As he leaves the sandwich shop, Thomas holds
the door for a pretty, well-dressed, young woman to enter. She thanks him
with the look of someone reluctantly stepping past a dead animal on the sidewalk.
He grins back thinking how his social status is betrayed by his scuffed, dirty
shoes and company nametag.
He steps out the door to the second story walkway.
He makes his way through the swiftly moving, foot traffic.
He leans against the railing overlooking the courtyard below and takes in
the scene around him. Like a man at the zoo, observing wild animals in their
natural habitat he people-watches with great amusement. There are busy shoppers
everywhere, mostly women carrying over-stuffed, designer shopping bags.
The LONESTAR is like a self-contained city. This marvel of modern architecture
offers an ice skating rink, wooded park with playground, petting zoo and five-story
waterfall. There are department stores, movie theaters, restaurants, super-markets,
nightclubs and assorted specialty shops.
“Where else would you go if you had more money than you knew what to
do with?” he asks himself.
Thomas walks to the stairway and heads down to the street. Once outside in
the sunshine he lights a cigarette and continues thinking, “Where else
offers so much to these ‘poor souls’ who have so much expendable
cash they need help deciding how to spend it?”
He grins at his own thoughts and at the number of cars bottle-necked at the
parking lot exit, all trying to hurry home with their new treasures. “’Shopping’,
now there’s the real American past-time.”
After crossing the street, he arrives back on the lot of the Lone Star Car
Wash where he works. He checks his watch. He has five minutes of his lunch
break left.
Thomas leans against the shaded, west wall of the carwash away from the customers
and work. He wants those last few puffs of his cigarette and last few moments
to himself before returning to work. Thoughts of his personal life play randomly
in his mind. He thinks of how awkward things can get sometimes.
He thinks of how his girlfriend is talking of ending their six-month relationship.
Her complaint is he never has money to take her to nice restaurants or buy
her things like a “real boyfriend” would.
He thinks of his father who told him, “Stop being a bum and find a career
so you can be successful at something”.
His boss wishes Thomas would just, “Get his shit together.” He
says Thomas could have a real future in the Carwash business if he’d
put forth the effort.
Thomas says, “Everyone in my life would be so much happier if I were
just someone else!”
Thomas fails to see what “careers” or “money” have
to do with success or happiness. He’s actually quite happy just being
who he is. And he sees successful people every day with money who are apparently
very unhappy.
He thinks of the shopping mall and says, “Not one purchase made there
today could be considered necessary. No money spent there will fight any life
or death battles. Everyone there already has the essentials of life. They’re
just spending money. All those places are good for is so people with money
can feed off of other people with money. But that’s America, one huge
money machine.”
Thomas tries to be realistic about money. He knows it is a necessary part
of American society. He knows he must make enough to keep from living on the
street. But he thinks that Americans place too much importance on making a
good living and not enough on making a good life.
Then he thinks, “Or am I just trying to make myself feel better, because
I’ve never had the ‘balls’ or determination to make my own
fortune?”
Thomas finishes his cigarette, tries to shut off his mind and walks around
to the vacuum area where the wash process begins.
In the thirty minutes he’s been gone, not much has changed. There are
four lanes of cars, stretched bumper to bumper all the way out to the street.
Thomas stands amidst a busy flurry of activity. The vacuumers are vacuuming
seats and floorboards, emptying ashtrays and cleaning floor mats. The ticket-writers
are greeting customers, selling hot wax, white-wall scrubbing and gasoline.
After all purchase decisions are made the customers relinquish the symbols
of their egos to whom they hope are responsible professionals. They are then
herded into the customer lounge to wait.
Everything is running smoothly now, but Thomas knows it won’t be long
before a customer will have a complaint, a mirror will be broken or a car
will be locked with the keys inside. Some earth-shattering problem will arise
requiring Thomas’ attention. “It’s a job.”
It’s been a pretty
good day for Thomas. It’s been hot but busy enough to make the time
go quickly. He’s in a good mood, humming a tune and checking out the
pretty, redhead bent over into her Corvette, gathering her things.
