Jack of All Trades: A Novella

*If this epically fails, then just take me out the oven because I’m fuckin’ done :P

Blake

Fate has a way of just unexpectedly springing things on to me. And being the weird but exceptionally loveable person that I am, I guess I’m able to take it all in stride.

Just like when I learned that Linkin Park was having a concert and it just so happened that day that I found a 100 dollars merely lying there on the ground, and I thought, “Aw, what the hell? Road trip!” And planned to drive all the way to California from Indiana with my friends to see them.

But then, even more unexpected things happen, like your friends get grounded for getting caught “fornicating” with each other and then you have to drive all the way there by yourself.

Even though you’re 16, barely have your license, and perhaps have the (slightest) case of road rage.

So that’s why I blasted “Move Bitch” through the Jeep all the 2,227 miles to California, getting honked at by people angry with my various swerving techniques and getting truck drivers to blow their horns for me.

So yeah, it was a pretty eventful drive.

I met a hobo, and out of the tiniest bit of kindness in my heart, gave him 10 dollars, but right after I gave it to him, he said he was going to use it to buy a dime bag.

It was a douchebag move on his part, but I just ignored that and kept driving.

And then I met this guy that thought he was cool because he had on an Obey hat and had tattoos decorated all across his body that made it seem like a five year old missing a finger had somehow gotten a hold of a needle and started drawing them on him.

And that’s not even the part about him that pissed me off the most. It was the lame-ass pick-up line he tried to use on me:

“Hey,” he said, waggling his Ginger eyebrows at me, which was just off-putting. I had turned around, looking at the people in line at me in the gas stations, wondering if they were witnessing this abomination of a human being talking to me.

He didn’t even let me reply as he continued, “You know what letters I’d like to put together? ‘U’ and ‘I’.” He said, like it was the smoothest thing he ever thought of. He smirked at me and cocked a hip to the side, like he expected me to bend down right there and yank off his pants.

“Go fuck yourself,” I said simply, moving forward as someone in front of me finished at the register counter. I blinked and rubbed the crud out of my eyes— driving at 3 A.M. jacked on Monster may not have been the smartest of ideas, but I enjoyed the fuck out of it.

I turned away, thinking that he would just give up and move on to some other poor soul, but then he grabbed my shoulder and swiveled me back around to look at him.

And that instantly pissed me off.

Don’t touch me. Ever.

“Already taken care of!” He said, and stepped closer to me so that he was probably about an inch away from me.

Okay, so the truth is, perhaps maybe I should have gone a little easy on him?

It was pretty obvious to tell that he was constantly ridiculed for being a Ginger, with his bright-ass orange hair and millions of freckles dotted across his entire face. He was probably a good two inches shorter than me, but still, somehow, this little twerp was more annoying than a drunken oompa-loompa.

That’s why I punched him, right in the jaw, and since he wasn’t expecting it, he flew back into a rack of chips and sent them flying everywhere.

The person in front of me in line and the cashier both turned to me, wide-eyed, probably thinking that I was going to PMS all over them or something and yell at them.

I gave them a little shrug like, “I just can’t find the effort to give a literal fuck” and then looked back to where the kid was lying splayed on the floor.

“Dude, Flaming Hots!” I shouted as I saw the bag of chips fall from the rack that the Ginger had fell into. I bent down and snagged them to my chest, carrying them protectively over to the counter in front of the cashier.

“These are my shit, dude,” I said, a grin crossing over my face as I heard the Ginger behind me let out a groan. I turned around, seeing him lay out, and shouted, “Hey, clean up on aisle 1!”

 

 

I finally arrived in California, having a mere 30 minutes to roam around Santa Monica before the concert started.

It was busy, but I have to admit, as a little dorkish as it sounds, I felt like a pretty fucking fancy boss when the valet took in my car at the parking garage, which just about half a block away from where they were having the concert.

And again, I guess it was just fate that happens so that I won the concert ticket on the first place from the radio, found that 100 dollars lying stuck on the picket fence, and didn’t want to spend that much of it; I was on a limited budget, so I went to McDonald’s.

Yeah, it’s bad for you. But still they have amazing French fries when they’re not cold and stale; which is what I contemplated in my head as I walked inside through the doors.

