August 14, 2002

Today is the day to throw garbage out the window

15

George was tempted to drink, and drink a lot on his flight, but he knew that he had to be coherent for his appointment with Geflen, although he would have liked to be smashed out of his mind for this meeting of the mind-and-a-half. If he were drunk, he would behave exactly how he felt behaving, which wouldn't get him anywhere.

George disliked flying, even though he had a row in first class all to himself. It wasn't that he feared it; he just found it incredibly tedious. George very rarely read, since, understandably, most authors were beneath him in talent. George hated pop culture so he refrained from magazines and music and in-flight films.

But George couldn't tolerate sitting and staring into space for hours at a time. And he loathed talking to his fellow passengers. So he usually drank on planes. But that wouldn't work today. Prior to boarding, George purchased several hours' worth of snacks for him to work on during the flight. The trick was buying food that took time to eat, so in addition to some fast food, he also bought some English toffee and a large bag of peanuts, the shells and skins of which eventually scattered throughout the entirety of the first class cabin. His plan worked, though; he finished his last peanut as the plane landed.

After landing, George took the shuttle to the car rental, bits of peanut still clinging to him and picked up his luxury sedan for the 45-minute drive to the university. In the car, George smoked several cigarettes and indulged in a small joint that he had hidden in his sock. At least he would be relaxed.

As he pulled up to the school, George was as underwhelmed as he always was. It was a drab, industrial-looking campus with Mies Van der Rohe knockoff buildings, with very little grass, and where there was grass, it was yellow.

George had not bothered to attend much high school as a teenager, and thus had very few choices of where to attend college. This didn't bother him, as he knew that he would be rich and famous eventually. In fact, this college barely had a writing program to speak of, but his high school counselor, behind has back, had sent out copies of his writing and awards, and the university, desperate for a famous alumnus, gave him a full ride scholarship on the safe bet that one day he would bring the school some small amount of attention.

And, he did indeed bring the school some recognition. However, what extra money it did receive in admissions went towards refurbishing the gymnasium and quietly paying off sexual harassment case and not to building an impressive writing program.

George didn't care either way. Occasionally his parents had wistfully wished that he had applied himself more in school so that he could have attended some Ivy League institution, but George would have been just as unimpressed no matter where he was. In fact, some small part of him was glad that he had matriculated with students so accepting of their own mediocrity, as opposed to if George had had to spend four years amongst idiots who incorrectly felt themselves to be his intellectual equal.

Freshman year of school the housing department made the mistake of giving him a roommate, Greg. Greg was a party-guy type guy and enjoyed bringing friends and girlfriends back to his room to, well, party. However, George was always there with a sarcastic word to say. Greg would try to get George to shut up by calling him a fat nerd, but George would befuddle him by using 'big words,' as Greg called them.

After that, George only had single rooms in college.

George stalked across campus to Geflen's office. None of the few students milling about recognized him. They weren't, after all, very well-educated.

George knocked on the door of Geflen's office, panting from the two-story climb. He smirked at the door. He knew that Geflen had no potential visitors or distractions from whatever it was he was supposed to be doing in there, but probably thought he seemed more important by shutting himself behind his door.

"Come in!" a faux-distracted voice shouted from behind the door. George opened it and entered as Geflen grinned from his oversized, outdated glasses with his hands posed over his keyboard as if he were being interrupted, mid-brilliant thought.

"Give me one moment, George," he said, "I've just had the most brilliant thought."

George looked around the dingy office, taking note of the location of his books on Geflen's shelf, as the professor typed out about five words and then snapped his laptop shut.

"I thought we'd get some lunch," he said, slapping George on the back. "How does that sound?"

"That sounds great, Henry," George said, and between clenched teeth, as Henry's hand lingered uninvited on George's back, eager to potentially soak up some more talent, "It's good to see you."