Suddenly he hears a voice, “Nice ass huh?”
He turns, surprised to see his girlfriend standing next to him.
“Cindy!” he says nervously, not believing his poor timing. “What’s
up Baby?” he asks.
Cindy is a beautiful young woman who has a mind Thomas enjoys but her personality
has changed since the recent success of her modeling career. It seems lately
that all the money and attention she gets has inflated her ego. She now seems
discontent with not only Thomas, but also several of her old, poor relation
friends.
She says nothing and holds up the key to his apartment. The key Thomas gave
her that she’s never used. The one time she visited him there she was
so uncomfortable she had to leave. He remembers her asking, “How do
you live in this ‘rat hole’?”
He takes the key as she says, “Sorry Thomas, I’m moving on. I
hope your life goes the way you’d like. Take care.” And with that
she spins on the heel of her expensive shoes and gracefully walks an imaginary,
fashion runway back to her Porsche.
Knowing anything he could say, he’s already said, Thomas speaks in an
accepting voice, “Goodbye Cindy.” As if watching a ship’s
wake, her sexy strut takes the attention of every man in range right along
with it.
Thomas puts the key in his pocket. He stands stunned in the middle of the
busy driveway full of cars and people. For those few moments while she stood
next to him, he mentally left the carwash. Now that their emotional scene
was over, he was coming out of it and his mind returned to thoughts of work.
“It’s better this way.” He says to himself, “Now there’s
one less person in the world with reason to complain about my life.”
It seems people are always either dying or leaving him. Thomas knows whatever
immediate thoughts you have of the person whose left, are usually the reasons
why they were special to you. Thinking of Cindy as he steps back out of the
way of customers and workers, the first thought that comes to mind is sex. “Damn!” he says, thinking of their lovemaking, “I am going
to miss that.”
Suddenly, a young woman’s voice crackles through the speaker overhead,
“Thomas, please come to the cashier.”
“Yes!” he says aloud, “Work would be a good thing right
now.”
He steps inside and makes his way through the waiting room crowded with customers.
While waiting they peruse the shelves and racks chocked full of useless trinkets
and baubles. There’s everything here from floor mats, key chains and
license plate holders to soft drinks, stuffed animals and greeting cards.
There are twirling racks of self-help tapes with titles ranging from “Winning
through Intimidation” to “Jesus Wants You to be Rich”.
While the road-grime and dead bugs are scrubbed from the grilles of their
Mercedes Benz or SUVs, they search for the air-freshener that makes just the
right statement.
So caught up in their own lives, they wouldn’t think much about the
fifty-year-old Mexican man, sweating in the sun, scrubbing the dead bugs off
their grilles. They wouldn’t find it interesting that just six months
ago he worked as a highly skilled machinist in Mexico City. After losing his
job of seventeen years and finding no other work at home, he took a calculated
risk and came to America. This is certainly not the work he was trained for,
but its work and he makes the best of it. He works long hours, makes minimum
wage and sends what he can to his family back home.
And as he scrubs, he hopes the customer will see the fine job he has done.
He prays that God will convince them to offer him a tip so he can buy his
first and maybe only meal of the day.
Meanwhile, back inside the air-conditioned waiting room with its marble floors,
smooth Jazz playing overhead and twelve brands of breath mints, the customers
are getting impatient. They have people to impress and places to go where
they hope they’ll be seen.
Thomas stands at the end of the cashier’s counter patiently waiting
for Carly to finish ringing up a customer.
“Carly’s cool.” Thomas thinks to himself. She’s a
cute, young, black girl with a fabulous smile. She runs the register and handles
the customers very well.
He steps up and gives her a devilish wink with matching grin and says, “You
call for me gorgeous?” She grins back with a slight blush. Her smile
turns to a blank, forgetful look and then she remembers, “Oh yes, Thomas,
there’s a car outside in the vacuum area that you need to ride through.
The customer asked for you by name. Here’s the plate number.” she says and hands him a post-it note.
