c. 2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(2-24)
Dremel Kongin was a young man with lots of ideas, but few friends. That reality kept him feeling somewhat isolated at the Evergreen Estates community of mobile homes. Yet it meant that he always had plenty of free time for brainstorming. At first, living on a property where skinny plots of dirt were rented to uneducated, downtrodden people made him feel decidedly out of place. But eventually, his inner psyche and this humble environment meshed. He began to see opportunities where before, there were only rusty pickup trucks and broken hearts. Profit potential appeared in place of poverty and alienation. Hope rose over a horizon dotted with broken concrete, pallet fences, and cabins nailed together from scrap wood and tin sheets.
But he needed a sounding board to fine tune his ambitious plan for success.
Amber Zorcheski, a bright student who had also received childhood instruction at Our Lady of St. Vitus in Cleveland, was his closest confidante. Though she remained in their old neighborhood, situated near Lake Erie. They kept in touch occasionally, through cellular devices and their computers. Yet hadn’t seen each other, face-to-face, in over a year.
A Skype link brought them back into contact, as the techno prodigy was at his desk.
“Heyyy! It’s good to see you Ambie! Even if it comes through a monitor in my home office. You look fantastic! How have you been, little queenie?”
The ebullient woman had her straight hair pulled back in a messy flop of rainbow colors. She was dressed like an 80’s aerobics coach.
“Drem, you haven’t changed a bit. People always say that, right? But it’s true, you are timeless. Just like when we were in classes together at Cuyahoga Community College. Did you ever get married? I live with my girlfriend here, my life partner. She’s really sweet. Nobody hassles us about being open with our sexuality, it’s different out there in the country though, I would guess...”
He coughed and sat up straight in his roller chair.
“Nah, no so much as you might think. We seem to attract outsiders here, maybe they like being out of the zone, socially. I’m not married. No dating, no significant other, nothing. I work all the time. That’s why I zapped you with a message, really. There are things bouncing around in my head. Ideas I’ve had for a while. You always gave me an honest reaction to new concepts. I need that right now. So far, nobody has been too receptive.”
The college graduate snickered and tapped at her keyboard. She had nails painted in every color, which glistened on the screen.
“New concepts? Okay, give me a clue. What kind of crazy notions do you have in that thick skull, more stuff about vending machines selling Ramen noodles, or vegan sandwiches?”
Dremel laughed to himself. He had failed repeatedly as an innovator, since they last met at a Chinese buffet in Eastlake, for a brainiac session.
“A bolt of lightning struck while I was driving around this park the other day. Nobody else has a Toyota Prius in my neighborhood. They roll around on big tires and elevated 4x4 systems. You know, looking down on pipsqueak nerds such as me! I was feeling self-conscious, like always. Then, it hit me, why not use my skills to make their lives better? These people are down-to-earth. They don’t get impressed with techno hardware. They don’t go for fads or trends. They don’t care about looking stylish or fashionable. But there’s one need that makes them the same as you and me, the same as everybody else. They all want a hook-up. A mate, or playmate. That’s the truth that makes us equal. They want love, in some form. There are all kinds of apps for contact, yet none of them are tailored to this mindset. You can’t just throw people together from urban streets and country roads. Get it? Somebody should have realized this a long time ago. That’s where I come in, with a new cyberspace hub. I want to call it ‘TrailerCakes!’ A portal for meeting and greeting others with a similar background. Sort of a big residence park, online!”
He half expected his distant cohort to burst into laughter. Yet her reaction was a silent pause. Minutes elapsed while they both stared into the electronic vacuum. Then, Amber leaned forward to provide a better angle via her webcam. Gold bands around her wrists jingled and sparkled, with a tease of feminine charm.
“TRAILERCAKES! I GOT YOU! A WEBSITE FOR THE HILLBILLY HOOD! YOU’D WANT TO DIVIDE IT INTO THREE SECTIONS THOUGH, DREM! CHEESECAKES, FOR THE LADIES TO SHOW OFF! BEEFCAKES, FOR ANY MEN WITH ENOUGH COJONES TO POST PICTURES! AND PANCAKES, FOR THOSE OF US IN THE LGBTQ SPECTRUM. RIGHT? PANSEXUAL, DO YOU GET IT? ANYTHING MORE USER-SPECIFIC COULD BE WORKED OUT LATER. THAT’S MY TAKE! IF YOU WANT TO CROSS BOUNDARIES, THEN GO ALL THE WAY, BRUH! SHOW YOUR STONES!”
The fledgling engineer was nearly breathless.
“PanCakes? What the hell, are you serious about that? People will think we are trying to copy from Denny’s or Waffle House!”
Amber snorted at the disbelief inherent in his question.
“Yeah I’m serious! Look, there are zillions of dating apps out there. And plenty of content sites, with independent producers and their affiliated adult performers. You want tits and ass, or cowboy studs in leather chaps, showing off their saddle horns? It’s all over the internet. What you would need is something fresh, a meeting place with credibility. What the politicos call gravitas! Okay? You’ve complained for months and months about how clannish those trailer park hicks are in the daylight. Like frightened cockroaches stymied by the sun! Everyone is suspicious of strangers, you say? So, work with that! If you’re gonna build something, build it right! Give them a safe space. Make it legit! Like the rappers used to say, too legit to quit!”
Her friend from the rural oasis shook his head and wheezed.
“PanCakes... that is freaking insane. CheeseCakes, BeefCakes, and PanCakes?”
The free-thinking femme tapped on her desktop with a pencil.
“LOOK BUDDY, YOU WANTED MY OPINION, NOW YOU GOT IT! THERE’S THE VIRTUAL BOTTOM LINE, BRUH! BE BRAVE AND ROLL THE DICE! OR STAY SAFE AND YOU’RE LIKELY TO BE A LOSER, ONE MORE TIME! WHAT’LL IT BE, BIG BOY? HOW STRONG IS THAT BACKBONE OF YOURS? HOW MUCH DO YOU WANT A SHOT AT BEING A GENUINE SUCCESS?”
Dremel felt nauseous. The room was spinning around him, causing an unexpected episode of vertigo. He wanted to hurl. Yet her logic was impeccable. He couldn’t argue or disagree.
“Cakes... that’s the master plan! It all comes down to selling those hot cakes... TrailerCakes!”
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