Jersey's Opinion; Jersey Shorr story # 10

More Jersey!

     “This must be what the clean up worker on the freeway sees when he’s asked to scrape up a road kill possum; splotches of red, splotches of gray, and a steaming pile of meat, dead meat, which reminds me that this painting.  Road kill is too kind of a word for this abomination to the world of art!”

 

     Jersey Shorr was glad to get his review for the latest issue of ‘Art From Around the Globe’ monthly magazine out of the way.  Now that his ten minutes of cranking out his latest slap-down was done, he was free to hit the tavern.  He used to write other articles for the magazine, but screw that; he had gotten so well known for his barbed ‘reviews’ of a piece of art, that it was now all he did. 

 

 

     The interior of the “Cookie’s Bull Pen” Tavern was dim, as Jersey walked in; the dark gloom was slashed momentarily by spears of sunlight from behind him as he made his entrance, and then darkness fell once again, as the door shut.  Everyone seemed to be gathered around a table in the middle of the tavern.  Jersey didn’t care, he ignored that table and walked to his usual table along the far wall.  He’d taken to coming here every day, as they served cold beer, and made awesome deep fried everything; and, it was right around the corner from the Globe’s building.  That way, he didn’t have to try driving after he’d had five or six too many, which wasn’t very often; okay, every day, if he was honest with himself; he’d set up a bed in his office, so that way, he could just stagger back to the Globe’s building, and crash there.    

 

 

     After having lunch and several beers, Jersey was feeling too relaxed, and was awoken by his nodding head several times, so he stood up rather unsteadily, and walked over to where several customers were gathered around a table; the very same table he had ignored on his way in.  He asked,

 

     “What do we have here?”

 

     Nobody noticed him, and that made him angry.

 

     He rudely cleared his throat and tried again.  “I said, what the f**k is so fascinating here?”

    

     Everyone gathered at the table turned and glared at him. 

 

     “What?” he said, glaring right back at them. 

 

     The owner, Cookie, who happened to be one of those gathered around the table, answered, “If you’re just going to be rude, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.  No one wants you here, if that’s going to be your attitude.”

 

     “Jeez, I just asked what everyone was doing at this table.”

 

     “No, it wasn’t what you said, it was the way you said it,” replied Cookie.

 

     “Oh, excuse me for saying something the wrong way.  Never mind there, Cookie, that I keep coming in to this dump, god knows why, and spending my hard earned money.”

 

     “Well, thank you for continuing to frequent my tavern, but I don’t think you’re business is that important; certainly not important enough to kiss your a*s.”

 

     “It’s funny you mentioned kissing my a*s, cause that’s exactly what you can do, Cookie; you won’t see me in here ever again.  I’ll just take my business somewhere where they appreciate it!” and he stomped to the door, where he paused and turned back so that his upraised middle finger was momentarily back-lit by the setting sun, before the door shut once again.  Inside, the astonished customers glanced at one another, and laughed.

 

 

     Jersey stomped back to the Globe building, seething with anger.  He’d show Cookie what it meant to screw with him!  “Get out and don’t come back, huh?” he said to the empty office.  He angrily switched on his computer, and began typing. 

 

    

     “This is a special opinion from Jersey Shorr; ordinarily, I only critique art works in these pages, but in a way, isn’t your neighborhood tavern like a great piece of art, or a fabulous painting hanging on your wall?  You look at art to relax and unwind after the tensions of the day.  Well, that’s precisely the reason I like to go into ‘Cookie’s Bull Pen” tavern, on Main Street.  I’d always been able to put up with the steaming piles of crap Cookie passes off as food, because up until last month, I’d always been treated fairly, and with respect.  Last month, I was treated rudely and brushed aside as if my money wasn’t good enough for Cookie.  Well, Mr. Cookie, let me tell you something.  If last month is to be considered an example of the way you treat your customers, let me shout it from the rooftops, ‘Do not go into the C**k and Ball-Peen Tavern.  You’ll be treated like a flaming bag of dog s**t!’”  Jersey angrily pushed ‘save’, and collapsed on the roll-away bed.

 

 

    Four weeks had done nothing to ease Jersey’s anger.  If anything, he had only gotten more enraged.  He’d show Cookie he was the wrong person to screw with.  He’d many times been tempted to make his anti-‘Cookie’s Bull Pen’ opinion piece even harsher, but, after rereading it several times, had decided it got across his dissatisfaction pretty well.

 

 

     “What is this s**t?” thundered owner Walt Siever, after Jersey had came up on printing day and dropped opinion piece on his desk. 

 

     “What?  It’s an opinion piece that I’d like added to this month’s magazine.”

 

     “We’re an art magazine, not a restaurant magazine.”

 

    “True, but you forget, people only buy your rag to see how I’m going to  skewer some hapless artist this month.  To me, opinion is just an extension of that.”

 

     “Well, there is no way I’m going to print this juvenile drivel in my magazine.”

 

    “Do what you want.  You’ll just see how long your s**t paper magazine lasts when I quit.”

 

     Siever sighed in frustration and knew Shorr had him over a barrel.  As much as it pained him, he knew that Jersey had a valid point.  Without Shorr’s stinging revues, his magazine would go t**s up.  He didn’t understand it, he didn’t like it, but whatever Shorr wanted, he was in no position to deny.  “Okay, Shorr, your opinion piece stays.”

 

 

     Jersey smiled to himself; what a spineless bunger Siever was!

 

The End