Back outside he scans the cars for the number. He spots it and understands
the request. It’s a beautiful, Baby blue, ’57 Chevy convertible,
in mint condition.
Older cars with loose suspensions are prone to jump the track as they’re
pulled through the wash. To avoid this and potential damage, its necessary
to hold the steering wheel straight while going through. As assistant manager,
Thomas is usually called on for this function.
After it reaches the front of the line, Reggie, the overweight, black, twenty
year old, ‘rapper’-wanna-be, carefully drives the car onto the
track. He then climbs out leaving the door open for Thomas to take over.
With a big smile, Reggie exclaims, “Maaan, I could sure scoop up some
booty with a ride like this!”
“Yeah, it’s cool!” Thomas jokes back smiling, “but
the radio in this car won’t play ‘Rap’!” He says as
he sits down in the seat.
“Like hell it won’t!” Reggie replies as he pushes the green
button on the wall sending the wash into action.
Thomas shuts the door as the car lurches forward, pulled by the roller behind
the front tire. Thomas grips the steering wheel and marvels at the beauty
of the aged interior. He now has three minutes of nothing to do but watch
water spray the windows.
He’s about thirty seconds into his ride when he is startled by a man’s
voice saying his name, “Thomas Quillan.” He jumps. Fumbling to
turn off the radio, he realizes its not on. The voice continues, “Pay
close attention, this will not be repeated.” Thomas leans back over
the seat, looking for the source of the voice. “What the hell is this;
a joke?” he asks.
At this point the car is engulfed in water and twirling brushes. Attempting
to exit the car now would soak the interior.
The voice continues, “Next Tuesday at 2:15 pm, you are to be at the
‘Metro Diner’ at Hall Street and Gaston Avenue. After it is determined
that you have come alone, another person will join you.”
Thomas tries to think of who would pull such a joke on him. He and the car
are now halfway through the wash. The pummeling roar of water spraying down
on the canvas top makes it difficult to hear the voice as it says, “You
may ask this person any two questions you like.” The voice greatly emphasizes
the word, “Any”, it then continues, “Every man has questions
Mr. Quillan. The answers to the two greatest questions you can possibly conceive
are yours for the asking. You are to speak to no one of this. You alone have
been chosen.” Then there was silence.
The car continues through the wash. Thomas sits holding his breath, waiting
to be sure the voice is finished. He goes over in his mind what was said trying
to remember the details. He is un-nerved that whoever was speaking used his
full name. It felt like a personal invasion.
Deep in confused thought, he feels the car trying to jump track and realizes
he’s let go of the wheel. He grabs it, and turns it slightly, settling
the tire back into the track. He sighs still confused and replaying the message
in his mind.
The wash is now over and the car reaches the end of the track and slowly rolls
out of the tunnel. Suddenly the driver door is yanked open, startling Thomas
back to reality. It’s Carlos, another carwash employee, with a look
of concern on his dark, mustached face. Using Spanish gibberish he alerts
Thomas to a problem at the back of the line. Thomas looks back through the
dark tunnel to the other end. There he sees Reggie waving his arms signaling
an emergency.
Thomas turns the car over to Carlos and runs to the other end where he finds
all work has stopped. One glance at the car hung on the line tells him what
has happened. Reggie has steered this next car into the blunt end of the steel
track, puncturing the left front tire.
The car can’t be sent through the wash with a flat tire. Sitting in
front of a long line of cars, it can’t be rolled out of the way either.
“Man, I’m sorry Thomas, I don’t know how it happened!” Reggie says nervously. Reggie knows on a busy day like today, the wash being
stopped more than a few minutes will send impatient customers complaining
to the manager.
This is not the first time that Reggie, in paying more attention to the car
radios than to his driving, has cost the wash the price of a tire. Reggie
hopes that Thomas can “save his ass” before the boss comes out
and fires him on the spot.
Thomas glances back up to the other end of the tunnel. The mystery car has
been moved to the finishing area to be wiped dry and driven away. Thomas fights
his urge to go speak to the customer driving the car, but instead concentrates
on the problem at hand. He and Reggie quickly get to work.
