The Awakening of Lorne Dardrik: Part 1
WARNING: This story is far more boring than I intended it to be. Read at your own risk.This story is about Lorne Dardrik; Lorne Dardrik is a fictional character. Fortunately for us, Lorne is not aware that he is fictional. If he knew that he was merely the creation of a teenaged girl who only invented him out of boredom, and that his existence was limited to a web-site devoted to the creation of personality quizzes, he would probably sink into deep depression, not bothering to get out of bed in the morning, and so making this story impossible. As far as Lorne knows, he is as real as they come; he is somewhere in his late twenties, and is currently earning a living in the dullest way possible. Every day, he gets into his Honda Civic and drives to a large gray block with windows and doors that some unimaginative architect was once arrogant enough to call a building. Once here, he walks into the large block, which is divided into smaller blocks called "cubicles". He walks into the cubicle assigned to him, sits down in front of a glowing metal box identical to the one you are looking at now, and rifles through assorted products made from ground up tree pulp. This routine is supposed to in some way contribute to the manufacturing of small plastic disks across the world in a place called "Japan".
At the time that I am introducing you to Lorne, he has been coming to the big gray block five days a week for five and a half years. I am frustrated with Lorne because of his utter lack of motivation, so I have decided to shake his world up a bit just to see what his reaction is. Just to see the look on his face.
Lorne is on his lunch break right now. Just as he's done every day for the past five and a half years, he walks out of the big gray block, turns right and walks fifty yards to a smelly little deli with a red and white sign hanging over the door. This sign used to read "Lulu's Sandwich Shop", but the letters have all fallen off so it now reads "Lu 's w ich hop". Lorne walks out with a salami sandwich on whole wheat, which he gets every day, and which he would never touch ever again if he knew what exactly was in it. He walks towards the corner bank, absent-mindedly taking bites out of his disgusting sandwich. As he walks into the bank, he crumbles up his empty sandwich wrapper and throws it into a nearby trash can.
"I'd like to make a withdrawal," he tells the bored looking teller at the nearest window. He gives her his name and account number and waits impatiently as she taps the information into the computer.
"Your account balance," she tells him. "Is eleven dollars and six cents."
Lorne stands and looks at her for approximately seventeen seconds without saying a word. "I.... I beg your pardon?"
"Eleven dollars and six cents is your account balance," she pronounces every word with exaggerated clarity.
"There has to be some mistake!" Lorne is wagging his head rapidly back and forth in disbelief; people in other lines are beginning to turn to look at him. "Could someone have gotten into my account? I had somewhere around three hundred thousand yesterday."
(Of course, there is no mistake, and no one got into his account, unless you count me, which I don't, since I don't exist in Lorne's fictional world. I was generous enough to leave him $11.06, since that is not only exactly enough to buy him four repulsive salami sandwiches from Lu's wich hop, but also happens to be my birthdate.)
The teller summons the bank manager, and they confer quietly for a few minutes while Lorne fidgets and sweats profusely. The bank manager comes over, a cold, polite smile pasted unconvincingly on his face while the teller hovers uncertainly in the background.
"Mr. Lorne Dardrik?" the manager says. "I'm sorry for your wait. What seems to be the problem?"
"The problem is that thousands of dollars have disappeared from my account since yesterday," Lorne seethes.
Of course, under normal circumstances, any bank manager worth his salt would do his best to get to the root of the problem and help Lorne with his upsetting problem. But sadly for Lorne, I am the one in charge of his life, and so the bank manager is not at all worth his salt, but instead is a one-dimensional fictional character whose only purpose of existence is to thwart and discourage Lorne at this particular moment.
"Sir," he says sternly. "I'm going to have to ask you to calm down."
"Calm down?!" Lorne bellows. "I've been robbed, and you ask me to calm down! Do you realize, my savings, my..."
"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid there is nothing we can do about it," the manager cuts in.
"You'd better do something about it!" Lorne explodes before crumpling into a well-placed chair (if I do say so myself). "Don't you see, I don't have anything besides my savings! Without them, I'm ruined. You have to help me, otherwise I don't know..."
Lorne stops speaking as he realizes that two security gaurds have firm grips on his arms and are making to guide him towards the door.
"But... but...." he splutters as they march him across the drab tiled floor. He lifts his feet off the ground, shuffling them desparately, but the gaurds don't hesitate in their purposeful stride towards the door, continuing to carry him along by his arms. Lorne blinks in utter surprise as he is dumped unceremoniously on the pavement outside the bank, where he lies inert, still utterly stunned, before he realizes that passing pedestrians are looking at him oddly. He pulls himself wearily to his feet and trudges bleakly back to the parking lot where he left his car, deciding to go home and collapse on his sofa, even though his lunch break ends in thirteen minutes and he should technically be planning to collapse in his cubicle. He digs his keys out of his pocket and looks around for his car; it takes him a moment to realize it is not there at all. It's sad to see Lorne's look of utter bewilderment and defeat as he turns to walk the five miles to his apartment complex; I'm beginning to feel a little guilty and almost hesitant about what I'm going to do to him next.
Almost.
It takes Lorne about an hour to walk the five miles. When he comes within sight of his apartment building, he freezes, then breaks into a run. Smoke is billowing out of the windows, and flashing lights are congregated in a confusing blue blinking frenzy at the building's front.
"What's going on?" he demands anxiously of the nearest person, who happens to be a shabbily dressed homeless man clutching a mug filled with change. Instead of replying, the man wordlessly extends his mug towards Lorne with a hopeful raising of his eyebrows. "Is the building on fire?" Lorne demands anxiously, not noticing the man's mug until it is pushed directly under his nose, startling him a little. "I'm sorry, I don't have any money." The mug is retracted sorrowfully with a reproachful look. "No, I know you hear that all the time, but I really don't. Honestly. Earlier today, my life's savings just disappeared from the bank without any explanation. Then my car was stolen. And now it looks like my apartment building is burning down." The homeless man hesitates and extends the mug again, this time in a gesture of offering. "No thanks, man," Lorne is touched by the gesture. "I don't want to take your money."
A policeman is walking by, and Lorne quickly leaps forwards and lays a hand on his arm. "Excuse me! Could you tell me what's going on?"
"The building is on fire," the policeman says drily, gesturing towards flames licking out of the windows.
"No, I realize that, but what happened?"
The officer shrugs. "An electrical fire? They're not sure. I wouldn't know. We're just here as a matter of routine. Someone from the fire department might know the details. All we know is that the building has basically been gutted by the fire."
"What do you mean?" Lorne asks.
"Basically, it's an unlivable shell right now. Are you a resident? Really? Well, I'm sorry, you'll have to find another place to stay. The structure has been completely destroyed." Just for dramatic effect, at this point a large chunk of ambiguous charred building material falls from the smoke and crashes on the pavement twenty feet away from Lorne, causing him to jump backwards, startled.
The policeman walks away, leaving Lorne staring in forlorn bewilderment at his earthly possessions literally going up in smoke.
"But... I don't have anywhere else to stay," he says in a low voice to the back of the departing policeman, who is out of earshot. The homeless man steps forward with a sad and sympathetic face and offers Lorne his hand, turning as though to leave. Lorne, at a loss for what else he can do, allows the man to guide him away from the charred remains of his home. They walk down the street together, the man's hand on Lorne's elbow, steering him towards a new phase of his life.
I think I've done enough to Lorne for now. I'll give him a little breathing time and return to mess with his fictional life later.
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