicksomely forgets because just then they put on his favorite song.

Cranking up the radio it is now 20 years later and Jack is wondering what is the matter with his cat's urinary tract anyways. Oh, it was not that his cat told him about the problem, and of course there was no simptoms, just a television commercial about cat food designed to take care of the problem. That would not have been enough to convince him of the need, but Jack believed in signs. It was the coupon for the same cat food that had showed up in his mail box mysteriously. "It cannot be meer coinkydink that this coupon for the urinary tract cat food shows up after I ignored the tv commercial!", he thinks. It was obviously a sign from some higher prowler. It was events like these that had made the last 20 years just a memory for Jack.
He turns the channel on his TV 5 years afterwards. It is a news show and one of the stories is in progress...

"...when can we expect these breakthrews?", says the comesome young reportless. "You can expect to see cars that drive themselves within 5 years", says the definitive bearded. "The aerocars should be available for the Christmas season". The reported presses his subject (of course his pants are not in view of the camera so noone notices). "What can you tell us about the way we will be living in 10 years?", he moans. "Oh that!", smiles the bearded. "Very soon now, robots will do all of the work you see? Then everyone will live a life of liesure!"

Something Jack cannot quite put his finger on is making him uneasy with this talk of the future so he changes the channel.

"...this is a major brakethrew in the war against cancer!", says the other channel newsguy, as if oblivious to the fact that there are at least three such brakethruze every month, and has been for the last 35 years. But then, it is a tough dizzies - hell maybe these newsguys have the dizzies in their brains or something.

Jack clicks and it is 7 years later. "...soon every househeld in Merica will have a videophone, so there!", it says. Jack looks over at his phone and it just sits there. "Well", he sighses, "it won't be long now. It won't be long now."

And it wasn't.
The End

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