There weren’t that many people in the front, but there was this little sectioned off room that looked like someone was having a mini party or something.

There were strobe lights and a disco ball. It would have looked like a pretty good time if it weren’t for the thousands of idiots packed together in the room even though the room capacity clearly said 200 people at a maximum.

The one girl that caught my eyes was this one girl with reddish, dark brown hair, and light brown skin.

Everyone else was jumping around in the sectioned off room, looking like fucking idiots, but she was just standing there, messenger bag slung over her shoulder and staring at her black painted nails.

Just from looking at her, I think it was pretty obvious that she didn’t really give a fuck about anything. She just had a bored, almost plaintive look on her face, like she was annoyed that people were even bothering to be around her.

I guess she must have felt me watching her because then she looked up, and I expected her to like, jump through the window and attack me or something, but then she just made a derp face at me and then laughed.

Unexpectedly, I laughed back at her and felt my hand give her a little wave before walking back to the front desk counter and up to the bored looking acne-ridden faced teenager.

I ordered a large fry and then stepped back to the tall tables and equally tall chairs against the front of the restaurant and pressed my head against the cool window behind me.

I lazily looked around, feeling the crash after drinking three Monsters and then reached around in my bag to dig out another one. The sound of the top of the can popping seemed to calm me and I chugged a little bit of it, letting it burn in the back of my throat.

The sound jittered the girl a few feet away from me, and she shifted in her seat after jumping from the sound of the can opening.

I turned and looked at her.

She was Asian, with the typically Asian-slanted eyes and long, straight black hair that hung just a little bit over her shoulders. Her tips were bleached so that they were a caramel color unlike the rest of her raven colored hair.

She was pretty, you could say, but she looked kind of androgynous-looking, like K-pop groups that can easily look like a boy or girl, you know, that kind of pretty.

She was wearing these bright orange headphones that clashed with all the other colors she was wearing, which included a black leather jacket with hot pink metal zippers and a turquoise shirt underneath it along with green camouflage skinny jeans; not to mention her rainbow colored hi-tops.

The best part of it all?

She knew that she wasn’t matching, and she didn’t give a fuck.

Who knew there were so many people in Santa Monica like me that just didn’t give a fuck since people didn’t understand? Hell, I should have visited here more often.

She did look like she would be major, arrogant douche, though. Along with her bright neon-colored orange headphones, she was wearing aviator sunglasses, propped on top of her head as she peered down at the book she was reading, her brown eyes scanning across the pages.

Wait a minute…is she reading The Walking Dead? Who spends their time in McDonald’s reading a graphic novel?

Then I thought about it, and I was sure that there was a long, eventful story in my head that if I thought back far enough, I would remember a time when I was reading a comic book in a random public place.

I collected the bag of fries from the cashier who looked like he was going to say “fuck this shit” in any moment and walk away from behind the counter and then sat in a big booth by myself, flashing a smile at a toddler that walked by and saw my feet splayed out in the length of the booth seats.

“I’m such a loner,” I mumbled out loud, still smiling to myself. I enjoyed being “misunderstood” by the majority of society. It was pretty refreshing.

I glanced down at my watch. 30 minutes ‘til the concert started.

Wait a minute, 30 minutes? I asked myself. My watch had said I had 30 minutes like 20 minutes ago. My watch was broken!

I looked down at the watch, and just like I had suspected, the second hand wasn’t moving.

“Fuck!” I shrieked out loud, making the toddler who had walked by jump, startled by the sudden loud noise and word I had uttered. The little cup of pop he had been holding cluttered to the floor as he jumped, and he started to cry as it spilled onto the floor.

I got up, ready to sprint the block to the amphitheater, but then a sudden pang of guilt seemed to stab me in the center of my chest.

Scarfing down the few fries I had left – hell, I’d paid money on those things. They were going to get eaten – and quickly placed the cup of red crème soda I had into the little boy’s hand, winked at him, and ran out of McDonald’s at full speed, not waiting to see if the boy would say anything.

 

I thought I was going to miss the very beginning of the concert, which would have really bummed me out, but it turns out they were having troubles with Mr. Hahn’s turntables (the DJ and director of their music videos for Linkin Park), so everyone was just sitting in their seats, waiting for the show to start.

