Soaring Tonsils: Gary's Cliche Song

Water gurgled through the restaurant pipes, french fires sizzled in hot grease, pots of soup boiled furiously, and a brown recluse spider curled up its legs on a web high in the kitchen corner as more patrons filed through the foyer demanding to be fed.

The talk in the restaurant usually consisted of cars, money, politics, jobs, women, beer, and fist fights. I stayed in the back of the kitchen spraying off dirty dishes. Occasionally I would read a snatch of William Blake, a page of Beyond Good & Evil, part of an interview with Elvin Jones, or a passage by Thomas Pynchon - anything to relieve the monotony of scrubbing pots and pans all day. Sometimes I'd even amuse myself by contemplating abstract concepts such as the cosmological constant or Goldbach's conjecture as I scraped chicken fried steak and green beans off yellow plates into a huge green trash can, which was my only companion. But mainly I tried to diagnose the perplexing behavior of the people around me as I worked and made the modest sum of $150 a week.

One afternoon after taking out the garbage, my boss, Gary, appeared out of nowhere and said, "You're in a band, aren't you Bill?"

I turned to see him smacking his lips on a big piece of blueberry pie. "Yes. I'm a guitar player. Right now I'm in two bands."

"Oh, really..." Smack, smack. A chunk of blueberry filling trickled down his chin. "You know, I sing a little bit myself. But not that heavy rock stuff you play. I sing country music. Know anybody who needs a country singer?" Smack, smack.

I squinted at the wet sounds coming from his mouth. "Hmm ... No. But I can ask around for you."

"Yeah, would you do that? That would be great."

I nodded.

"Well, talk to you later."

He smiled and walked away still munching on his pie.

* * *

The next day I was scraping burnt chili out of a blackened pot when Gary walked in holding a piece of yellow, wrinkled paper.

"Hey, Bill. Listen to this song I wrote last night." He crinkled the paper and moved his eyes over the sheet, reading the words silently. "I wrote it at two in the morning. I must've had insomnia last night. And this melody just would not leave my mind." He cleared his throat and began reciting these words:

When we are together
We are truly one
And you stare into my
Hypnotic green eyes
And I feel bliss and peace
Have the desire to propose to you
Yet again
And that is the way it has to be
Because I love you with all my heart

Another sappy love song. Just what the world needed. Jesus. What could I say?

"That's pretty good, Gary. Sounds like it would make one hell of a country song."

He lifted his nose up away from the yellow sheet and grinned. "You really like it?"

"Sure."

"You think it's good?"

"Why not?"

"Hey thanks!"

"No problem."

"Did you ever get a chance to ask around and see if anybody needs a country singer?"

I grabbed my sprayer and started hosing off chunks of now loosened burnt chili. "I mentioned it to Tom, our bass player. He said he'd make some calls."

"That's great, man."

I turned around and saw that he was beaming. Really thrilled. He folded up the lyrics and put them in his back pocket. Then he waved at me and shuffled off to play more card games on his computer while the rest of us worked our butts off.

His song was pretty bad. Everything I detested in music. But Gary was my boss and I couldn't tell him what I really thought. I couldn't upset him. I started working again, trying to forget about the tune he had just performed. But for some reason the melody of the last two lines would not leave my mind. "And that is the way it has to be, Because I love you with all my heart." The lyrics kept repeating in my head, even though they were making me sick. I squeezed my forehead and tried to make the words and melody go away. But only seconds later I would catch myself humming them again. I had heard that melody somewhere before. I tried to remember where as I grabbed some soup bowls and sprayed them out.

An hour later it came to me. "Because Oscar Mayer has a way with B-O-L-O-G-N-A." The last two lines of my boss's song had the same melody as the final line of an Oscar Mayer Bologna jingle that had been popular in the mid-70s. It couldn't be a coincidence, although I didn't think he had stolen it on purpose. I felt sure it was only a subconscious borrowing. But I was glad to have figured out where I had heard it. I couldn't help but snicker as I sprayed off a stack of plates.

Still humming the last two lines, I hung up my sprayer and tossed the plates into a dish rack along with several plastic drinking glasses and a few porcelain bowls. Then I slid the rack inside the big metal dishwasher, slammed the door shut and hit the power button. I smiled as the hot water whooshed out and scorched the dishes clean.

* * *

A cockroach scurried across my shoes and the hot water tank in the closet next to me boiled and creaked. Mice squeaked in their holes and someone in the main dining hall squealed with laughter as I stacked 2-gallon cans of tomato sauce and peaches onto a high shelf. Sweat trickled down my neck and I slapped at the cramps in my legs and grabbed my lower back.

Then I saw Gary's bald head peak around the corner. "Hey Bill, have you found a country band for me to sing in yet?" A long piece of beef jerky was dangling from his lips.

"Hi, Gary. Nope, not yet. But I'll let you know when I do."

"Damn. That sucks." He smacked on his jerky and slouched forward, his eyes drooping and his cheeks caving in a little from my response. "But I've got some good news. I added another verse to that country song. You wanna hear it?"