The tire was changed in a matter of minutes and the wash was up and running
again. The owner of the car was instructed where to go for a new tire- free
of charge. They were given a fistful of Free Car Wash coupons, smothered in
sincere apologies and sent on their way. The boss would eventually hear of
the tire damage and expense, but it had been handled smoothly. Thomas indeed
had “saved Reggie’s ass”.
This was Thomas’ job. In his words, “I manage the wash, the customers
and the employees while the boss sits in the air-conditioning on the phone.”
It is now six-thirty.
The vacuums are off, the pumps and hydraulics are shut down and the big tunnel
doors are closed. The lot is empty and Carly is counting the money in the
register. Finished with his closing duties, Thomas is ready to go home.
As he reaches his pickup, Reggie hollers from across the lot, ”Hey Thomas,
wait up man.” Reggie steps quickly and speaks as he approaches, “Hey
man, I wanted to thank you for helping me with that flat tire.” He offers
his handshake to Thomas and says, “It would have taken me a half hour
to do that by myself.”
Thomas smiles and replies, “That’s okay man. Next time just watch
what the fuck you’re doin’!” Thomas ends with an angry face
that startles Reggie. But then Reggie grins realizing Thomas is not mad, just
making a point. Thomas reverts to his original smile.
“Hey man I’ve got somethin’ for ya’.” Reggie
says as he reaches into his pocket. “I wanted to give you this, for
your trouble, you know?” Thomas looks down as Reggie pulls a big, well
rolled joint out of his pocket and discretely hands it to him. Thomas gives
a quick glance around the immediate area and accepts the joint with a smile.
Thomas says, ”You didn’t have to do that.” Thomas drops
it in his shirt pocket and smiles even more as he says, “Reggie, you
may not drive worth a shit but you have great timing. This is exactly what
I need right now. Thanks man.”
Thomas knew he would be up most of the night thinking about the phantom voice.
This present might be just what he’ll need to relax enough to sleep.
The two say their goodbyes, Reggie heads for the bus stop and Thomas climbs
into his truck and heads for home.
As he drives he has plenty of time think. He asks himself, “Who do I
know that would go to such lengths to play this bizarre joke on me?” He knew there was no one.
Thomas has just a few good friends. As of this afternoon, he has one less.
He can’t imagine anyone he knows doing anything like this. He considers
it might be a joke by stranger, but that doesn’t make sense. Whether
he knew them or not, they knew him. They knew his name, where he worked and
how to get him alone to give him a message. This made him feel a bit uneasy.
He quickly went through several other senseless possibilities such as, it’s
the work of some maniac who chose Thomas at random, they were filming an episode
of “Candid Camera” or even that he’d imagined the whole
thing.
He fought long and hard to delay considering the only remaining conclusion;
the offer was genuine. But of course that made the least amount of sense.
Thomas arrives home to his tiny apartment. “Hello ‘rat hole’.”
He says with a grin, thinking of Cindy’s un-warranted description. His
place is an aging, two-room, garage apartment behind a large apartment complex
in a low-rent neighborhood. It isn’t pretty, but it’s warm in
the winter, quiet, safe, clean and cheap.
“What else do you need?” he asks.
After finishing his dinner he was ready to relax and enjoy his gift from Reggie.
He puts on some subtle jazz music. He kicks off his shoes, sits back in his
over-stuffed easy chair and puts his feet up. Whimsically comparing himself
to a king in his castle, he puffs on the joint and sips his beer.
“How many more riches could a man want?” he asks aloud.
As the smoke works its magic, he begins to relax and think over the events
of the day. His thoughts go straight to the phantom voice. There are several
questions that should be addressed right up front. These are logically who,
how and why?
Who was the man speaking to him in the car? Who is this person he would meet
at the diner? “Who knows the answers to such questions?” Thomas
says. If Thomas is to take the message literally, this person must be prepared
to answer any question he can think of. The voice even emphasized “any
question”. Thomas takes that to mean anything from “Is there a
God?” to “What is the meaning of life?” He reasons that
only a “God” would really know the answer to everything. Only
a super-human would know the answers to all the great questions that we mere
humans can’t begin to answer.
