
It’s All About That Ragged Purple Shirt (Short Story Part I-2321 Word Count)
March 16, 2018
Springtime Fitness (Essay 771 Word Count)
April 13, 2018I’m participating in a Good Friday Pilgrimage that requires me to leave Durango at 4:00 am tomorrow morning. That being the case, I’m posting this Short Story today because I won’t have access to my desktop computer tomorrow morning.
Here’s the second part of that good luck clothing short story (part I published on the website 3/16/18). This story is a big reason why I love the Internet. I culled a ton of information about the city of Atlanta for this missive, and I’ve never even set foot in the state of Georgia. Have fun!! Word Count: 2455
It’s All About That
Ragged Purple Shirt (Part II)
Should we consider Jackson’s actions to be in the realm of odd, eccentric, behavior? I suppose they are, but what’s the difference when you compare his fanaticism to the practices of the couple down the block. Unlike Jackson, Martin and Maggie Schaffer are totally indifferent to college football unless it involves a player of top notch quality signing a contract to play for their favorite professional team, the Atlanta Falcons.
They’re also extreme fans of their team, but unlike Jackson, they’ve taken it to the next highest level. Having the design and color of their house mimic that of the team’s logo design, planning their vacations around attendance at the team’s pre-season training camp, and regular attendance at all home games where appropriate team paraphernalia accompanied by massive amounts of face paint is worn.
The one thing that made the Schaffer obsession more extreme than Jackson’s fanaticism? Coming within an eyelash of carrying out their threat to move lock, stock, and barrel to an isolated island in the South Pacific. This, as a result of their team’s most recent successful maneuver at pulling its fan hearts out and beating it to a bloody pulp.
The island relocation almost happened right after the Falcons grasped defeat from the gapping jaws of victory in Super Bowl LI (51). Turning a 28-3 advantage in the fourth quarter into a final losing score of 28-34. The only thing keeping this event from transpiring? Margaret’s promise that she’d babysit during her daughter’s dental appointment the following Tuesday.
_______________
In an attempt to find out just why so many people had this strange perception that possession of BB meant so much good luck falling upon them, I decided to do a bit of investigating. Getting the lowdown from a variety of diverse sources.
The first of my conversations was with our next-door neighbor, Elmira Higgins. She moved to our building about the same time my brother and I first set up residency there, and just like the two of us, Elmira was also pursuing a set of dreams. In our case, as entrepreneurs’, but for Elmira the dreams involved owning her operating her own restaurant.
She attended cooking school where she picked up the nuances of food preparation for her specialty, cuisine of her childhood home, the coastal region of southern Georgia and northern Florida. Elmira was well on her way to achieving these dreams of a culinary expertise since the culinary institute she attended happened to be one of the top-notch schools in Washington D.C., if not the entire country. Unfortunately, one day owning and operating an upscale restaurant also hinted at a person possibly having some business knowledge, along with a bit of savvy. Unfortunately, Elmira possessed these entities in the same ratio as Olympic powerlifters who also have an intimate knowledge of classical ballet maneuvers.
She probably should’ve taken a few business courses in her spare time, but the most she’d done up to that point was just talk about it. For the time being, Elmira was content to work as one of the upper echelon chefs at a popular downtown Atlanta restaurant. Preparing all manner of mouthwatering dishes and slipping the occasional discount meal to various friends and family. I was looking for more than that the afternoon I stopped in to get her perspective at Country Culinary Collective, CC&C.
An unoccupied table in C, C, & C’s staff lounge:
“You mentioned over the phone that you want to get the details about your lucky shirt?” asked Elmira as she wiped the sweat off her brow. “I’ll only tell you what I know if you’ll consider giving me the piece of clothing someday.”
“That’s possible, although I promised my brother I’d give him my first-born in a trade if he ever asks for it. Since that’s not the case, I’m required to hold onto the shirt.”
“I felt like Don Quixote attacking all those windmills. Couldn’t get management of our building to even think about fixing my wiring, then the very morning your brother tells me possession brings good luck and lets me borrow the shirt, everything changes.”