I could smell the salt and spices from the beef jerky escaping his mouth. "Sure. But before you do, I want to ask you something about your melody."

"Okay." Smack, smack.

"The other day while I was working your song kept repeating in my head, and -"

"- See! It's a pretty catchy tune, isn't it?" He straightened up and his legs kind of shimmied with excitement.

"Yeah. Pretty catchy, indeed. Do you remember that old Oscar Mayer commercial from the 70s, with that little kid singing 'Because Oscar Meyer has a way with B-O-L-O-G-N-A'?"

Gary's forehead crinkled and his lips parted. He took the jerky out of his mouth. "Yeah, I remember that. What about it?"

He left his mouth hanging part way open and I could see a small wad of brown jerky on his pink tongue. "And that is the way it has to be, Because I love you with all my heart." I sang the Oscar Mayer melody but substituted his lyrics.

His upper body spasmed. "Hey! They are a little similar!"

"A little similar! It's a total rip-off!"

I hadn't meant to say it that intensely. It just slipped out. I stood up and rested my arm on a box of canned corn. "I mean, I don't think you borrowed it on purpose, but you should probably change that last part. People will know it's a copy."

Gary's eyes went black. "I'm not changing it. Screw it if my song's a little similar to that old jingle."

I looked down at a mousetrap in the corner and a nervous grin curled up on my lips.

"What are you smiling at?" he asked.

"What? Oh, I didn't know I was." I tried to make a stone face.

"Oscar Mayer, huh?" His tone changed and he took a step forward. "Are you making fun of my song?"

"Of course not. I'm not making fun of anything, Gary."

I started to grab a can of peaches when I heard him snarl, then he lunged at me and grabbed me around the waist. I was shocked and couldn't tell if he was joking around or not. He lifted me up and started squeezing my mid-section as if attempting a bear hug. When I heard him grunting and felt the heat from his red face I realized he had lost all control. He was livid that I had critiqued his country song. He twisted around and rammed me up against the wall. I pushed on his shoulders, reached down and tried to break his grasp, but he had too much muscle in his fat arms. I reached for a 2-gallon can of baked beans on the shelf next to me, grabbed it and raised it high above my head. Then I brought it down hard on his bald head. He moaned and crumpled down to the ground. I dropped the can and grabbed his shirt, pulled him back up, and gave him two quick jabs in the nose and a right hook to the temple. I saw a big pot on a hook in front of me, took it and swatted the back of his head.

That did it.

I had killed him.

His eyes stayed open and the whites slowly turned the same color as the blood leaking from his ears.

I hadn't meant to kill him. I guess I was just in the wrong mood that day. I looked around to make sure no waitresses were in sight. Then I dragged his body out the back door and carried him toward the grease pit. I strained and threw him into the largest barrel. It was much bigger than a regular 50-gallon drum and some of the grease in it was still scalding hot. Gary screamed when it hit his legs. So he hadn't been fully dead after all. He started to fight to get back out of the hot grease, and I knew I had to finish him off. I took a long broom stick that was leaning against the dumpster next to me, jabbed him in the nose with it, then poked his head under. The grease swirled around and small chunks of meat and black french fries floated to the top where his face had been.

I lit a cigarette and waited to see if he would come up again. After five minutes I saw no movement, so I went back inside and started unloading dishes from the dishcart.

That was three days ago. As far as I know, Gary is still out in that grease pit. The garbage men come tomorrow and I think after I get my paycheck tonight I won't come back. People are starting to ask where Gary is. I may even have to leave town, although I don't think anyone suspects me. Not yet, anyway. Maybe no one will ever find out. Maybe the garbage men won't even notice Gary's body when they dump the grease barrels tomorrow. But if they do, I know I'll be the first person the police suspect. I'm the only employee in the whole restaurant who ever dumps the grease. And if they ask me any questions about Gary, I know I'll crack under the pressure.

It doesn't really bother me that I killed my boss. The only thing that gets to me.... is that the melody from that darn Oscar Mayer Bologna jingle has not left my mind for a single moment ever since the day I killed him. I hope it goes away eventually...

-end-

Jason Earls is author of the books Red Zen, Heartless B*stard In Ecstasy, How to Become a Guitar Player from Hell, Cocoon of Terror, If(Sid_Vicious == TRUE && Alan_Turing == TRUE) {ERROR_Cyberpunk(); } and 0.136101521283655... available at Amazon.com and other online book stores. His fiction and mathematical work have been published in Red Scream, Scientia Magna, three of Clifford Pickover's books, Wretched & Violent, Mathworld, Chiaroscuro, Switchblade, Dogmatika, Neometropolis, Prime Curios, the Online Encyclopedia of Integer Sequences, OG's Speculative Fiction, AlienSkin, Escaping Elsewhere, Werewolf, Recreational and Educational Computing, Thirteen, Theatre of Decay, Nocturnal Ooze, Prime Curios, Bust Down the Door and Eat All the Chickens, Swallow's Tail, and other publications. He currently resides in Texas with his wife, Christine.