The Exciting Days of Charles Baxter

Thank you everyone for reading about my first day in a new city. I am sure you will enjoy this read. - Charles Baxter

 Day 1 - Keys to a new life.

Today is a new day. My four-year stint at that sorry excuse of a university has come to its end. I will not even give that pigs den of an institution the fortune of being mentioned in my journal as they denied me the honor of Summa Cum Lade. My time there was an interesting experiment, but it’s time to venture forth and make a name for myself as a true writer. One that is greater than Brown, than Kootz and even Roberts! Yes, my name will be regarded as one for the books (my best-selling books), as it rightfully should have been back at that monkey’s cage. As if the board could not agree with my stance on their misappropriation of funds for the English department. Well, jokes on them, while I may be denied my rightful honor, as of tonight dean Roger Hartfield’s affair with a handicapped custodial worker will be plastered on the student page. We’ll see how much the dean’s husband likes that.

Yes, I am free. As the kids say, “New Year, New Me.” And what a joyous new year. Soon I will be working at my dream job here in the mecca of all thing’s art and life- The City. Words can’t express how excited I am to be in The City. Now, I am not sure if it is the norm for the greeting committee to be made up of an unruly bunch. Upon my arrival to The City, two raggedy men in tattered clothes accompanied with a particularly memorable stench were quick to approach me. I am sure they believed their fast city talk to get one over my Iowa upbringing, but I was able to keep up with their urban lingo. In fact, I was able to best them in their own game. After all they soon gave into my request. Within seconds I was given a thorough tour of the three blocks that surround the greyhound station. No where near my chosen destination, but still an enjoyable observation of what the everyday man deems worthy of a view. And for a reasonable fee of ten dollars and the purchase of their adorable little CD’s.

It took me a few hours of exploring before I found the building I would be viewing for my soon-to-be home. I was told back at the animal farm that the higher the number of the street, the higher the quality of living. And I can only say that the 135^th street in the city of angels would be where I find my Oasis. A two story grayish block located on the corner, a small collection of palm trees residing at both sides of the entrance. I knew this must be the finest place to reside; the iron gates, the notice of guard dogs and the lively collection of gentlemen outside, who were not unlike my guides, only in different colored attire. It had high security for high priority individuals. I signed the two-year lease within the hour of arrival. Mitch, the landlord, a rather portly fellow with stylish metal teeth, was able to get the first, last and security out of me in negotiations. But worry not reader, I am convinced that I will be able to stay afloat after I land the job at Trinity this coming Monday.

Filled with excitement, I visited the local shops in order to gauge the charisma of the gracious vendors and various business owners. On my walk outside my abode I stumbled upon a quaint newsstand. A tiny little hut, with a gross lime-green awning and run by a goblin like man wearing an eye-patch. While most of his magazines were of the…carnal persuasion. There were some enjoyable readings. One gave a glimpse to the exotic Peru, a world I was denied due to my rejection from the summer abroad program. Seeing as it was fate that I should find the zine, I quickly examined it from cover to cover. When I briefly flipped through a magazine, the newspaper vendor convinced me that I was, “Taking advantage of his product…” He proceeded to exclaim, “I’m running a business not a place where you rent books.” When I told him he meant a library, he made vulgar comments about my demeanor and now… I am the proud owner of a $13.95 copy of Peruvian Dishes volume thirteen. I felt there was no need for his brutish behavior, but I did not see a need to battle with the natives, hence my purchase of his product. I stepped away from his hut and upon entering the nearby mini mart was charged $5.20 for a half gallon of milk.

Yes, a new homestead, new knowledge gained and a fine source of calcium. I am certain that tomorrow will hold just as much success as today did.