“You think?” I felt like telling her the same thing I said to Christian, that her story was a total bullshit, but didn’t because I felt sorry for Elmira. Fancy food and weird swing shift work hours usually doesn’t make up for unfulfilled dreams and aspirations. Unless of course, you’re into working from 4:00 in the afternoon until 2:00 am the next morning.
“I’m a big believer in good luck charms,” said Elmira. “My mom’s family immigrated to America from Ireland, and my seanmhair (grandmother) carried a four leaf-clover with her during the entire passage from Dublin to N.Y.C.”
“Ok.” Guess that isn’t any stranger than Christian making me wash BB separate from every other article of clothing.
“Then my father’s family, who immigrated from Serbia, used to say you need to spill water behind a person every time they make on a trip or go to a new job.”
“Why?”
“This leads to good luck happening for them. I’ve developed a variation of the two which incorporates both traditions, and carried out the practice since I was a kid.”
“What’s that?”
“Whenever I’m getting ready to go somewhere, or starting work at a new restaurant, I direct someone to spill a bit of water directly behind me, at four different times.”
“And this procedure has worked?”
“Yes. I got your brother to do it for me before I started working here and the results speak for themselves. I’m shocked that he didn’t tell you this?”
“Me too.” Then again, Christian usually doesn’t divulge all the trivial stuff to yours truly. I like to think life is too short, and I’d prefer to just wing it most of the time without envisioning best case scenarios happening.
“There are lots of other things I do to bring me good luck. Ever since cooking school, I’ve used the same slightly battered whisk whenever I’m preparing food. This also seems to have worked swimmingly for me in the good luck department.”
“Alright then. I need to talk to a few other folks, but you’ve given me a lot to think about while I’m carrying that out. Thanks for the info. Elmira.”
“Remember Joseph, if you’re ever thinking about getting rid of that purple shirt of yours, I’ll take it off your hands. In fact, I might even buy it from you if I’ve got the extra money.”
“Will do Elmira. Christian wants me to put it in a special frame, so that’s more likely to happen.”
“Good idea.”
As I walked out the door of C, C, & C’s I thought about what it would take for Elmira to buy the building for her own restaurant one day. A swimming pool sized container of water dyed green and spilled behind her at four different times?
The very next day I visited with Jackson Kingman during his lunch break at the accounting firm where he worked. The place allowed him easy access to the Interstate so he could drive to Athens and attend University of Georgia football games. A vital consideration no doubt.
“So,” said Jackson. “What’s up? Cushman & Cushman Accountants only gives us a half-hour for lunch. That requires me to stuff my face while I’m checking out the website of Georgia football for the latest.”
“I’ve got this purple shirt in my possession that supposedly brings me good luck. I was wondering if you’ve got any similar types of articles in your wardrobe?”
“A few actually, and all of them I have relate in some strange way to my obsession with UGA football.”
“Really?” What a shock. “My brother says I shouldn’t get rid of this shirt since it’ll bring my string of good luck happening to an end. I think that’s preposterous.”
“I don’t know, makes sense to me. You know, in a lot of cultures, all sorts of objects are said to bring good luck.”
“What, like a rabbit’s foot?”
“I’ll bet you didn’t know that the myth of rabbit’s feet came to America with my ancestors on the slave ships from Africa. I carry a similar object with me all the time when I go to UGA games. Always results in good fortune.”
“Get out of here, how you able to prove that?”
Jackson smiled. “Easy, whenever I bring my lucky UGA porcelain bulldog figurine with its chipped tongue from when Jim Donnnan (UGA coach-1996 to 2000) dropped it while autographing the doll, Georgia cleans up on the field.”
“How’d you get him to sign it in the first place?”
“Right after they won their first big game in the ’97 season, I walked down onto the field and managed to get him to take the figurine and autograph it. Been bringing it with me to every victory of theirs ever since then.”
“So, does that mean when you don’t bring the doll with you to their games, they lose?”
“They stink up the joint. I misplaced the mascot for five games during the 2010 season and they ended up with a 6-7 record. Mislaying the mascot resulted in the season becoming a total disaster.”
“What do you do during their away games?”
“I watch them on TV with the mascot in my lap. Did that faithfully during this past season and look what happened?”
