Mitch, in what he thought was his quaint-self, went through his inconsequential morning routine entailing the time-tested method of waking up, stirring in bed, and ultimately staying in bed; the outside was just too cold. The commonality of this routine went over his head entirely though not due to ignorance but a sort of antagonistic apathy towards the bondage of collectivism that was typically forced on individuals in their 20s. This aggressive indifference didn’t completely manifest itself through inertia and a general ineptitude in social interactions, but Mitch also decided on a lifestyle engrossed by politics, war, and the lavish lifestyles of mega-athletes. This captivation for kayfabe only helped further numb the feelings stemming from a painful adolescence. Little did he know that this elaborate coping mechanism, developed by depressed above-average IQ bachelors & bacherlorettes, resulted in the same mindless scrolling, done by everyone in his generation. His air of self-importance was only his downfall.
After metaphorical years in bed, he got up, but it was already too late to Uber to work. He thought about playing hooky, as the new Chinese owners of the steel-turned-glass factory didn’t particularly pay too much attention to him, though they paid him. Rushing to the nearest bus stop, frantically checking his phone and praying to a God he did not believe in, he made it twelve minutes early and considered the day conquered.
Mitch hadn’t won anything but instead a sense of faith jumpstarted in the deep annals of his mind that would transform his life or, at the very least, his 48 hours. Out of breath from rushing and multitasking, he leaned on the nearest streetlamp while trying to mask his heavy breaths. Too winded to question the apparent coded language from passersbys, Mitch blamed the odd vibrations in the air on the cold and the foul stench from the bus. It was 11:00 AM, and having just caught it, the nearby tension began to feel insurmountable as the scene displayed a variety of wide indiscernible smiles and grim-looking faces seemingly out of touch, and just going through the motions of this apparent new reality.
The cacophony of voices had already proven too much for Mitch. Especially considering the herd-like packed rolling metal-tube with people going to lunch, parents going home, and the elderly impacted with today’s events. Unable to decipher what those events were exactly, he pulled out his phone to check the news. Of course, his phone and more specifically the news apps had been his escape for more than a decade now further making him feel uneasy upon checking his favorite “non-biased” mix of political opinions, as he realized there was no news, not pertinent enough to his liking anyways. He asked and nearly begged those around him for answers, but no one would even utter a cough in his presence.
He had to get off.
Walking down a decrepit worn-out street, Mitch realized that he never actually noticed anything there. He must have taken that bus hundreds of thousands of times, yet his memory of the area was blank. At this point in the day, almost 14:00, he had no interest in the neurological processes that covered his mind with darkness, he just wanted to know why everyone was acting so weird. Extroversion was the sole solution, and he hated every minute of it. Going up to people was hard enough but when they looked the way that they did in this neighborhood and, specifically, on this day, gregariousness felt akin to committing a mass shooting. He thought he did well in the bus, where he had nonchalantly pulled out a pack of gum and asked if anybody wanted some, though that proved fruitless. Wrangling his way through actual dialogue, he managed to scrape a few answers from an older black woman; she at least pretended to listen but blew him off with a quick excuse about going to the bank.
From that, he decided that a force had landed, and no one knew what was happening, but everyone had an idea. As with most ideas, it was enough to spread panic throughout the planet yet Mitch only continued with a sense of intrigue. He was already out of a job, the city’s nervous excitement made him miss the laborious work day much to the bosses’ apparent chagrin. He was given a brief call, where the information of his firing induced a cringe initially only for his grimace to be transformed into a half-smile upon thinking that there would be no more Chinese chastising, awkward sexual tension (straight or otherwise) in the lunchroom, and precious “company time.” Indeed, a slight tinge of relief and joy flooded the back of his head yet the overwhelming thumping of his heart took over, as he began to understand that he would soon be out of cash. Still, the people near him didn’t give him a chance to dwell on his approaching monetary collapse as they were still hysterically rushing to their respective destinations. So, he decided to go downtown and dig deeper into the self-conceived alien invasion.
