by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmithwrites@gmail.com or martinantonsmith@gmail.com

I am about to leave the ‘pre-live’ environment. It is a non physical world. A world where theory is a real thing, in fact it’s is all there is. It’s been a blast – but my tenure is now over.

I walk up to the ‘life designer’, which I usually shorten to just ‘the designer’. I am about to be put back into The Wringer again – it’s been a while since I’d been back there. I walk confidently up to what I can only describe as the intelligent green mist – it is the designer.

The intelligent being I am organizing this particular bounce with says to me – and telepathically so – “so what kind of life do you want?”

As is a habit I clear my throat (which is only theoretical throat as it is all a thought-based reality).

“I’d like a drudge of a life please & make it 9-5 with lots of waiting in traffic”

“Sure & do you want children, a wife & a mortgage” the designer said in a faux monotone.

“I want drudge didn’t I?” I said.

“Ok Ok calm down” said the green misted designer – “I have to ask these questions”.

“That’s ok I said, I understand – I’m just practicing my bad temper for the coming ‘wringer world’ “

“No that’s fine, I get it – now do you want to be a closet functional alcoholic”

“well I need something to make to take the edge of the drudge – so yes sign me up”

“Ok no problem – beer wine or spirits?”

“Well let’s go beer – that way my skin will stay young & I also won’t die too early”

“Yes could idea – after all it’s not fair to quit the Game of Drudge early”

“Yeah exactly – I don’t want to be a shirker at the Game of Drudge”

“Ok and do you want a sense of humor or none at all”

“Make me as dull as possible when sober, but a real hoot when I drink”

“Ok – But why is that?”

“Well that way I maximize Drudge but minimize the pain”

“Oh I understand completely” said the green mist oh and “one more thing”

“What’s that” I said

“As in the Wringer World you’re going to be a Teacher – would you like to work in private school or public school”

“Wait a minute – I never said I was happy about being a teacher – are you sure that’s right”

“Oh wait I was looking at the wrong page – that’s the file about ‘jobs in purgatory’ – sorry, forget that”

“That’s ok” I said happily.

“Ok so I’ve decided the best job for you in the Wringer World – are you ready for it”?

“I’m ready – hit me up, tell me what I’ll be drudging away at!”

“Ok – I’ve made you a principal at small town high school”

“Great beam me down!”

“Ok but before I do, just promise me one thing”

“Sure, anything what is it?” I said.

“Make sure all drunken shenanigans are done outa the town where the school is”

“Oh sure – of course that makes sense”

There was a flash of light & I found myself drunk and in the middle of a throng at an out of town bar.

There was a drunk large breasted woman with an eye patch but was looking at me longingly with her good eye.

“Hey pretty lady nice ta meet ya” I stuck out my hand to shake her hand.

“Oh sorry my good eye is also my lazy eye. I’m not looking at you – I’m interested in your friend beside you”.

I looked over & low and behold the ‘green misted designer’ was there – I guess it was to see the beam-in process had worked.

“Hey how come they can see you” I asked the green misted designer.

“Oh for some reason here in the Wringer World the most craziest muther fuckers can always see me”

“Oh ok, that’s pretty cool”

“Ok well looks like all’s good – I’ll leave you to your partying – by the way this is Gunktown & you teach at Schlumpton, seventy miles East of here.

“Gotcha” I said. I looked at the green mist expecting it to slowly dissapear. The designer dissapeared right on cue.

“Hey where’d your friend go?” Said the large breasted eye patch wearing lady with the lazy eye. This time I knew she was talking to me.

“Uh, first tell me what you saw – what did they look like – just humour me?”

“He was six foot three in a great suit, nice hair, twinkling eyes and a broad smile – then I looked away for a second and now he’s vanished!” She said the words animatedly in true bon-vivant style. This was interesting – the green misted designer can play with their minds to appear like a human being – I didn’t know that. I put it out of my mind and started to live my mission.

“So lady forget about him – you got me instead – so tell me something interesting”. As I said the words I noticed I was already drunk, and had a full glass of beer in my hand.

“Oh well I paint rocks & sell them in the market stalls each weekend – other than that I just drink at this bar”

“Wow sounds like a blast – what do you paint on the rocks?” I was actually interested – probably because I was drunk and still in the novelty of just being beamed down to Wringer World.