Immediately, I could pick out all the different types of people— the stoners, the social misfits, the nerds who were waiting until they grew up into rock gods, and then there were the fangirls, decorated in Linkin Park attire and throwing their CDs and ripping off their shirts in anticipation of the show to start.

But I just sat there quietly, sitting in the chair and waiting for them to fix everything. I was surprisingly calm, not doing anything, just waiting. It felt weird for everything to be…normal, normal and not full of chaos for once.

“Hey! Hey! Over fuckin’ here!” I heard a loud voice say. I turned, but didn’t see anyone, except one fangirl who was crying and crumpling down to her knees like she was in pain while she frantically waved a picture of one of the guys from the band, Mike, in the air.

I figured that it was probably directed towards someone else and then went back to just sitting there and thinking.

But then I heard the slapping of shoes against cement, and I turned to the right to see a girl running straight towards me.

I realized that it was the girl from the sectioned off room in McDonald’s, the one that didn’t give a fuck. Well, I met the two girls that didn’t give a fuck; this was the one of mixed race that I couldn’t really figure out, not the Asian one.

“Hey you!” She called out to me like we were old friends. She winked at me.

“Um…,” I contemplated whether to wonder why this stranger was talking to me like we were old friends, or make it so that one day, we actually would become old friends someday.

“Hey!” I called back, standing up from the chair. I held out my hand, and when she reached me, she fisted hers and squeezed mine into one. She bumped it, and then smiled at me.

“Heil Hitler, fellow Aryan!” She said, smiling at me from ear to ear and did a full-on Hitler salute, causing a few of the social misfits to turn around in their seats and give her a weird glance.

Sweet, I think I know where this friendship is starting. I thought to myself, getting a total I’ve-found-a-friend-in-you vibe from her.

“Just kidding,” She immediately said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “I kid, I kid. But nah, name’s Yasmin. Call me Yaz. Or Yazzy for that matter! It doesn’t bother me that it’s a name of a birth control. Anymore that as.” She said in a matter of what seemed like three seconds.

“Oh. Hey,” I said, piecing together everything I’d observed from her. Again, she had light brown skin with a sort of yellow tint, black hair (did it glint with dark copper in the light, is that what I saw?) in loose curls that reached her shoulders, and— were her eyes yellow?

“Nice name. Mine’s Blake,” I complimented, raising an eyebrow at her and expecting her to freak out or something since my name’s not usually associated with females, but she barely even blinked.

“Ah, all of the Blake’s I’ve ever met have been total ass crackers,” She said, giving me a pained look. “But since you’re the first female Blake I’ve met, I have a hunch that you won’t be one. Unless you’re like, on your period or something.”

She blinked a couple more times at me, waiting for me to say something, but then when I didn’t, she just settled for laughing at my somewhat confused/curious looking expression.

I laughed with her. “No big deal; I’ve met a lot of douche-y Blake’s, too. I’m more of the bitchy, evil side with good intentions though, so it’s all good,” I explained. “But, question; are your eyes yellow?” I cut in quickly before she could interrupt me with some weird, quirky statement.

“Oh yeah, fuck! I forgot I had those in. Check this out,” She said excitedly. She poked herself right in eye forcefully, and I let out a little surprised squeak.

She seemed delighted at my surprised expression, and then continued to remove the (now obviously, I realized) colored contacts, took out the case that held them from her bag, and put them away.

“Wanted to freak people out so bad they shit themselves,” She said, bouncing up and down on her tippy toes.

“Well, how’d that work out for you?” I asked sarcastically, but interested in what she would say.

“Well, no one shit themselves, but hey! Now I look like Master Xehanhort/Terra from Kingdom Hearts. You know that game?

“It’s my shit, dude. Along with Final Fantasy. I love Square Enix. Except for The World Ends with You. I fuckin’ hated that,” Yasmin continued to prattle on, fiddling with the strap on her bag as if she knew that she was talking too much, and she felt bad about it.

Unexpectedly, she just randomly sat down in her chair, plopping down and lifting her feet into the air and letting out a sigh.

