Situation Normal. Atmosphere Breathable. Brainstem Injected. Dialogue Engaged.
stg-roadrunner-gfx
Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Paging Yesterday

Dear Eric Muehlhausen,

Do you remember Wildcatter? Those old computers sure managed to entertain the hell out of us. It didn’t matter that cyan, magenta, black, and white were the only colors they could pull off, clumsy pixel by clumsy pixel. Drilling for imaginary Texas oil on ancient buzzing computers drove my lifestyle until I hit puberty. That and preposterous heavy metal songs by cartoon men with frizzy perms. Same as you. I know.

I was considered a smart kid. You know, the one who could skip all the homework and still ace the test to pass the class. My teachers adored me. Unfortunately, I was (and am) a lazy shit who thought he could coast through with minimal effort and still reap all the rewards. It wasn’t until I leeched onto politics that I realized life is a cruel bitch. Dad always told me life ain’t fair. I had to learn that myself. This was years after I last saw you.

You knew better. I don’t know if that came from your parents’ teaching, their genetics, or was something you knew by instinct. I suspect it was a combination of all three. When I dropped out of high school to smoke pot and rebel gloriously, you kept on, skipping grades, teaching yourself Cobal and C++, torching the so-called competition. You worked hard. You loved it. I could tell.

Last I heard, after you made Eagle Scout, you joined the prestigous Illinois Math & Science Academy. At the time, I was probably taking my first sip of hard liquor. After your dad got into his first motorcycle accident, he talked to my father. He told my dad you moved to Japan, married a Chinese girl, and now you work for Motorola, busting programmers’ balls for incompetent coding. I’m proud of you.

I did okay for a lazy shithead, I guess. While the rest of our class was graduating on schedule, I was an arrogant dropout accepting a job with Digital Equipment Corporation as a shipping clerk. I got promoted within a year to facility supervisor. There I was, working for a global computer company, 18 years old, doing a job that had absolutely nothing to do with computers. Go figure. I kinda lost the thread after DOS died and operating systems evolved to graphic interfaces. I loathed Windows 95 when it got big. I was always more comfortable with hexidecimal and text computing. I certainly never caught up to you, and I never will now. I’m okay with that.

That job didn’t change much during the five years I spent there, but the company name sure did. Digital got swallowed up by Compaq, which then got swallowed up by Hewlett Packard. I was a contractor, and the company I worked for, a facility company out of Pittsburgh called Affiliated Building Services, got bought by Enron. Yes, that Enron. The criminal energy vampire bastards that raped the retirement accounts of a hell of a lot of folks. When that scandal went down, ABS managed to separate from Enron. Supposedly we were merely partnered under the Enron name umbrella, but not really one of their cogs. We didn’t get liquidated. I remember getting letters from Kenneth Lay encouraging me to buy stock. I never invested my complimentary stock options. I wasn’t 21 yet. Lucky me. I still have the option certificates.

Now I work for a little company in Schaumburg, our hometown. I fix restaurant registers and order closed circuit cameras. We’re informal, very family oriented. I like it here, even if I am perpetually broke.

I finally learned to drive when I was 22. I moved out from under my folks roof the same year. I ended up going back a little more than a year afterwards, right after I left Hewlett Packard. Being back under my folks roof was rough. I was attacked by fleas. Dad was attacked by unemployment. And prevailing alcoholism. You knew he was a drunk, right? We all got evicted. We all split up. It was ugly. Now I live with a roommate in River Grove, right on the edge of Chicago, next to O’Hare Airport.

I’m starting to find myself, finally. I love writing. So that’s what I’m doing. At first it was easy, but lately it’s been frustrating. I like that frustration. That challenge. I know now that anything that comes easy is cheap crap. Sometimes I feel like I’m banging my head against the wall, leaving skin and eyebrow where I impact red brick. When that happens, I step back, take a deep breath, and write a letter to somebody I haven’t seen in years. To put words out. Therapy.

Hello, Eric. What’s new with you?

Your friend,
Steve Giles
9:46 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm

10 Comments:

September 29, 2005 12:49 AM, Blogger Latigo Flint said...

You're a prince Steve. I'm not Eric but felt like replying anyway.

 
September 29, 2005 10:20 AM, Blogger Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm said...

Thank you Latigo. You are a king.

 
September 29, 2005 12:48 PM, Blogger ty bluesmith said...

hotdamn that was cool, YO

 
September 29, 2005 2:35 PM, Blogger Floyd said...

I've been drunk in River Grove before....not relevant at all..but thought you would want to know.

 
September 29, 2005 2:38 PM, Blogger Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm said...

I did want to know, thanks Floyd.

It's a small little suburb. When I'm drunk, and I fall over, I fall into Elmwood Park if a tumble one way, Franklin Park if the other way.

Then I get cited by multiple municipalities for drunk & disorderly.

 
September 30, 2005 9:14 AM, Blogger Kerouaced said...

Interesting. Was that a true account?

 
September 30, 2005 9:21 AM, Blogger Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm said...

Yes it is, Steve. I did a little research after I wrote and posted this to see what Eric is up to. It looks like he lives in San Francisco now and works for Apple.

I didn't find anything about Japan or China, but I did discover that he got a year of education in Moscow, so maybe my dad got some anecdotal info mixed up.

 
September 30, 2005 10:30 AM, Blogger hijacked frequencies said...

great letter..yr right , anything that comes easy is cheap crap

 
October 04, 2005 12:07 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hi Steve. This is Eric. By some amazing coincidence I googled myself today and found your letter. For the last half hour I've been sitting here at my desk, swimming in memories of webelos and king's quest and dumb prank calls in Jeremy's basement and games of hide and seek on kingsport lane. It's really good to hear from you.

I can't seem to dig up a way to contact you besides this comment. If you google my name with the word "resume" you'll find my contact info. Shoot me an email?

 
October 13, 2005 3:18 PM, Anonymous sarcastrix said...

I wish I knew you so that you'd write me a random letter.

 

Post a Comment

left-arrow Home

stg-shark
Seeking Bulldozer Rentals
No Paper This Time
Archival Doubleheader
Juvenile Imbecility
Alleyway Ribcage Rumble
Shoot Straight You Bastards!
Drop Ceiling Cemetary
Penny Dreadful Part Three
Penny Dreadful Part Two
Penny Dreadful Part One
August 2002
September 2002
October 2002
November 2002
December 2002
January 2003
February 2003
March 2003
April 2003
May 2003
September 2003
October 2003
November 2003
December 2003
January 2004
February 2004
August 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
February 2008
May 2008
August 2008
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
December 2009
February 2010
March 2010
April 2010
May 2010
August 2010
August 2011
September 2011
February 2012
June 2012
July 2012
August 2012
October 2012
November 2012
May 2013
August 2013
September 2013
December 2013
May 2014
October 2014
November 2014
December 2016