“Well I paint flowers and happy faces mostly – that’s what sells you see”

“Oh yeah, that makes sense – people want to have something to lift their spirits – so to speak.”

“Oh yeah, before I figured this out I used to paint pictures of cats – but lady who ran the stalls stopped me”

“Oh did they? Was she a dog lover then?”

“Yeah she was – was a pity as they sold like hot cakes – in fact I sold more than they girl that sells hot cakes”.

“Oh well you can’t win them all!. So lets get this party started – let’s slam a couple tequilas at the bar! What’s you’re name lady”

“Ok sure – I love tequila!. My names Pinky – what’s yours?”

I didn’t know my name. For some reason when beamed down I didn’t have it in my brain. It must be a glitch I though. I had to get my wallet out of my pocket. To make this seem normal, I made this all seem part of our conversation.

“When people ask my name I always show them my drivers licence”.

“Ok do your thing then” Said Pinky playing along happily. Sure enough a wallet was in my right trouser pocket. I took it out & opened my wallet. I shuffled through the first compartment – there it was. I saw my name & photo & showed her.

“Graham Findlay Southamton – boy that’s a posh name!” Pinky made a mock ‘bow down’ gesture.

“Yeah I like people to read it – otherwise when I say it I sound like an utter fucking knob”

“That’s a good idea – because I can tell you’re not a knob – and I like to think I’m a good judge of character!”

“Cheers – I don’t think I’m a knob either – but I promise you do have one”. Pinky loved that ribald witticism. I could tell that the designer had got that part right.

“Well I will take you’re word for it – but then again, this is a working class bar so it wouldn’t be the first time some lad whips his tackle out.” Pinky said dryly, indicating it happened all the time.

“Oh really, this is the first time I’ve been here – so I wouldn’t know”. I looked around at the bar I would describe it as a dive bar that was trying to not be a dive bar. There was a flavor of gaudy-ness – things looked modern but with also had a side of grime. We went over to the bar to get the tequila.

The bar was mostly empty, perhaps their was fifteen others there in total, they were all sitting down, other than one old codger holding up the bar. A bartender came over to myself & Pinky. The bartender was female in her mid to late thirties, she was attractive but not in an alarming way. She was striking you might say. She had a angular chisled face, straight blonde hair, wide brown eyes and seemingly had quite a big head. She had engaged a big ear to ear smile. I wondered if that was natural or was she just putting it on?

“We’ll have two tequila’s please”.

“Sure coming up” she said, again engaging that big smile – I was starting to realise she was more attractive that I had thought. As the bartender turned he back to get the bottle, Pinky whispered in my ear.

“She’s a bitch – I can’t stand her, she thinks she’s hot shit”

“Oh really I said”. I was supicious of Pinky’s assessment. This was because Pinky was only a six to six point five – the bartender was at least a seven to seven point five, & when fully dolled up – probably even an eight point five.

“She never says much to me, and just has this queenly air about her – I might be wrong but I reckon she’s a grade A bitch”

“Well, never mind let’s just have this tequila”. The bartender was now in front of us and was pouring it into shot glasses.

“Ok sure thing – I love tequila to get the night moving”.

We each grabbed the drink and slammed it down – as soon as we’d finished I turned to the bartender and ordered another, and we slammed that down too. Then I ordered a beer & she ordered a cheap house wine. A tab was running.

“Ah Pinky – I feel so much better after that – I’m loosed up now”. We were now at the far end of the bar with the nice bartender out of earshot.

“Yep me too – so I saw you looking at Kirsten that bitch bartender – you like her don’t you? I can tell”

“Well she looks interesting – what can I say? I don’t know anything about her though – maybe she is a bitch”.

“Well she is and I will convince you by telling you this story ok?” Pinky said so in a way that I couldn’t say no to.

“Sure fire away”, I said with a tinge of regret in my voice.

“Well it all began about a year ago – I was going out with this cute guy name Tom, we came to this bar all the time and Kirsten was here and making eyes at my guy all the time”.