The “Who” question ties into the “How” question. How
would a mortal, human being possibly be able to answer any question posed
to him? Thomas concludes, “He would not.”
Which leads Thomas to ask himself, “What person or what kind of being
am I to meet with?”
Thomas goes on to the third logical question, “Why?” Considering
for a moment that there is a person or being that knows all, why will they
answer exactly two questions? Why not only one or fifteen? Why not all questions?
Why any questions at all?
He thinks on the ‘two-question’ point a bit further. If this is
all real, it may not be the first time this offer has been made. There may
have been many chosen ones before him forced to face this perplexing situation.
It may have started with only one question. Maybe through trial and error
it was determined by, whomever, that one was not enough. There may have been
countless other poor souls throughout history, who were given answers, but
were deemed insane when they spoke of the answers and put to death or imprisoned.
Why if this person knows everything, don’t they just put their knowledge
to good use?
Then there is the more personal “why” question: Why Thomas? How
was he chosen? “What were they thinking?” he says. If such valuable
information were to be made available, wouldn’t it be put to better
use in the hands of a scientist, philosopher or world leader? “You alone
have been chosen.” That’s what the voice said. For what reason
would this person of apparent omnipotence choose him to receive such extraordinary
information?
Thomas tried to remain calm and only think logically about the whole concept,
but somewhere within him there was a curious, excited, little boy. A part
of him was secretly wishing this were all true. Just as he had always wished
that U.F.O.s and aliens from other worlds really existed.
“Man, what a trip!” He says aloud. “This would be the most
tremendous opportunity ever presented to anyone, ever!” He feels himself
smile as he thinks of it.
Thomas knows that most everyone in his life sees him as a mindless person
with no ambition to be anything special. He on the other hand sees himself
as a simple man; an average man who reads a great deal in an attempt to expand
his mind and understand the world around him. This personal and private search
for knowledge is an endeavor he feels worthy of appreciation by all societies.
And the daunting task before him now would test any man’s mettle.
“If I can ask any two questions, what should they be?” he says
aloud and then adds, “Well Thomas, I guess we’re going to consider
this a real possibility aren’t we?”
Pleased he’d only smoked a portion of the joint, he decides to put on
a pot of coffee. “Yeah, I’m going to be awake for a while.” He says.
While waiting for the coffee, he sits down with paper and pencil. He begins
what could either be the most important list he’s ever made or a complete
waste of time.
Should the answers benefit all mankind or just Thomas?
After all, he was the one “chosen”. Is it out of the question
for him to personally gain from this opportunity?
Then as a little personal comic relief, Thomas thinks on the actual meeting.
He says, “What if I sit down with this guy and from nervousness or polite
habit I ask him ‘How do you do?’ and then, ‘Would you like
a cup of coffee?’ will these be considered my two questions?”
One hour and a pot of coffee later, here’s how his list reads so far:
QUESTIONS FOR THE WORLD
Why does the Universe exist?
Where did the matter the Universe is made of originally come from?
What is the space between atoms made of?
Is there a single entity that created everything?
If the previous answer is “Yes”, where did this entity come from?
Is there a reason or purpose for human life to exist?
Is there life elsewhere in the Universe?
What is the cure for Cancer?
What is the cure for AIDS?
Is Love a real function of the heart or our imaginations?
Is there such a thing as a soul?
QUESTIONS FOR MYSELF
Do I have a talent I’m not aware of?
What should I be doing with my life?
Does my father really love me?
Before my wife died accidentally, was she having an affair with my best friend
as I’ve always suspected?
Which team will win the Super Bowl?
What are the state lottery numbers?
Who are you?
Why was I chosen?
Thomas knows this is only the beginning of his list. He knows he’ll
be thinking of new ones up to the last minute. But then at some point he will
have to start whittling the list down to only two.
