Even Hippies Get The Blues

Even Hippies Get The Blues

Michel Lee King

Even Hippies Get The Blues by Michel Lee King

Smashwords Edition

License Notes:

Some Trademarked brand names are used as a household name for readers to identify with. No infringement is intended and I own no rights to, for, or in connection with those mentioned.

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written consent of the author, Michel Lee King.

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents are the result of either the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by Light & Dark Fiction Ravensdale, WA

Copyright © 2014 by Michel Lee King

Cover by Ashley Byland at Redbird Designs

Cover Copyright © 2014 Michel Lee King

Disclaimers:

While it does make for humorous literature, no one involved in the creation or publication of this novel recommends dunking oneself into a tub of carcinogenic chemicals for any reason. Please be smart and avoid over-exposure to substances that can, and do, harm the body.

Also of note is the fact that Spokane, Washington is a real place that does have a park spanning the river that is aptly named Riverfront Park.

One more thing, Monty Python is hilarious and one scene references some scenes from Monty Python and the Holy Grail as a way to ease the tension and provide identifiable banter. I do not own any rights to their work and no copyright infringement is intended.

Acknowledgements:

As always I am immensely grateful for my family. Without their support and encouragement I would have a very hard time writing my books... probably under a blanket in the dark with a flashlight.

A HUGE thank you to my amazing cover artist, Ashley Byland. She has the incredible talent for taking my random creative rants and turning them into a picture perfect representation of what I meant to say. Ashley, you’re awesome!

To all my friends and supporters. My friends are my emotional rocks. They know the struggles I am facing as a writer and they are with me to laugh it off every step of the way. I love you guys! My supporters are just that, supportive. You always seem to have the perfect advice and I love you for telling me what I need to hear.

And, last but certainly not least, to my readers. Yes, you! Thank you for reading my books and sharing your opinions of them. It is for you that I write and I am so very pleased to have your attention for the brief span of these pages. Please, kick off your shoes, sit back, grab a beverage, and enjoy...

Sometimes peace can only come through chaos...

Chapter 1

Deep breaths. 1. 2. 3. I am going to beat the living… 4. 5. 6. You don’t really need arms do you? 7. 8. 9. Ommmm… 10. I am sorry for the inconvenience, ma’am. We are short staffed and all trying our best.

Well your best isn’t good enough. I can’t eat this. Take it back. The make-up caked, diamond bedecked, walking-nightmare-of-a-gem-vault tossed the plate across the table splattering my uniform with marinara.

I took up the plate, my shoulders tensing. My return to the kitchen offered a modicum of relief from the noxious cloud of fake petunia perfume, or whatever deceased plant life the ogre was attempting to replicate the stench of.

Adam fixed me with a haughty grimace through the swirling mist of pungent grease soaked food particles. His belly protruded dangerously close to the hot grill. Amy. What does that bitch want now?

I bit back my own scathing curse focusing on the fact that I was a peaceable person and did not need to rise to the temptation of mob-mentality. Even against such a vile human. She insists it is too cold and the flavor is inadequate.

He gave a humorless snort of laughter and brandished a gloppy spoon caked with a substance that failed to resemble anything edible. Inadequate my ass. Tell her to hork it down her double-chinned gob and waddle out the damn door. We don’t need her business.

Yes we do. If she stopped eating we may have to close down, Jane cackled behind me, her tray empty and her blouse buttons barely within guidelines. A walking mummy of silicone, Botox, and bad attitude, the forty-something waitress looked like an elderly Barbie.

I rolled my eyes away from the grotesque display of plastic boobs to focus on her equally deplorable painted face. I see you are testing the tinsel strength of the uniform again.

She gave me an evil smirk, the lines of her face contorting it to something resembling the Grinch pre-heart transplant. Better to have big tits than a giant brown spider attached to my head.

Oh, do not be knocking the dreads. Right. What is your natural hair color?

Ladies, as much as I love your banter, the wicked witch of Spokane is awaiting her hot meal. The grin he gave us put me on guard.

I took the plate with trepidation. Adam, is this edible?

To some, he replied with a shrug turning back to review the next order.

I gave a groan and ground my teeth. Dammit. If she sues us, you are taking the fall for this.

Jane crossed her arms over her implanted chest showcasing the wrinkles between them. Interesting. I didn’t think hippies cursed. Isn’t that against your religion or something?

Truly there should be an age limit for silicone use. Fuck off, Jane. I swept out of the kitchen carrying the chemical weapon I was sure had replaced the chicken Parmesan I was supposed to be serving the self-appointed lordess of Spokane’s worst restaurant.

Here you are, ma’am. Enjoy your meal. After making my hasty retreat to escape the onset of nuclear meltdown about to begin at table three, I circled my other tables with water.