“Sounds bad, but it can’t be too bad – after all you and Kirsten are still in the same bar together”

“Well I was banned for six months”

“Ok, well lets here the story then”

“Ok so I was with Tom – boy what a hunk! He worked in construction, had big bulging arms, a cute face, was tall, had a great sense of humor – he was a class act other than one thing”.

“He kept making eyes at Kirsten the bartender every time we came to the bar”

“Well that must have annoyed you – I would be annoyed too, anyone would”

“Yeah exactly!”

“So tell me more, you’ve given no details yet”

“Well, I feel tired – I’ll just cut to the chase and tell you the short version”

“ok sounds good”.

“Ok so we had been seeing each other for about three months, spending a lot of time here at the bar, we were here three nights a week like clockwork. Kirsten was serving us a lot of drinks and making a lot of eyes at tom – my guy. One night I got sick of it – I grabbed Kirsten’s hair and screamed at her DON”T KEEP MAKING EYES AT MY FUCKING MAN YOU BITCH”. Of course she didn’t like it – while I was pulling her hair she pulled a blind punch that hit me squarely in the chin, she had totally knocked me out. I woke up to the manager splashing me with water & Kirsten and my guy was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh wow – that’s kinda wild” I said – had Kirsten and Tom gone off togther?

“Dunno I never saw him again, not here not nowhere. I also never saw him with Kirsten either. When I came back to the bar two weeks later they served me with a six month ban”. Pinky took a crumpled piece of paper out of her hnadbag. it was of course on company letterhead. I opened it and read it.

Dear Pinky Pinklowski,

Due to engaging with intimidation and violence at this premises with our staff, we hereby serve you with a six month ban. Please do not enter our premises before the six month period ends, or this notice will be doubled to one year.

G.D. Drinsco (The Manager of Flopsies Bar & Nightclub).

“Oh ok well, it is what it is huh?”

“Yeah, that six months sucked – I had to go to the crap bar across the road – McSwankos”.

“Oh well never mind – at least it was only six months, you and Kirsten are now ok & here we are – drinking at Flopsies!”.

“Yeah – I still hate that bitch but I love this bar, I can’t leave this bar. It’s like I have a spiritual connection to this place.”

“Ha ha nice pun – ‘spiritually connected’- I like your sense of humour!” I said with a smile.

“What pun?” She said not seeing it. I just left it. We had both finished our vessels at the same time.

“I’ll get the next round said pinky – that’ll stop that bitch making eyes at you again”.

I was starting to regret being beamed into this situation with Pinky. Not that I had a choice of course. When you get beamed down here, you can’t ever chose down to that kind of level. I guess that would be too ridiculous, too boring, too unnecessary . I watched her walk over to Kirsten, who was in the middle of the bar having just served the old dude who I guessed was the ‘old guy holding up the bar’. Pinky’s butt was nicely shaped, if a little to big, but still nice none the less.

“I’ll have two more of the same Kirsten” she glared at Kristuy and said the words with clenched teeth and a cold tone of voice”

“Sure that’s cool Pinky” said Kirsten in similar frosty fashion.

“And don’t think about making eyes at this new guy here ok – I’m a lonely chick and I don’t want any of that crap that went down like last time”

“What eyes you crazy nut?”

“Just don’t do it ok – now poor the drinks Kirsten”

“Ok but you’re lucky you’re allowed in here at all – remember that ok?” Kirsten said the words confidently, looking at Pinky squarely in the eyes. Pinky didn’t reply. The drinks were handed over & Pinky ambled nack with the drinks at sat down returning to her spot on the bar stool next to me.

“I told you she was a bitch B-I-T-C-H bitch”

“Well we got our drinks lets talk about something interesting”. I said it so she would stop obsessing about Kirsten.

“Ok, what will we talk about” she said perkily, a little too perkily – almost like she was a bit manic.

“You decide”.

I had a slug of my beer. I was definely starting to realise I was trapped with Pinky for at least another hour. After that I might be able to escape, then I could slip in to the next bar – McSwankos. I didn’t want to go home. As per how I was programmed, I was a boring guy who lighted up with booze at night – programmed to be a functional alcoholic – so I wasn’t going top go home before midnight no matter what.

“Ok I’ll talk about the rocks I sell at the weekend markets” Again she said this even more manicly – her voice had gone a bit more chirpy and shrill like.

