Flash! Fiction 3 by Peter McMillan - HTML preview

54

I Definitely Need That

You may laugh, but late night TV commercials do fill a void.

That's what my shrink said, and up to a point, I think he's right. But he didn't stop there. He called it a dependency, like nicotine, alcohol, or crack. That was overstepping the bounds, I thought. It was clear what he was really up to. He wanted me to be dependent ...

on him. Kind of a customer loyalty thing for shrinks. Well, that was too much, so I dropped him and switched to a phone shrink.

#

Everything in my bachelor's apartment sans view has a place, and everywhere, there are boxes, opened and unopened, containing things that I needed, things that seemed necessary in the wee hours of a recent or long ago night.

Some of the older boxes I've re-purposed. Take my entertainment center, built for my TV. Second most prominent on its shelves is the serialized History and Future of Intelligent Life in the Universe, its colorful spines tastefully arranged. All the nooks and crannies are plugged with smaller boxes of snow globes, gold and silver photograph frames, onyx sculptures, a Rubik's cube clock, a perpetual pendulum, authentic uncirculated coins from the USSR, Rhodesia, and Kronos, a mint condition set of stamps for lunar mail, and what have you.

In the middle of the room is largish square faux glass coffee table.

On one side is a stack of brochures, prospectuses, etc. explaining how to play the housing bubble, how to profit when others are going under, how to get rich without changing out of your pajamas, why 55

every investor should own gold, and so on. All absolutely necessary, not least because of my limiting disability allowance.

The rest of the table is where I keep my mini-library of miracle diets, and health cures. There are protein diets, carb diets, eat-all-you-want diets, take-a-pill diets, drink-your-meal diets, purgative and detox diets; cures for eczema, psoriasis, arthritis, insomnia, flatu-lence; and a self-testing kit for schizophrenia, an instructional video for diagnosing and treating OCD, over-the-counter nutraceuticals for depression, bipolar disorders, manias, phobias, and so forth.

Underneath are boxes of CDs and cassettes and a select few mint-condition albums featuring reproductions of the biggest hits from the past 50 years, leaning mini-towers of DVD buttressed by other leaning mini-towers of DVDs, and a 42-hour VHS series on how to build your own boat to sail around the world. The plastic packaging is completely intact on everything, although a couple of discs, one by the Captain and Tennille and another by Lionel Richie, did suffer some damage post transit.

On the counter between the sink and the bar fridge, I keep a mis-cellany of gadgets — juicers, choppers, slicers, dicers, blenders and teflon pans, electric grills, woks, waffle irons, espresso machines, a state-of-the-art solar-powered coffee maker, toasters, ultra-thin microwaves, and self-sharpening stainless steel knives —

all still in their original boxes. There are extras, just in case, in sealed boxes on the floor along with boxes of miracle cleaners, magic cloths, and specialty cleaning brushes.

There are even more boxes in the bathroom with supplies of soap (bars and liquid), monogrammed and commemorative towels and sheets, an electric razor with 18 attachments and a rechargeable battery, a manicure/pedicure set, and an eclectic collection of motel art to cover the windowless walls. (I'm still deciding whether to go 56

with a water or forest motif in the bathroom.) The bathroom's so full that several times a day I have to move boxes off the toilet seat and put them into the leaky shower. Naturally, this depends on the diet du jour.

#

For several weeks now, an exciting new commercial has been running between 1:00 and 3:00 a.m. It couldn't have come at a more opportune moment. I'm embarrassed to say this, but I had become indifferent and bored.

It's as if the advertisers can read my mind. They guarantee freedom from all the products I had once really and truly needed but now am ready to move beyond. Unlike my former shrink, they're nonconfrontational and nonjudgmental about it, and they're right on the mark.

Not only have the struck the perfect tone with someone like me who has dedicated so much time and plastic to teleshopping, they also offer the personalized service of coming to my door to remove everything I no longer need, AND they'll write me a check on the spot.

And the GENIUS — the genius is that I can start all over again!

So, when I say "I DEFINITELY need that," what I mean is that my

'needing to have' has reached the highest possible level, the peak, the apex, the summit, the pinnacle, the zenith, the apogee, the fin de siècle. Umh, forget the last one.

I really and truly NEED that, and I can't wait to tell my telephone shrink what a positive step I've taken on my own. What I wouldn't give to thumb my nose at my former shrink.