As expected, a gasping hoarse curse was heard from the vicinity of the small planet. I ignored the panting and whinnying I knew was the result of five quarts worth of jalapeño oil. However, when it turned into a gurgle, I was obliged to witness the swollen, red, and terrified face of a choking Mildred Moyer.

I rushed to her side at a loss. I couldn’t very well attempt the Heimlich, my arms would never reach. Great! Her body, and the floor, vibrated when she hit it, but I couldn’t help her in her seat. CPR wasn’t going to help, but I couldn’t think of any other way to get the food out of her throat. Straddling her enormous body, I set to work pumping her diaphragm. Can this day get any worse?

In cases of extreme distress, it is important to not wish for more of the same. Because the universe has this nasty habit of granting said wish. Her eyes rolled back into her sweaty purple face showing me the yellowed orb of someone with too many toxins in their system. I am so screwed if she doesn’t survives this.

The paramedics arrived looking equally disgusted and surprised. I imagined getting a call from our establishment was not a surprise, but the fact that the dread-head, hippie chic was performing chest compressions on someone so obviously her opposite could have given them a slight start. Whatever the reason, they recovered quickly and took over my ministrations.

I removed myself from the way as Jane’s twin grapefruits eclipsed the view of one particularly handsome man. Is she going to be alright? The honey-coated purr of lust was definitely not fitting given the situation.

I do not know, ma’am. Please give us room to work. His abrupt dismissal set me to grinning despite myself. I did not truly wish embarrassment on anyone, but the karma that had been dealt was too delicious to ignore.

The entire process was mesmerizing. Like a gruesome accident on the freeway that you simply can’t take your eyes off. Her breathing did return after many thrusts to her chest of muscular hands forced the glob of masticated chicken out of her throat. It was a good thing those men were strong because the act of moving her form onto the stretcher appeared to be a feat in engineering. As the stretcher strained to hold up her considerable weight, one of the uniformed muscle men turned his head slightly. Thank you.

For what? You’re welcome, I mumbled worried for his mental health. Surely he wasn’t thanking me on her behalf. Nor on his because I hadn’t done anything for him and anyone who had met the woman would not be thanking me for saving her life. Whatever the reason, his hard body and blond ponytail provided a nice picture as he hurried the unconscious woman out the door.

One would think that after such an exciting passing of circumstance, a woman in my position would receive raucous applause or at least some acknowledgement. As it was, all I received was a stern glare from my boss that said obviously, get back to work, and the malicious scowl of the cougar ignored by the paramedics, despite her obvious attempts to shove her boobs in their face.

After the heart-attack episode, the shift and all its stresses seemed less important. Not because someone had nearly died, or because I had subsequently added to the chances of their survival. But, because a very handsome, and very sturdy, man had sounded genuinely grateful for what I had done. Which was something I was having difficulty figuring out. It occupied my thoughts while I effectively ignored the cat-calls from the male patrons, the dirty looks and aggressive behavior of the female patrons, and the over-use of the term ‘dirty hippie’ from the clientele at large.

Why it was a generally adopted misconception that hippies must also be dirty, I had no idea, but in all my interactions with other self-proclaimed peace-mongers I had only met a handful with less than adequate hygiene practices. But, I digress.

The shift ended with our normal reverse pep-talk. Owen stood barely taller than I, his black hair ringing his otherwise bald scalp. You are all slow and lazy. Do you have any idea how many complaints we had tonight? Adam, were you jerking off while cooking? The food was terrible.

I didn’t realize that was authorized, he quipped looking mildly hopeful, a prospect that was both terrifying and thoroughly disgusting.

Owen’s glare intensified and he pointed a chubby finger to his face. Don’t be cute.

Adam, leaning against the counter with a careless slouch, shrugged his shoulders. What can I say? It comes naturally.

Shut-up! His shaking figure turned ominously in my direction. And you, Amy. If you don’t detangle that lump of rotten rigatoni from your head, I will personally cut it off.

Which? Her head or the hair? Adam had a knack for working Owen up.

Both, he growled through clenched teeth. The vein pulsing on his forehead told us we were close to breaking him and earning our early extraction from Hell. Jane received the largest tips of the night. She will be the employee of the week again. You all can learn a thing or two from her.

I rolled my eyes at the grandiose approval of her accomplishments. We all knew she was putting out and the tits were money magnets. In all honesty, they were her only positive attributes.

And, Amy. The tone of his voice had me focusing fully on his speech. There was something grudgingly admiring in the way he said my name. Congratulations on saving a patron’s life. It was heroic. But if you show up that close to opening one more time you are out on your ass. Understand?

Better her butt than her head, Adam snickered. His comment sent Owen’s vein ticking faster.

Get out. All of you. Be sure you are here on time tomorrow! His roar signaled the end of a blessedly short tirade.

We all sprinted for the door like the materialistic zombies that stampede through stores on Black Friday. I was well on my way down the block when Adam’s voice called through the night. Hey, Amy. Want a ride?