“You didn’t have the doll when they lost the National Championship game?”
“I did, but them losing is another story I’d rather not discuss at this time. Needless to say, I’ll never go to Hawaii, and a few things will need to be different in fall of 2018.”
“Ok then, you’ve given me lots to think about.”
“You planning on getting rid of that shirt of yours? If it’s the UGA colors, I might consider taking it off your hands.”
“My brother wants me to hold onto it, so I’m probably not going to part with the thing. Sorry.”
“Too bad, one can never have too much good luck on their side. My support of UGA football proves this.”
As I walked out the door, I wondered what Jackson would do if UGA football had a really bad season? Something along the lines of a 2-9 debacle as a result of the mascot mistakenly getting broken into a thousand pieces, among other end-of-humanity apocalyptic disasters?
The final stop related to my investigation of the BB phenomenon was a dinner date that evening with Martin and Maggie Schaffer. I was anticipating an obsession on their part similar in scope to that of Jackson. Only in their case, it would relate to their beloved Falcons, as opposed to the UGA Bulldogs.
Now you’ve heard the saying, “Time heals all wounds.” In the case of most sports fans, it’s kind of amazing what the differences between one year and the next can do in terms of how it affects the rabid fan base outlook. “Hope springs eternal”, could be a better assessment of the situation. The Falcon’s Super Bowl LI disaster seemed like it might’ve happened one hundred years ago. Emphasis on the word, “might’ve”, since we’re more than likely living in an alternate universe anyway.
“So, you’re doing better?” which is usually the first thing I’ve learned to ask the Schaffer’s, ever since February 2017, anyway. Right after Super Bowl LI, you had to worry about the fact that both of them were former postal service employees and loyal NRA supporters.
“Oh yeah,” said Martin. “Ever since the Falcons got knocked out in the play-offs early this year, life’s been fairly easy to deal with. They didn’t trip and fall 100 feet from the summit like they did last year.”
“Your brother told us all about the unique charms of this shirt you possess,” said an excited Maggie. “Any chance of you giving it to us? I can cut the garment into two parts and sew each of them onto our Falcons jerseys.”
“How do you know the shirt’s ability to grant good luck won’t wear off if you rip it up?” Listen to me, talking about BB like it possesses some sort of magic. Maybe it does?
“I don’t, but what if you do give it to us and the very next year the Falcons win it all. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“My brother already made me promise I’d hold onto it under threat of having to pay the entire rent amount if he can’t find the shirt. Christian worries about me secretly getting rid of the thing when he’s got his back turned.” Legitimate concern, but I’ll be a good boy and won’t do that.
“So, what’s your plan at this point?”
“Sit back and see what happens. Continuing to hold onto the shirt has already brought us a little bit more good luck. Last night the pizza delivery guy brought us two pies by mistake and we didn’t have to pay for any of it.”
“Little victories mean so much, don’t they?”
“They do.”
There I was. I’d finally come to somewhat of a conclusion that BB did indeed possess this magical ability to grant its owner good fortune. All I had to do at that point was prove it to myself through one last miraculous thing happening.
At first nothing took place, but then that’s the way things always happen in life. When you least expect it, something occurs that totally confirms all your suspicions.
The internship was going great. So outstanding that it wasn’t that much of a surprise when I got called into the office to hear a bit of great news. Telling Christian what happened that night influenced him to suggest a final BB celebration.
“The big boss called me into his inner sanctum today.”
“Good news or bad?” asked my brother. “Wait a sec., I told you to put BB on since its “Casual Friday”. That means the news is good. Has to be.”
“Yup, they like how well I’ve integrated myself into the company that management wants to turn the internship into a full-time position. A huge bump up in salary for one thing.”
“As the Montgomery Burns character on the “Simpsons” likes to say, “Excellent.” All because I got you to put on BB this morning before you walked out the door.”
“You know, a month ago I would’ve asked you how potent those drugs you just ingested happened to be. Lately though, I’m becoming convinced that BB does indeed have magical powers.”
“See, I told you so. Why don’t you put the shirt on and let’s go celebrate? Pickle the ’ole liver a bit, and pick up some fair lasses.”
“Don’t push it.”