He went all in and decided to use a rideshare service, as the buses and other public transportation services were being shut down around town though this fact only excited Mitch. Finally, reality was matching his intuition, albeit, still no word from his treasured news apps. He was on the highway when something clicked, he was out of the frame of mind that his “shithole” neighborhood brought. This vulgar term was courtesy of his Fox News-watching father, although Mitch could only agree with the sentiment. The abandoned buildings coupled with the scowled faces was enough to drive any man into a state of helplessness as one contemplated the societal ramifications and the seemingly doomed generations plagued by perpetual collapsing infrastructure. It was really the noise that got to him; the apparent random and unnecessary bangs, shouts, and shrills brought by drug addicts, vagrants, and neighbors who had long given up on integrating and created a cabal exclusively to annoy him. That’s why, and especially today, Downtown had to be different. Sure, there were still drug addicts but at least they were jovial.
There were no addicts to be seen, only the picturesque magenta sunset of the -10 degree winter day. In fact, downtown was practically empty apart from a few couples walking, the usual bums hanging around the train station, and the trigger-happy cops (Mitch had read so many reports of police violence) that monitored the situation. Except it wasn’t the situation he cared about, rather it seemed like they were after him. His paranoia had increased since the morning and was transferred to the designated authority figures instead of the hood’s usual suspects.
With that creeping sense of dread and because the rideshare had played such good music, he decided to put in his earbuds and walk back home. Whilst listening to Jazz Cartier’s Hotel Paranoia, he assuredly sauntered with a feeling of absolute ecstasy, though he still had no idea what happened. One undeniable fact was that he had his first day off in what felt like 20 years. Although unglamorous, filled with delusions and tiring, it was his own thoughts that burnt the day away.
He got home around 22:00 as walking from downtown typically took five hours. With a warm glass of milk in his hand, he dug through his childhood bookbag and busted out an old copy of the Star Wars extended universe series that Disney, deemed cruelly by some fans, rebranded as “Legends.” As he read the adventurous tales of Han Solo’s son, a waterfall of past memories poured into his pre-frontal cortex. This was his past in full force and it was so overwhelming, Mitch ended up passing out.
He woke up late the next day and for the first time in his life didn’t feel the need to update his consciousness with today’s news or any other kind of lame stimuli he traditionally indulged in to drown out the noise. Instead, he got up, went outside and enjoyed the sunny, below freezing day.
Media Literate.
Chuck was media literate.
He did this by not taking others seriously and by staking out neutrality in the whole “media literacy” debate, which was often recycled on the most toxic social media websites. He did not expect the authors’ works to provide a clear answer; instead, he devoutly interpreted the writing, blending it into his life. With a double major in English literature and history in addition to a minor in statistics, Chuck was, by all accounts and certifications, a bona fide genius.
He consumed content quickly and practiced stark non-escapism, choosing to integrate fiction into his world. His childhood had been great, albeit unlavish, yet he was beloved by everyone he came into contact with, so when he chose this attitude towards life, it often stirred massive confusion and left him with no genuine connections. Sailing past high school, graduating at 16, and going to university early had been somewhat socially tumultuous, though he amassed a record-breaking 4.2 GPA at Northwestern.
After University, at the ripe age of 19, his life could be broken down into three distinct evolutions based on his love for the small screen and projections, which ordinary people call TV and movies. From epic dramas to British comedies, he chose to divide his attention and life in a way that initially left him with little to no regrets. It’s not like he could remember his deepest contritions anyway, inadvertently turning his life into a work of major envy.
When he first watched There Will be Blood, he had called his girlfriend to watch it with him. This was because the first 15 minutes of no dialogue stunned him to the point he thought he had to share the experience with someone. It was his senior year, and he had it made, with a beautiful, loyal, and intelligent woman by his side and too many friends to count; he gave it all up upon watching the film with her. That’s because she hated it and thought it was slow, boring, and inappropriate for him to watch, let alone love. With that first dip into the serious and negative opinion of others, he decided that when he graduated, he would go to an oil rig and become like Daniel Plainview. Everyone thought it was drastic and insisted he rethink the whole affair, but he was dead-set on gaining the experience of his now favorite antihero. That’s to say, Chuck wanted to become Daniel and match that ruthless reasoning as best he could in the modern era.
