The Links

At the exact date and time the last final exam of his third semester in college was scheduled to occur, Joseph Rand was on the campus lawn, reading comic books and slugging whiskey from a plastic Cherry Coke bottle. Tossing aside a well-worn issue of Daredevil, written and penciled by Frank Miller, Rand turned his gaze from the dingy table before him to the clear and azure-blue sky above. He flicked a spent cigarette aimlessly onto the lawn. This was the last final of the last day of the last week of school. After this exam was scheduled to let out, forty-five minutes from now, there would be scant few numbers of students on campus for three months. Beyond that, Joseph knew that his truly dismal academic performance this year would not allow him to return the following semester, and that there would be no more class-skipping, no more migrating to one of the school’s parking garages to smoke thin joints of dirty weed, no more walking across the lawn to the sport’s bar in the campus hotel, the one that never asks for ID, to drink pitchers and eat appetizers all day long in lieu of attending classes. There would be no more lunches with groups of friends in the University College building, comics and crossword puzzles strewn across an ever-increasing network of tables, messenger bags hanging from the backs of chairs by their shoulder straps. At this point, Joseph Rand had spent this entire semester at a major university, where he had already been placed under academic probation, without ever attending a single class. Nobody was going to be happy about this. Joseph gathered his belongings and stuffed them into his backpack, which had not been used to carry an actual textbook in months, and rose from his chair. He walked to the parking garage swiftly, half-drunk, keeping his eyes averted to the ground at his feet, and left the school without looking back before any of his peers had been released from their respective classes.

Joseph Rand was currently living at his parents’ house, though the term “living” could be taken loosely. He lived there in the sense that his belongings were housed there, and it was occasionally convenient for him to sleep within those walls, but to claim that he lived there would imply that he spent waking hours there, which simply was not the case. Joseph Rand was not without friends, was in fact very much the opposite, which probably played a large role in the fact that he was making no progress toward earning his undergraduate degree. There was always so much going on in the rural Midwest that the easily-distracted would have no difficulty finding post-adolescent misbehavior or any number of other illegitimate pass-times. The vast majority of his free time was divided between his cousin’s apartment and his friend’s dorm room at a small private college that was a short jog down the interstate from his own, while his school days involved driving up to campus to entertain the charade that he was still a practicing student. It was on those school days that Joseph would often wait until everyone he knew was already in class, then find a quiet, rarely-traveled niche in one of the university’s more obscure buildings and re-read one of his many Hunter S. Thompson collections or nap until it was late enough to leave campus without endangering the illusion that he was, in fact, a real student. Because of his probationary status, he had convinced his mother that a job during the school year would be too much, would distract him heavily from his studies, and so he had lived off student loan money all semester, using it to buy pepperoni breadsticks every day at lunch, three bottles of brandy a week, and the occasional bag of grass. As Joseph sped away from campus, the notion that these long weeks of easy living were rapidly approaching their climax was bouncing around inside his head.

In terms of academia, Joseph was of competent ability but wavering dedication. He knew there was a field in the real world that he would one day be able to gravitate toward, that would challenge him in a way that he was secretly longing for, but he had yet do discover that subject and had no desire to waste his time with topics and busy work that seemed trivial and pointless. He had never been the type to feign interest when he was not interested, and his brief attempt at higher education was a testament to that aspect of his personality. Rand was certain he would find an outlet that would make him hungry and driven again, but frankly was in no real hurry. The oft-heard adage about life being short had never rang as accurate in his mind, so he had never been in a real hurry to do anything as his life meandered through different channels of expression and self-discovery. Certain that college would find its way back into his life at some point in the future, Joseph saved his worrying for more urgent matters, like finding and holding a steady job.

Hanging on to a job for any length of time had always been difficult for Joseph, for the same reason he had trouble making new friends. Joseph’s sense of humor, the only facet of his brain that operated on all cylinders at all times, was abrasive and venomous. He could often be heard saying, only half-joking, that sarcasm and nicotine were his only two real friends, and that if either one didn’t exist he would produce terrible art for a short interval and then die. The easily-offended had a tendency to take Joseph too seriously, and once Joseph had dug himself into a hole, he could never see any glaring reason to climb out of it, meaning the offended parties usually remained offended. So when it came time for Joseph to blend in with a new group of co-workers, his big mouth made it easy for him to alienate himself from everyone else in no time.

Flicking a spent cigarette out the window as he merged onto the interstate, Joseph remembered a snippet of a conversation that occurred nearly a month earlier, while he was celebrating the cult holiday that takes place on April 20th. Knowing that this day was right around the corner, the day he would abruptly leave college for the foreseeable future, and knowing that he would soon be in dire need of gainful employment, Joseph had made it evident that he was looking for a “summer” job. Luke McDonnell, an old friend from high school who had graduated before Joseph, shared with him the information that the country club/banquet center where he worked as a manager was always hiring, and paid well at that, and that if Joseph was looking for a job they would probably hire him on the spot. Joseph fished his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Luke’s number, and was startled when the other line picked up so quickly.

“Hello?”

“Oh. Uh, Luke?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Hey man, it’s Rand here, I’m on my way back from school, and I was thinking about stopping by Hallowed Hill on my way home and picking up an application, but I wasn’t sure if you guys were still hiring like you said, so I thought I’d call you first.”

“Oh, right, right. Can you hold on for one second while I ask my boss? He’s sitting right next to me.”

“Sure, thanks.” Joseph was worried that he had missed his window of opportunity, that there were no longer any available positions at Hallowed Hill Golf Course and Banquet Center, and that hunting for a job would prove to be a much more trying endeavor than he had originally anticipated. Luke’s voice returned to the line sooner than Joseph would have guessed.

“Hey, Rand, I talked to my manager here, he just told me that if you wanted to come by this afternoon and fill out an application, then you’re hired.”

“Hired? I really wasn’t expecting such immediate results.”

“Well, when can you start? You don’t have to start right away if-”

Joseph cut him off. “I can start whenever,” he said, trying unsuccessfully not to sound too zealous. “I’ll stop by on my way home.”

“Right on, I’ll see you in a few.”

“Later.” Joseph snapped his phone shut and began to drive faster, eager to get the customary employment paperwork out of the way, but at the same time curious. What kind of establishment, he thought to himself, would hire a person sight-unseen, regardless of whether or not they were referred by a current employee? Was there not a list of criterion that potential employees had to meet, and an interview process to weed out the ones who don’t make the cut? The very idea behind it felt wrong to him. What kind of blatant unprofessional and under-handed behavior was going on behind the stucco walls of Joseph’s new venue of employment? Joseph Rand sped up again and signaled right, flicking a spent cigarette out the window before crossing two lines of traffic and darting onto the Main St. off-ramp.

-Back to the top- Enjoy.

-Josh Houchin

This is a work in progress and as such, is not finished. Check back frequently for updates and revisions.