c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(4-26)
Townshend Lincoln had arrived at Evergreen Estates almost a quarter-century ago. Such a long period in terms of the rural, trailer community, that few residents could remember a time when he had not been at Lot 13. His brusque manner and solitary habits meant that social interaction with the reclusive hermit was limited in scope. Neighbors on his crooked street logically assumed that at some point, his body would succumb to a diet of pickled eggs, fried bologna, and whiskey. With the result that he could finally be buried and forgotten. Therefore, little attention was paid to his existence. And yet he did not make a speedy exit from their cluster of manufactured homes. Instead, he seemed to thrive on the exile afforded by their geographical location. A spot far to the east of any population center in their county.
Due to the onset of chronic fatigue and disability, the silent figure did not often leave his space for any reason. But on a weekend evening, with monthly rent coming due, he decided to tackle the short distance between his boxcar dwelling, and the manager’s office. Though generally able to walk only with the use of mismatched canes for support, he decided to seek out his neglected, Craftsman mower for transportation. A dirty and dented hunk of machinery that had been in his storage barn since coming to the rustic development, initially. Its battery was low on juice after sitting idle for the winter season. But with a brief stint on his charger, and a bit of fiddling with the carburetor, it defiantly chuffed clouds of oily smoke. And then, rattled noisily to life.
Getting seated was not an easy task. He had to leverage himself into place carefully, to avoid toppling to the ground. Then, he discovered that the steering linkage was stiff and uncooperative, because of long periods left sitting outside.
On the way to their park office, he thought of the Country performer George Jones. A heroic crooner who had sometimes ridden his own mobile beast to a liquor store in the area, when driving privileges were restricted for the purpose of keeping him safe. The yard boss sputtered and spat a foul-smelling stream of exhaust from its muffler. And made all sorts of ominous sounds along the way. Those on the route were amused to see a shaggy fellow in faded overalls, chugging beer while navigating the course. But no one wanted to engage him in conversation.
Every spectator agreed that it would be less risky to simply let him go on his way.
Lincoln arrived at the property hub in around five minutes. He had expected the terminal to be abandoned, as it was late on a Saturday. But upon coming to rest by the maintenance garage, and dismounting with both canes at the ready, he found himself facing a flat-screen display on the entrance door.
A woman’s face generated by an AI program appeared. She smiled with synthetic charm, and offered a greeting which had captions at the bottom.
“WELCOME TO THE WESTERN FINANCIAL HOLDINGS VIRTUAL ASSISTANT! PLEASE SCROLL THROUGH THE KEYPAD MENU, FOR AN OPTION THAT BEST SUITS YOUR CURRENT NEEDS. WE ARE DEDICATED TO SERVING ALL OF OUR CLIENTS WITH EQUITY AND PROFESSIONALISM. YOU MATTER TO US!”
He had to squint for a clearer view of the high-tech display, because his reading glasses had been left at home. With some difficulty, he punched at the screen and read the list of choices while grumbling.
“Item 1: Make a payment on your rent balance. Item 2: Leave a question for the supervisor. Note: Office hours have been curtailed in the interest of controlling costs. This will be our only form of communication. Item 3: Leave a compliment for someone on the park staff. Item 4: Ask about employment opportunities with WFH at this site, or other properties owned by the company. Item 5: Arrange to leave your keys in the drop box, as a result of an eviction order. Item 6: Repeat all these options...”
Dust settled as he pounded on the door with his fists.
“What the hell? Screw this bullshit, we don’t even get to see a gawdamn representative anymore? What the frig? When did they give notice about that? The only guy I can catch is that poor sap who shovels gravel in the potholes. Pretty soon, this ol’ dump is gonna sink in the mud and disappear. What a kick in the ass!”
After physically and vocally expressing his frustration, the senior contrarian relented and made a second attempt at navigating the electronic menu. He tapped at the monitor until new options appeared.
“Item 1: Make a payment. Choice A: Please enter the amount of your deposit. Pay the full balance on your account, or submit an installment amount. Note: You must have bank information on file with the owners. When you are done, please leave your check in the drop box. If you pay your rent online, these steps are not necessary. Have a good day!”
Lincoln belched loudly, and hit the door again, out of spite.
“A good day’ll be when I can get out of this rathole! But I’m stuck here, like all the other schlubs on my street. We’re all screwed. Nobody gives a damn about us!”
He deposited his check begrudgingly, with a snort of irritation. Then mounted the saddle of his mower once again. His bones were creaky and every joint felt sore. But with the wheel in his hands, he snapped at the throttle, and reversed course, for home.
On his porch, the bearded sage sat with a jug of Kentucky bourbon, and a tattered copy of their lease. Deep in the fine print, he realized that the shift to virtual moderation had indeed been spelled out in legal terms. A fact he must have overlooked before. Western Financial Holdings was listed as the official ownership group, but details about the coastal concern were few.
As Lincoln drank himself into a pleasant fog of inebriation, the rotund maintenance steward rolled by on his golf cart. A bucket of gravel was strapped to the back, with a shovel. He had finished his pointless roster of chores for the day. Now, there was little time for anything else, except watching the sunset bring a merciful shroud of darkness to their distant hideout.
A wash of alcoholic oblivion brought peace at last. For both of them, another chapter at Evergreen Estates had been written.
AI. sucks 😔
ReplyDelete