“I have ADHD,” She said simply, turning her now wide eyes away from the sage and back to me and smiling weakly. “So sorry about that, bro. Hope you don’t mind me calling you bro.”

“Course not,” I said immediately. “And no worries about the ADHD, it’s understandable. I know some—,”

I was interrupted as she abruptly cut in, “Aaaaaaaand I may be the slightest bit high right now?” She offered.

“Oh,” I said, taking it all in. “Me gusta.” I joked, making the meme face.

“Jesus titty fucking Christ, Khushboo would literally fuckin’ kill me if she knew I was high right now,” She said, putting her hand to her forehead in shock.

“Khushboo?” I repeated. “Who’s that?”

“Oh, she’s just one of my best friends,” She answered, smiling a little. “We live together in an apartment in Agoura Hills. It’s a few minutes away from here.”

“Wait, why would she freak out?” I asked. “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s not like you’re out scoring crack with dope feigns.”

“Eh,” She said, and I briefly wondered if she was Canadian. I trashed the thought as soon as it entered in my mind— she had this weird (but kinda cool) slang-talking accent.

“I might as well be— my family kinda has a long-term affiliation with drugs,” She said, wincing a little as she told me.

“Same, I know how you feel, no need to feel weird about it,” I replied, and we bumped fists again after I said it.

“Plus she’s a doctor, she’s going to be an oncologist, I think. So, to her, drugs equal bad,” She said, suddenly going from her regular voice to a robotic one by the end of her sentence.

I was unable to contain my laughter from the random robot voice. So, in my own, I replied, “Then what are you high off of, since you’re not heading down the crack and heroin road?”

She let out a sigh, literally flapping her lips a little bit. She grinned and wiped her hand with mouth and said, “Ecstasy. Which, in itself, is a little hypocritical of me. My dad did ecstasy, and it kinda ruined our family so…”

“Mm,” I said, almost feeling like a psychologist. “Oh, gives me an idea!” I said, bending down to dig in my bag that I had sitting on the cement floor.

I reached out and pulled out a pen and paper, facing her as I tried to portray myself as all soft and kind, instead of the don’t care-air that I sometimes exuded.

“Any time you need help or something, just call this number,” I said, handing her the small piece of paper that I had settled for ripping off a piece of my math notebook to her.

“You mean…,” She started off, staring at me with eyes wide like an eight year old with his first boner, “I can call this number and get…busty Russian sluts? With no expense? Because I think they can help me.” She said, but started to laugh halfway in the middle, barely even being able to finish by the end of her sentence.

“You’re fucking crazy, Yaz,” I smiled at her, laughing along with her. “But correction— we’re crazy. And no, unfortunately, it’s only my phone number, not busty Russian sluts.”

“Russians, Greek, Irish— doesn’t matter; they all know what they’re doing,” She said, sounding like she was contemplating it in her head.

“Hey, wait, you’re not one of those races…are you?” She said, fixating her eyes onto me and opening them wide, like she was some sort of crazy stalker.

I smirked at her. “Well, fortunately, you’re in luck. I’m Irish. I.e., the ‘Aryan’ features including the blue eyes and blonde hair; minus the blue and purple streaks in it.” I added.

She cocked her head to the side and raised her eyebrow at me and waggled it at me suggestively.

“Wait, you’re, you’re not going to…try and butt rape me, are you?” I asked, shying away from her a little bit and going along with her game.

“Well, nah,” She said, giving me a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’m more into butt raping dudes. More eccentric and exciting, you know?”

I shrugged and turned up the corners of my mouth. “Well, I can’t say for sure myself, but, you seem like a pretty trustworthy person. I’ll take your word.” I reassured her.

The instruments have been repaired and the concert will go on as scheduled in 15 minutes.

“HOLY FUCK!” Yaz suddenly jumped up from her seat, putting her hand to her forehead as if she were about to pass out. “Do you realize in 15 minutes, we’ll be seeing Chester Bennington, the lead singer? Two rows away from us?

“Bro, I’ve had dreams about fucking this dude!” She practically screamed, jumping up and down on her feet.

A social misfit, with dyed black hair and his blond hair showing in the roots, turned around with a scowl on his face and grumbled, “Have you ever thought about shutting the fuck up?”