He already feels he can reason away the need to ask several questions such
as the “Universe” questions, whose answers will not impact Thomas
or the world in his lifetime. These answers will just sit stagnant in the
hands of some appointed commission or deity for countless years until they
decide what to do with them. Or even more likely, decades or even centuries
will pass while the world squabbles over who deserves to benefit from them
the most.
Thomas feels the “God” questions will be answered for him once
he dies.
It is at this point that he reluctantly starts questioning his life, his morality
and motives. He asks himself, “Am I really just as shallow and superficial
as everyone I see around me. Am I really no better than the rest of this selfish
society for which I hold so much disdain?” He wonders if this is to
be the real outcome of all of this foolishness. He says, “All this process
may just result in showing me who I really am and I might not like what I
see. I may find I’m not the highly principled, ‘better-than-everybody-else’
person I’ve always thought.”
At one point he adds to his list the questions, “Who am I?” He
then scratches it out vigorously saying, “I should know who the hell
I am! I am way over-thinking this thing.”
For the rest of the week he goes to work and tries to function. It becomes
increasingly difficult for him to concentrate and at times he becomes very
emotional. He experiences several short panic attacks. He knows the stress
and pressure that he feels now will only worsen if this insane little scenario
turns out to be real.
He begins to carry out in his mind different eventualities. “Suppose”
he says, “I ask one of these big questions about the Universe or God
and I get an answer. What then? What do I do with the answer? Who would I
tell? Who would believe me?”
He imagines visiting these impressive Universities and Religious orders and
sitting before them like a senate inquiry. He envisions dozens of well educated,
world-renown professors and priests sitting behind long tables with microphones,
press reporters and photographers. And there he is, a thirty-two year old
that barely graduated high school. Here’s a guy who works at a carwash,
professing to know the answers to age-old mysteries.
And when he is asked how he came to learn this information, what does he say? “Well, there was this voice that spoke to me from inside a Baby blue,
’57 Chevy that told me to meet this guy at a greasy-spoon diner in Dallas.
And as he and I talked over coffee and doughnuts, he told me the secrets of
life that you yahoos haven’t been able to figure out.”
Thomas develops a constant, low-level headache.
All other parts of his life are being negatively affected by his quandary.
He’s been yelling at the employees, rude to the customers and generally
screwing things up at work. He has been drinking heavily and hardly eating
at all. He only sleeps from exhaustion and then only a few hours at a time.
The days since he received the message have flown by like a blur. Tuesday
afternoon quickly approaches like an intimidating calculus test. He needs
more time.
It’s now Monday night before the meeting. He’s once again sitting
in his chair pouring over the questions.
The list is growing and getting strange:
Is it possible to travel
in time, surpass the speed of light, exert mind over matter?
Who killed JFK?
What’s the deal with the Bermuda Triangle, Stonehenge and crop circles?
Is Elvis really dead?
Where’s Osama Bin Laden?
Where is Atlantis?
Why do men have nipples?
Where did Earth’s Moon really come from?
If nothing sticks to Teflon, how does it stick to the pan?
Suddenly he screams and bolts up out of the chair flinging the pencil and
paper across the small room. He stands still, trembling. With his hands covering
his face, he tries to regain composure. He can’t think anymore. His
frustration turns to sorrow and he begins to cry uncontrollably. “This”
he says, “is a breakdown!”
He then thinks, “What if the two questions I choose, turn out to be
ones I can only ask myself?”
He goes to bed and as his last thought of the night he says, “What if
I don’t ask any questions at all? Is there a penalty involved for choosing
not to participate in this madness?”
Tuesday morning he calls in sick and spends the day sleeping, watching The
Three Stooges on TV and generally trying to keep from thinking.
He arrives at the Metro
diner ten minutes early. He sits by the front door, orders a cup of coffee
and waits.
Sitting next to a window, he sees outside in the street an old man in a wheelchair,
struggling to climb the curb. Thomas can tell the old guy’s living on
the street from his shabby appearance and the torn, designer shopping bag
of dirty clothing hanging off the back. Thomas says to himself, “I wonder
what he would ask?”