It was easy for Chuck to get the job with his credentials, as they were just looking for sturdy bodies and an average IQ that wouldn’t get themselves killed in the first week of the job. Though surprised, HR hired him immediately, and he left within the second week after graduating. Located in the Pacific Ocean, he flew to a remote area and began his journey as a certified oilman. He did everything like Daniel Day-Lewis’ titular character: speaking very little, acting like a family man (of course, he had no children), and even took charge when the crew struck black gold. The latter of which was not appreciated, but quickly forgiven as his work had been monumental in the overall discovery process. So much so, he was given an award for this feat, though he just chalked it up to his increasing similarity to the hero/villain of the film. No one understood this, but they stopped questioning it after his insistence on a watch party, where half the crew fell asleep. This is the one thing that snapped him out of his carbon copy, and commenced a period of examination into his foray on the rig.
Why was it that no one actually liked the film? Why was he obsessed with it to the point that he had forgotten his love for shows? There was no internet in such an isolated location, making his viewings of the film nearly a thousand. He too started getting bored with it as he had achieved, especially when confirmed by the recognition of others, his mission of being Daniel Plainview.
For the first time in his life, Chuck began feeling depressed and stopped doing the spectacular work he had been known for. His symptoms of depression were unlike those of the average person, as he tended to be more social and conversed with the others in a sly attempt to gain media access. He started talking to Daniel (no relation), a British petroleum engineer, who occasionally came in to help with the machinery on the rig. Daniel was naturally sympathetic and gave Chuck a box-set of the comedy series Peep Show to help dig him out of his self-professed depression.
It worked like a charm, though much to the dismay of his coworkers, Chuck decided he was done with being a driller. He wanted to live in London and become an office drone to struggle and feel like his favorite comedic characters. It was an odd wish, but he, again, was fully determined to start a new career and emulate these miserable personas on TV. He was received with open arms to some generic office job that confirmed that the “pencil pushing” monotony work, which was often lambasted by the average intellect, was still real. He wanted that, though, as it was a perfect reflection of the show, making his mind race in every social interaction up to the point that he would laugh aloud and confuse the other party. That eventually stopped, as he decided that he wasn’t playing the role well enough. He wanted to be a socially awkward loser, and he was desperate to be unlikeable. To him, it was funny, and he felt a tinge of excitement as he fell asleep, processing the day and his deliberate failings. For the second time in his life, he had achieved his desire but was eventually let go despite his stellar work performance. From that, Chuck learned that sociability was still highly valued, especially in the English culture he lived in.
This time, he wasn’t depressed and reminisced ecstatically on the four years that he had been a washout; though still stuck in London, he needed a new venture. He had enough savings from the oil drilling, making retirement a distinct and reasonable possibility. So, he retired and didn’t consume any media, instead just people watching and setting out on walks in Italy and France, where he had purchased sizeable condos for his simple existence. In time, that facile mindset stopped, and it was time for a new experience.
He watched all seven seasons of Mad Men in three days. He had to be like one of those characters. He was old enough for a family like Don Draper, but Chuck preferred Roger Sterling and so decided to parallel his womanizing and old-fashioned ways. Chuck didn’t work for an advertising company and created a product so revolutionary that it sold like hot cakes. He didn’t care what it was, though, so upon looking back, even Chuck couldn’t tell you what it did.
Indeed, he just wanted to be like Roger Sterling by making love to women, socializing, and taking LSD. Up until the last action, he felt that emptiness that Sterling must have felt, as when he took the drug, he calmly questioned his entire life. This time it didn’t come from depression, but while being on top of the world, in that he had money, women, and anything he could ever ask for.
He didn’t want any of it.
The acid forced him to recall all his experiences and memories, surmising that he had a great grasp of life and the different types of personages in it. He had become akin to Faust, with the exception that he did not sell his soul. With that, Chuck was in a state of learned confusion.
What would he do next, and why would he do it?
Luckily, he had impregnated a quick thrill in his womanizing escapades, and she didn’t want to keep it. With his fortune and near-celebrity status, he begged her to keep the baby on the condition that he would take care of the child. She reluctantly agreed, though after giving birth, she too wanted to participate in what would now be an odd family life.
Chuck was a dad and, for once in his life, didn’t need to be like anybody else to live that.
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