Marc shook himself and looked up.
Slap---wurrr
The lights in the stadium turned on dimly and began to brighten.
Slap, slap, slap.
One by one the dark rectangles at the top of the stairs disappeared like black curtains being lifted, revealing the dull grey concourse on the other side.
Someone was here! Marc saw a man walking behind one of the entrances.
Marc stood up, his ankle feeling better, and climbed into the stands where he had jumped down. He walked up the stairs and found the manager. After explaining the situation he asked to use the phone. Marc called Kim who was in hysterics. After his friends at work had called to see how he was doing and didn’t find him they feared the worst and Kim had called the police. Marc apologized and took his well deserved berating.
The manager walked him out and Marc sat down on a bench waiting for Kim to drive over and pick him up. The daylight felt strange today, he thought.
While he waited people began to show up for the day’s exhibition game and in no time a line had formed in front of him to get to the ticket stand. Folks tried not to stare at him but he knew he must’ve looked ridiculous.
Marc’s stomach growled and ached tremendously. He was so hungry, even warm water would’ve felt like a feast. Directly in front of him was a young boy, probably 7 or 8 years old and his father. The young boy had a hot dog that was too big for his small hands. After a couple of bites, which Marc watched agonizingly, the hot dog jumped from the bun and down to the concrete below.
It started rolling. Rolling towards Marc.
The boy and his father watched the hot dog as it rolled across the concrete, every 3 inches leaving a lighter shade of yellow where the line of mustard slowly wore down. It rolled and rolled until it landed next to Marc’s dress shoe. Marc looked down at it and up at the boy. The boy looked at Marc in terror and curiosity. Marc’s stomach growled loudly. Marc looked up at the father who, in the slightest of movements started to shake his head. His eyes wide with fear. The father, already in shock from the site of the one shoed man, wearing pink warm ups, a torn shirt, grass stains traversing his body and what was hopefully dried cheese sauce in his hair, knew the inevitability of the situation and put his hand in front of his son’s eyes.
The young man dipped down to look under his father’s pinky.
Marc looked down again at the pink hot dog round and smooth on one end and jagged from a small bit on the other. His stomach roared so loud the entire line stopped talking and looked at him. Marc reached down and picked up the finger sized treat.
Whispers of “no” came from the line and Marc squeezed the morsel slightly. Grease rose to the surface of the bitten end and Marc’s eyes glassed over with hunger. He had no shame anymore. He felt no conscience in the situation. Where had little Jiminy gone? I think I ate him, Marc thought.
His hand slowly rose to his mouth and Marc pushed the dog in and bit down. Screams and wailing went up from the line with each subsequent chew. Marc’s stomach bubbled and squeaked with delight and a woman near the front fainted into the arms of her husband. The young boy turned and hid his eyes in his Dad’s leg and the Dad, unknowing of his open mouth and wide eyes stared incomprehensibly.
An alarm sounded. A loud alarm. The cops maybe? It was so loud Marc swallowed and closed his eyes.
…
Marc opened his eyes and was lying in bed; his pajamas on and his wife next to him. He leaned over and turned off his alarm which was making the noise he heard.
A dream? Was it all a dream?
He rolled to his wife and shook her. She shoved him off with a shoulder move and he insisted.
“What is it?” Kim asked.
“What day is it, Kim?”
“You’re going to work today, Marc. You’re already in enough trouble as it is, you know that. You can’t skip a day today.”
“What? You mean I didn’t quit?”
“Huh?”
“Nothing…nevermind.” Marc jumped out of bed. It had all been a dream. He ran to the study and saw the paper in the typewriter limped over with his notes on the Man with No Style. He had never woken up. He had never quit his job and walked to the stadium. No cheese sauce, no twisted ankle. No horrifying blackness or underground nightmare. And especially, there was no hotdog.
“Oh, my God! Thank you Jesus!” Marc exclaimed and ran downstairs to make some breakfast for his growling stomach.
Conclusion
As Marc ate his eggs and toast he flicked on the TV. He took a sip of his coffee and flipped to the morning news. He coughed when he turned to channel 8. On the screen was the fat man in the pink warm ups. Still chewing something as his lips curled under his nose. His Texas shirt still perfectly pressed and tucked in to his pink warm ups.
Marc’s mouth dropped.
News Woman: Hi, Maurice, thank you. I’m here at Houston Hobby International Airport with Evan Smith who has probably had the worst holiday traveling fiasco one can imagine. Evan, can you tell us what exactly happened?
Evan: Yes, thanks Claire, due to the weather closures in the north east I couldn’t make my connecting flight. In an act of shear idiocy I packed all my clothes and toiletries in my checked baggage which did make it to my final destination, Atlanta, Georgia, but I got stuck here in Houston for 3 days.
News Woman: So you’ve lived in the airport for 3 days?
Evan: That’s correct, Claire. I promise I don’t normally dress like this but because of the standby nature of things I couldn’t get a hotel. I could be called to leave at any time. I bought some close from a few of the local stores and tried to wash my face and hair in the men’s rooms. Some nice woman kid felt sorry for me and gave me his Jeff Foxworthy album and CD player. Southwest Airlines gave me these batteries from their lost and found in case mine died. That’s just about the only thing I’ve had to keep me going.
News Woman: Wow! And I notice you’re wearing one shoe?
Evan: Yes well, I was running to a gate because I thought I was being called for a standby flight to New York and then to Georgia but tripped and slid into the desert tray at the Chili’s Too which is also how I got this lovely looking chocolate stain down the side of my pants. I twisted my ankle so I’ve been trying to let the swelling go down.
News Woman: Well I hear Southwest feels so bad about the matter they’re flying the CEO out to visit you in Georgia.
Evan: That’s right, they want to talk to me about my experience.
News Woman: Someone else wants to talk to you to I hear.
Evan: Yes, actually Barbara Walters is doing a special on holiday travel and I’ll get to talk with her tonight.
News Woman: That’s right and you can watch Evan’s interview with Barbara airing tonight at 8:30. Thank you so much Evan and I hope you make it home safe and sound.
Evan: Thank you, Claire.
Lukewarm Hotdogs and the Man with No Style
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