he'd done in his left ear, but this time, he felt something move.
"I got it!" Clive smiled, convinced the source of all his auditory problems had been displaced. But when he removed the cotton swab, no water dripped out of his ear.
The Q-Tip, too, appeared dry. Had it become wet, he thought it would have shrunk, its fluffy coating compressing. However, the cotton had expanded to nearly double its original size. It resembled a miniature version of the cotton candy sticks he used to get at Rocky Point Amusement Park before it closed two decades ago.
That's funny. The swab's growth in size, though noticed, failed to alarm Clive. Maybe this one is like a sea monkey and grows when it gets wet .
Clive turned on his faucet and let the water run. He then blocked his left ear. The sound of the flowing water came in muffled through his right. As he concentrated, Clive began to hear another sound. It was a faint pitter-patter at first, like the first raindrops of a storm gently plopping down onto a car windshield. But like those raindrops, the sound grew louder and more frequent. It built in intensity, mimicking the drum roll of a timpanist. And Clive knew just the drum being played.
Oh great. Now this is happening.
What "this" was, Clive couldn't be certain. With the addition of a crackling tingle, Clive began to panic.
Oh no! Mr. Q-Tip was right! I never should have stuck it that far into my ear. Oh God! I hope I didn't puncture my ear drum.
All at once, the rumbling stopped. In its place, a constant tone, like that of the Emergency Broadcast System, resounded through his head, instantly resulting in a migraine. Clive prayed he didn't cause deafness in his right ear. He blocked his left ear again with his index finger. The sound of the running water was muffled but still present, just as loud as it had been the first time he checked.
Clive breathed a sigh of relief. The annoying tone began to fade. He threw the Q-Tip into the waste basket and turned off the water. I guess I do need to get my ear checked , he thought. I'd better make an appointment today.
***
After he finished dressing, Clive headed to work. Already accustomed to his lesser hearing, he quickly forgot the morning's events as soon as he walked through the engraved glass doors of the Harcourt Insurance Company. He prepared himself for yet another long and boring day. Sliding his arms across the desk in front of him, Clive rested his forehead upon them. Live for the weekends , he thought.
His mind began to wander. It was quickly called back by an unwelcome voice, violating Clive's chances for momentary peace.
"What up, C-Note?"
"Felix, how many times do I have to tell you that you're not black? Not to mention, your ghetto slang is outdated. Your vain, cracker attempts to represent thug life come off as lame, not cool."
Felix seemed unfazed. "Whatever, G."
Felix Winters closely resembled a skinny version of George Costanza of Seinfeld fame. Bald on top with black, horseshoe-shaped hair growth around the sides and back, Felix was no playboy. He was whiter than an Irish wedding. His thick-rimmed glasses and Owen Wilson nose made him look more dubious than sophisticated, his visage no doubt reflective of his prurient nature. But his imperfections didn't make him feel any less a playboy.
An accountant at Harcourt, Felix only did slightly more work than Clive. The rest of the day he spent downloading Internet porn. It was amazing that he managed to keep his job, despite the fact that he was far more deserving of termination than Clive had been on his worst day. His vulgar remarks earned him multiple written warnings, yet his job seemed as resolute as his commitment to his politically incorrect ways.
"Guess what I just found online?"
Clive looked up from his desk. He stared wide-eyed at his visitor, amazed that Felix the pervert somehow managed to misconceive Clive's tolerance for friendship.
I already don't like where this is heading. It's got "computer virus"
"I got it!" Clive smiled, convinced the source of all his auditory problems had been displaced. But when he removed the cotton swab, no water dripped out of his ear.
The Q-Tip, too, appeared dry. Had it become wet, he thought it would have shrunk, its fluffy coating compressing. However, the cotton had expanded to nearly double its original size. It resembled a miniature version of the cotton candy sticks he used to get at Rocky Point Amusement Park before it closed two decades ago.
That's funny. The swab's growth in size, though noticed, failed to alarm Clive. Maybe this one is like a sea monkey and grows when it gets wet .
Clive turned on his faucet and let the water run. He then blocked his left ear. The sound of the flowing water came in muffled through his right. As he concentrated, Clive began to hear another sound. It was a faint pitter-patter at first, like the first raindrops of a storm gently plopping down onto a car windshield. But like those raindrops, the sound grew louder and more frequent. It built in intensity, mimicking the drum roll of a timpanist. And Clive knew just the drum being played.
Oh great. Now this is happening.
What "this" was, Clive couldn't be certain. With the addition of a crackling tingle, Clive began to panic.
Oh no! Mr. Q-Tip was right! I never should have stuck it that far into my ear. Oh God! I hope I didn't puncture my ear drum.
All at once, the rumbling stopped. In its place, a constant tone, like that of the Emergency Broadcast System, resounded through his head, instantly resulting in a migraine. Clive prayed he didn't cause deafness in his right ear. He blocked his left ear again with his index finger. The sound of the running water was muffled but still present, just as loud as it had been the first time he checked.
Clive breathed a sigh of relief. The annoying tone began to fade. He threw the Q-Tip into the waste basket and turned off the water. I guess I do need to get my ear checked , he thought. I'd better make an appointment today.
***
After he finished dressing, Clive headed to work. Already accustomed to his lesser hearing, he quickly forgot the morning's events as soon as he walked through the engraved glass doors of the Harcourt Insurance Company. He prepared himself for yet another long and boring day. Sliding his arms across the desk in front of him, Clive rested his forehead upon them. Live for the weekends , he thought.
His mind began to wander. It was quickly called back by an unwelcome voice, violating Clive's chances for momentary peace.
"What up, C-Note?"
"Felix, how many times do I have to tell you that you're not black? Not to mention, your ghetto slang is outdated. Your vain, cracker attempts to represent thug life come off as lame, not cool."
Felix seemed unfazed. "Whatever, G."
Felix Winters closely resembled a skinny version of George Costanza of Seinfeld fame. Bald on top with black, horseshoe-shaped hair growth around the sides and back, Felix was no playboy. He was whiter than an Irish wedding. His thick-rimmed glasses and Owen Wilson nose made him look more dubious than sophisticated, his visage no doubt reflective of his prurient nature. But his imperfections didn't make him feel any less a playboy.
An accountant at Harcourt, Felix only did slightly more work than Clive. The rest of the day he spent downloading Internet porn. It was amazing that he managed to keep his job, despite the fact that he was far more deserving of termination than Clive had been on his worst day. His vulgar remarks earned him multiple written warnings, yet his job seemed as resolute as his commitment to his politically incorrect ways.
"Guess what I just found online?"
Clive looked up from his desk. He stared wide-eyed at his visitor, amazed that Felix the pervert somehow managed to misconceive Clive's tolerance for friendship.
I already don't like where this is heading. It's got "computer virus"
Similar Books