Sure. Though I much preferred walking, I was not averse to kindness that saved me from a two mile hike through the dark streets of an industrial neighborhood. However, having accepted a ride from him before, I knew what it entailed and readied myself for the arduous task of bump starting the decrepit land boat.

Ready? He called from the driver’s doorjamb.

Ready! I shoved my shoulder into the cold, hard metal of his trunk. We accelerated to a run. He hopped, skipped, then jumped into the seat and did whatever-it-is-you-do to roar the engine to life. His voice cut through the cloud of black smoke issuing from the tailpipe into my face, Get in!

Running to catch up with the moving passenger door, I sent up a silent prayer to avoid tripping on any potholes to get run over by the jalopy that was my ride home. Huffing and puffing, I finally got a foot into the vehicle. I hung there in the nether region between safety and sidewalk feeling like a much less glamorous, female version of James Bond. Adam’s hand yanked on my pants at my hip to help me collapse into the cabin. The door slammed shut and we were off.

Thank you, he panted still winded from his portion of the escapade. That is much easier with help.

Don’t mention it, I gasped, holding tight to the stitch in my side.

We travelled in relative silence. As much as could be afforded by the roaring, spluttering, backfiring contraption that hurtled down the deserted streets.

Hey, Star. I’m sorry about the chic-parm. I didn’t want to hurt her, just teach her to leave us alone. He had saved the comment until we were nearing my building, knowing full well there would be no time for discussion.

Thank you. Of course I had to accept the apology. Manners demanded I act proprietously. And he used my artist name which he knew would soften my resolve to loathe him. However, I was not about to let him off the hook for nearly killing a patron. Well, not entirely. If you ever do something like that again, please make sure it is to one of Jane’s customers next time.

He shot me an evil grin. That would likely give her a heart attack too. Two birds with one stone eh?

Not funny, Adam.

Sorry.

I snorted at his half-hearted apology. No you’re not.

Yeah, but this is your block, get ready to jump.

I gathered my meager belongings from the car as he slowed. I kicked the door open and prepared for exit. Thanks for the ride.

Anytime. That’s as slow as I can get her.

With a deep breath and solid resolve, I jumped. The moment of flying through the air was invigorating. The moment of hitting pavement felt as though my legs had been shoved into my ribs. I had forgotten to run in mid-air again. It took me a moment of panting in the street to be able to move to the sidewalk, the process of which set my battered joints on fire. The gang-shooting cacophony of staccato backfires circled the block and pulled up behind me.

You okay?!

Yeah! Thank you! If I am going to accept any more rides from him, perhaps I should take up yodeling to communicate and skydiving to help my landings.

Chapter 2

My apartment, if one could call it that, was mercifully quiet. During the day the thin walls let in every sound of the surrounding city dwellers and industrial workforce. But at night, when work is done and fights are lost or won, it is silent.

Never mind the stained carpet and mysteriously holed walls, the shoes always came off at the door. It was my sacred space, however dingy it may appear, and desecrating it with the bacteria on the bottom of my shoe seemed a poor way to honor it.

Shoes off, keys in the hands of the Buddha, and purse on one of Shakti’s many arms, I set about making myself dinner. Adam was a good enough cook when he gave a damn, but he rarely did and Owen was stingy. It would be a cold day in Hell before he let us eat on the job.

What does an exhausted, half mad, confused, and slightly swoony hippie eat for dinner? Waffles of course. Nothing like breakfast for dinner to relieve the stress of the day. Normally I took care placing the chocolate chips into the batter to make some fancy pattern, but I was in no mood to care.

I sent up a silent prayer to all the gods I could think of, including, of course, the ones I couldn’t remember, that life would smooth out somehow. That tomorrow would be better. That the blonde paramedic might traipse back into my life without requiring another person’s near demise. Perhaps that last one was a fool’s hope, still the idea featured in my dreams.

I woke the next morning to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Oh the glorious wonder that is a programmable coffee pot. Hah… I stumbled half-naked into the kitchen to fetch a cup of caffeine. Everything seemed in order, yet there was an odd feeling in the pit of my gut that told me the day would not be a gentle one. Maybe I’ll get fired, I thought with a sick sense of hopefulness.

The shrill call of my agitated buzzard ringtone cut through my home. My cell phone was still safely lodged in the darkest depths of my purse restraining my efforts to find it in time. One missed call. Flipping it open, I let out an internal groan at the name displayed on the screen. Owen. What does the blowhard want at this hour? Surely he couldn’t be awake already after a night with the silicone stuffed floosy.

I tossed the device on the table and waited for the frog impression to tell me I had a new voicemail. Refilling my mug with the remnants of hot, comforting, sacrificial boiled coffee grounds, I tortured my ear with the postulations of my boss.

He was on a roll and utilizing every curse word in his extensive vocabulary to tell me that he was contacted