Liv
17
“The sun rose and everything fell.”
That was the concluding line of the last crappy original poem Alex would ever read, and he was giddy with excitement. “I’m guessing that you’re a math person?” was the lone comment that Alex scrawled across the paper in biting crimson ink before he stood up and started to do a victory dance.
Alex, formerly Mr. Fay, was a 12th grade English Honors teacher at Wells High School on the Upper East Side. For years he had dealt with obnoxious teenagers, all of whom believed that they would become the next Allen Ginsberg or Emily Dickinson. He had read countless works penned by self described “poets” who considered themselves to be “deep” and “innovative” when in fact every idea they produced was hackneyed and stolen from Tumblr. These kids would scour classic literature looking for a unique Instagram caption to accompany their dumb duck faces. And today was his last day dealing with these privileged, pretentious losers because months ago, he had finally mustered the necessary courage to quit his teaching job and pursue his dream of becoming a writer. In college while pursuing his English major, Alex began to doubt his ability to get published and adopted the old adage, “Those who can, do; Those who can’t, teach.” He switched to an education major, and spent the next 30 years of his life stuck in hell. That’s right, he taught Dante’s Inferno every single year to a bunch of know-it-all teenagers who thought that they were special because they knew the difference between “you’re” and “your.” For years he fantasized about quitting his job to become a freelance writer, but as a 52 year old man, he was not quite sure how he would fit into the writing scene which was dominated by trendy hipsters with Kerouac quotes tattooed on their necks. He hated the direction that the English language was going in, and felt that it was his duty to stop young people from ruining the language with their ridiculous slang! Alex began to look into internships as a starting point. Old interns were “in” according to the new Robert DeNiro movie, Alex rationalized. He hoped to work for some internet company on the interwebs, like Buzzread or whatever the hell the kids in his classes took those dumb little quizzes on. He would write an exposé on the decline of language, Orwell style, which would spur a revolution and dethrone the bastards!
After a year of searching, he finally booked a paid internship at a “Femanism,” an online “zine” that was heavily staffed by the youngsters he despised. The people at the magazine seemed tickled by his gray hair and his “dad bod.” Little did they know that he had no children. In fact, he hadn’t had a girlfriend since he was a teenager, but Alex realized how important it was to look the part in order to gain the trust of those little twits. The night before he started the job, he looked at a wikiHow page entitled, “How to Dress Like a Hipster,” and once he laid out his old beaten up Chucks, pineapple printed tie, and news boy hat, he felt ready to infiltrate the world of the young and pretentious!
The next morning, on the subway, he realized that he was surrounded by young people with comically large glasses frames and bucket hats. The young man next to him complimented his outfit and struck up a conversation with Alex who refused to make eye contact with any man with a tattooed mustache. After the man asked him about his job, Alex hesitantly explained that he had recently quit his teaching job to pursue his dream of becoming a writer. “Man that is so cool. It’s so dope that you’re standing up to the Man like that; you’re such a hipster dude!” Alex couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t felt this confused since he saw his uncle Seamus in drag when he was 7 years old. How could HE be mistaken for a dirty hipster. What scared him even more was the fleeting excitement he felt when this objectively cool kid complimented him. Luckily, it was his stop, so he could get away from his evil seducer. He took a deep breath, trying his hardest to push the filthy thought from his mind, and walked down the street and came to the front door of the building. “Destroy what destroys your country’s culture” was the mantra he repeated in his head as he walked to the receptionist to get situated. After several introductions to his coworkers he was told that his boss would brief him on his first assignment.
He sat in his little cubicle, trying his hardest to ignore his strong and sickening sense of belonging until his boss, a tall woman in her mid twenties with hair that looked like it hadn’t been washed in months, entered and greeted him. He was repulsed by how attractive he found her. She introduced herself and said, “Today you’ll be working on the company Instagram. You’ll spend the day sitting in a room picking out some quotes from famous works of literature that we can use for our Instagram captions. When you’re done with that, you’ll draft a list of the top 25 books everyone should pretend to be inspired by for our Tumblr! Also, I love your tie. SO Ironic.”
There was that feeling again! There was no way to explain why he wanted to do a good job, and he wanted these dummies to think he was cool. After spending all last night thinking of a way to fit his manifesto into 140 characters, he was starting to lose his resolve.
His boss started to lead him to the computer room where he would be working on these projects, and he followed with a spring in his step. As he walked, he noted how comfortable he felt as he looked at the hallways which were covered in old records. He was supposed to hate the hipsters, but he couldn’t deny how much he wanted his coworkers to think he was cool. Maybe he was cool. Maybe he was born to be a hipster. He had always secretly enjoyed Kerouac, and irony was his favorite literary device. They stopped at a glass door with a stained stainless steel knob. Alex noticed that right next to the room, there was an old unfinished door with a glass knob that led to the street. “Here we are. Enjoy!” his boss said before turning around and leaving him alone to decide whether to turn back or complete his task for the day. He took a huge breath, and made his decision. Alex stared at the door handle and slowly turned the knob.