Almost instantly, I felt anger build up and I turned to him, ready to give him the pounding of his life. True, I hadn’t known Yaz that long, but just almost instantly, we just clicked. We just knew each other. We were both weird and insane! What more could I ask for?

“Hey, um, nice to meet you,” She said, bending down to look at him as she talked in a polite voice that suddenly elevated into a booming, livid-sounding one, “Have you ever thought of doing some useful in your life, like sucking a dick? You have a really pretty mouth, dude.”

“Yeah, I agree,” I said, suddenly jumping in and stepping closer to her. “Don’t ever get sent to jail, dude— you won’t even have to drop the soap, everyone will just drop their shivs and rape you without warning.”

Yaz nodded and then puffed out one cheek and held her fist horizontally to her other, making it look she was giving a blowjob.

The guy and his two other friends simply scoffed and rolled their eyelids heavily caked with eyeliner at us before getting up and leaving. As soon as they reached the aisle and started walking away, that’s when Yaz and I started to fangirl over what had just happened.

“Bro, that was fucking awesome!” She screeched, double fist bumping me and reaching in for a surprise hug, while lifting me off my feet in the process.

“I know!” I said, unable to contain the excitement that seemed to have built up in my chest after she set me back down. “And it was completely unplanned! How awesome are we?”

“Um, awesomer than all of…awesomer than Sam, Dead, Cas, and Bobby rolled into one fucking person!” She said.

“You like Supernatural?” I screeched, by now, even the hardcore, shirtless fangirls were weirded out by us. “Dude, I fuckin’ love you!”

“I love you too!” She screamed back, the both of us still jumping up and down.

“Hey, wait, should we include Kevin, though?” She suddenly cut in, doing that thing where she tilted her head to the side like she was deeply thinking about what she was saying.

Something inside me told me that she wasn’t,— she didn’t seem like the person that would think before they spoke, simply because they didn’t care.

“Eh, too nerdy Asian for me,” I shrugged nonchalantly. “Otherwise, I’d say yes.”

“Sweet,” She nodded, smiling at me. Her eyes drifted past me, like she was looking behind me as she said, “Speaking of Asians, that girl is completely checking me out right now.” She whispered.

“Hmm?” I asked, then turned around to see for myself.

Sitting in a seat a few dozen away from ours, was the color-clashing Asian girl with the frosted tips that I had seen reading The Walking Dead at McDonald’s. It was obvious from the way that she winked at Yaz that she was most definitely, obviously checking her out.

“I don’t know whether to be flattered/charmed with confidence boost points, creeped out, or maybe even sexually aroused.” She said slowly, unable to tear her eyes away from the other girl.

“Don’t make such a big deal about her,” I reassured her, putting my hand on her shoulder. “From the way she was wearing hipster headphones and aviators at the same time – even though it’s almost midnight – I expect that she’s on a level of douchery that I can’t even understand.”

“Oh yeah, she is wearing sunglasses at night; you can’t be doin’ it,” She said, doing that weird dismissal hand-wave thing. “Ain’t nobody got time for that!” She yelled loud enough so that the Asian girl could hear her.

The girl lifted her sunglass off her eyes and then flipped us off with both her middle fingers before sauntering off in the direction of the bathroom.

“Welp,” I said, turning to Yaz, “Looks like this is the night bitches die.” I grinned, quoting Family Guy.

A smile broke out across Yaz’s face after what I said. “Whatever, we’ll just leave her alone. For now. But just look at her fake-ass weave; bitch ain’t got no class.” She muttered, but I could tell that she was just joking since she was still smiling.

“But…that’s her real hair, dude,” I contradicted, starting to feel excited as the band started to walk onstage.

“Don’t poke holes in my logic!” She yelled back at me, and that’s when everyone erupted into roars when the band was finally ready to play.

“Whatever works for you works for me!” I shouted back over the roaring crowd, and then, we both got lost in the world of concerts— where everyone’s screaming, you feel even crazier than usual, and you have a great time because you just met your new best friend.

I’d say more, but frankly, I don’t remember anything after that about that night.

Because we got pretty fucked up.