“Ok shoot away”. I said. I knew this would probably be boring – but the ‘I hate Kirsten’ stuff was to much to bear. So I opened my ears and hoped for the best.

“Well, everything was going great at the market when I was doing the pictures of cats, but then that market-owner-lady-bitch-dog lover ruined it. How datre she stop me from painting cats! I was making so much money and she ruined it!. The flowers, rainbows and Suns only sell about half as much as the cats! I had to return my car – I had this camaro on payments, and with the reduction in sales due to that bitch Lucille, I could no longer afford it.”

“It seems you have a lot of run ins with females Pinky – but then again I only have two data points here – am I wrong?”

“Well I do get on better with men – I’ve always been a tom boy – I even used to climb the tree out back all the time when I was a little girl – a real tom boy cliché, don’t ya think – Graham Findly Southamton”. At last she showed a genuine smile, and she looked a little more playful instead of manic. I hoped it would last but I doubted that she’d stop talking about the various “bitches” that had wronged her.

“Well there’s nothing wrong with being a tom boy these days Pinky – after all that way you’ll have more fun as an adult and navigate life better – I bet you can change a tire?”

“Sure can, I can even fix your transmission if ya want – no bullshit either!”

“Wow” This was good – she was becoming more interesting. She wasn’t just a woman who didn’t like other woman. I thought I’d keep going with this.

“So this means you can probably fix a leak on the roof when it rains?”

“Check” she said again looking happy and not manic.

“You can probably build a wooden table?”

“Check, I built all my furniture actually – I have a small woodworking shed out back”

Wow Pinky, you have a lot of talents. I’m sure you can meet another Tom. As soon as I had said that I knew I’d made a mistake. I saw her face go from pink to white to orange to red, and then to purple. she started to scream his name.

“TOM!!!! FUCKING TOM!!! I FUCKING MISS TOM!!!!!! HE WAS THE ONE!!!!! THAT BITCH!!!!! THAT BITCH KIRSTEN RUINED IT ALL!!!! THAT BITCH!!!!”

Then it got worse – she ran over to Kirsten, jumped over the bar and started going off at her- she was howling at her, poiting in her face, repeating the same kinda lines of “YOU FUCKING BITCH I HATE YOU!!!!!!”

Kirsten the bar tender tried to remain calm this is what I heard.

“Pinky, calm down I’m warning you go back to your seat, you better not do what you did last time or you’ll get a lifetime ban – GO BACK TO YOUR SEAT NOW”. Kirsten pointed and was firm and confident. And then I was surprised at what I saw. Pinky broke down entirely. She started to cry uncontrollable. She wasn’t just crying – she was wailing. Kirsten started to hug her, consoling her. “It’s ok don’t worry about it, come on I’ll take you to your stool, and ‘ll call you a taxi home” said. Boy that Kirsten was a talented lady I though to myself. Kirsten took her back over to me and her empty stool, hugging her all the way while Pinky sobbed like a schoolgirl. I got up and helped her sit down. Kirsten then left us and went back to behind the bar and called for a taxi. I tried to console Pinky with some well thought out heartfelt words. I assumed the designer had programmed me correctly to do this.

“Hey Pinky, don’t worry – I can tell you’ve been through a lot. Anyone who loses half their income because of some controlling bitch who doesn’t want you to paint cats because she’s a nutty dog love is gonna drive anyone to go wild”. Pinky looked up at me with kind eyes, but then unfortunately started to sob even more – but this time more quietly. This was making me feel uncomfortable. It was then I realized that the designer had made an error in my programming. Surely I wasn’t supposed to feel this uncomfortable. It was a real discomfort of the chest tightening type. Then I realized that this wasn’t an error. It all made sense. The designer had to make me cold hearted. It had to be this was so as to also make me a party loving by night, boring school principal of a small town by day, functional alcoholic.

The taxi man soon came in and I helped Pinky to the door. I was relieved. I didn’t have to escape to the next bar. I didn’t need to make some excuse to Pinky. Everything had worked out great! I though to myself. I went over to the bar to make eyes at and try to chat up Kirsten, and of course drink the night away. I was commited living in this wringer world, as the designer had programmed. I would play it all by ear and would just see what popped up.

Between serving the odd customer, Kirsten and I got on like a house on fire. I was thinking I had a chance. I could come chat her up over the period of a few weeks and then maybe ask her out. As the night went on me and Kirsten chatted about a whole range of interesting things: The moon landing (we both thought it was faked); The Pirimids (they were from a previous high tech civilization); The JFK Assassination (We agreed it was probably a joint project between the CIA, the military and the mafia); UFO’s (I said they are ‘us from the future in time machines’ she said they were ‘demons’). We talked about even more interesting but down to earth things than that – such of how she used to live in the once wild and rich London in her youth at the turn of the century. I was smitten.

While I sat there talking to Kirsten, I dreaded about having to leave Kirsten and the Flopsie Bar and go and do the boring side of my life as a small town school principal with no sense of humour. I secretly hoped that the designer would not jump in and make my heart warmer. I really liked the cut of this Kirsten girls jip. After all as a cute, talkative but intelligent bartender she was the perfect accompliment to my programmed alcoholism.

The bar closed just after one am, I said my goodbyes to Kirsten as she closed up. I even got a big smile and a little hug.

As I got into the taxi home to start the boring side of my life, I though of the possibilities with Kirsten. There was not a tinge of sadness in my heart when I realized that due to the way I was programmed, that even if things went amazingly well Kirsten, it was unlikely we would ever marry or be long time partners. I knew things would play out the way they were supposed to. But then again, I was lucky – I knew how this ‘wringer world’ worked. You could say I had been blessed with an unfair advantage. I could just be me, and enjoy my programming as it allowed and how it was always meant to be. I’d have a good time on the weekends, and be bored during the week.

One day I’ll do something else on another planet, as another being, and I’ll ask the designer to give me a bigger heart. When you know how the game works, you don’t take life so seriously. This is just a bounce among an infinite number of others. I will always trust the designer intuitively. If only others in the Wringer World knew what I knew things would be a lot nicer on this particular bounce.

That said – towards the end when it’s time to return to have the debrief with the designer about your bounce, there is always that tiny bit of sadness that somehow sneaks in. Sure it is only due to the ‘law of the uncertainty principle’ that is written into every possible universe (and so inside every bounce) but this doesn’t mean it’s not real. This unfortunately means no matter how you have been programmed, every entity that experiences a bounce cannot but help feel at least some regret and sadness for ‘what could have been’. As the designer once told me – is both a paradox and a law of every universe. And after my countless bounces, it is also something I couldn’t do without, something I long for – and you never know exactly when it will hit you either.

Sometimes I have this recurring wild thought that this hardwired unchangeable, unprogrammable effect that brings on these softer feelings is the real reason for everything we do inside and outside bounces – but I always make sure to force myself to discount this possibility. I mean – how could I ever allow myself to believe such a thing? For this would mean I’ve merely been playing what those Wringer -Worlders call a ‘side hustle’ but calling it the ‘main event’.

If this was the case, I could not know this to be a fact and also not also have the essence of my very being melt down entirely. It would be just like that night at the bar with Pinky – only infinitely worse. For what if uncertainty was the point of everything? What if I’d been playing all these infinite bounces in all the universes wrong all along – for all of the eternity that I’d been around? What if I’ve been playing the wrong game. What if indeed. It would mean I’d been wrong about everything. And perhaps that’s why the designer kept sending me here.

Of course, I decided to not make a decision on this revelation of mine. This meant I had made a decision to stay a fool, to keep playing the game called The Drudge, down here on the field of play – The Wringer World. Am I addicted to the wrong game? Probably. Am I having a good time? Certainly. Will I wonder what might have been? For eternity. Was Kirsten really a bitch? No. Will I come to my senses and embrace The Uncertainty Principle – and with it the ability to feel more on the next bounce? It could happen.

And incidently about this this bounce there was something that bugged me. I kept asking myself this – who was that old man holding up the bar anyway? Like me he certainly wasn’t strictly human. He was very interested in what was going on. He might have been one of us. After all – he certainly looked a lot like me, only a lot older. I noticed that he couldn’t keep his weepy eyes off the bartender girl either. Surely he wasn’t me. Though the designer has told me this kind of thing is possible – you can indeed meet a different version of yourself on the same bounce.

The End