The Adventures of Child Services Man and
His Trusty Sidekick the JavaMeister
Our story begins in the Tennessee town called Metroboro. Now our Heroes are just like you and me. Regular shmucks working for da Man. Well, at least CSM was. Java was living in his Mother’s basement, optimizing his download speed on his newest laptop. Or at least that’s what he told his friends. I mean Friend, singular: Zach was a social worker, a Family man, Responsible and Trustworthy, a Good Guy. You know the type.
Java was, well, a Loser: No job, no car, no girlfriend, and surely no Prospects. The one you gotta spot for a movie or a dollar cheeseburger. You know the type.
Me: I’m just here to tell da tale. You know the type.
Back to the story.
Honestly Java did have another Friend, who we’ll call Little Bear. He was mostly a recluse, didn’t get out too much, but he could build a kick-ass computer with spare parts and duct tape. Loved people but just didn’t bother with most because he knew they were too Lost. You know the type.
Anywho, these three wayward souls somehow became friends, in their own way. When or how they met is still a mystery to me. Some say they met at a party, others say they met at a Walmart, or maybe it was a coffee shop. Me, I believe they met at Church. We may never know for sure. In Truth, it matters not. They came, they met and they kicked ass. You know the type.
If not, you should. But I digress. It was 2007ish near as I can figure. King George II was nearing the end of his eight year reign, but a light named Obama had appeared at the end of the tunnel. Was it the End or was the light on the front of a speeding locomotive? Both it turned out. But that is someone else’s tale. You know the type.
The first stage of Greif is Denial. No, I’m not really dying of AIDS. My wife does not really have terminal breast cancer. My child does not really have bipolar disorder. My husband is not really an alcoholic and addict. You know the type.
Elizabeth was a death specialist. She saw hundreds of people die before she identified the Five Stages of Grief. Now the Earth is dying, rapidly. And we, humanity, are swimming in Denial: Global Climate Change, Mass Extinction of Plants and Animals, Acid Rain, New-Clear Meltdowns, Fossil Fuel Depletion, AIDS, Greenhouse Gases, Television, Wars and Rumors of War, Military Veteran, Suicide, Revolution, Al-Qaeda, Chronic Depression and Mental Illness, Justin Beaber, MRSA, Droughts, Tom Cruise, and Barney. You know the type.
What are paying attention to? TMZ, YouTube, porno, freaking Facebook? How many “Friends” do you have? We need a screen to read and write. Three year olds can do a Google search. We have computers attached to our hips. What it hell is going on? And why is there not a Song about our Plight? Who will be our Dylan?
If not Now, when? If not Here, where? If not me, who?
Here I Am . . . Now . . . Call me Java.
I went to JavaZorra’s for a couple, two, three double espressos on a Thursday afternoon. I
washed it all down with a yerba matte, Shaman style. I was playing with my tarot deck to pass the
time while the espresso did its job. I young woman joined me outside, so I got out my laptop and
pretended to write. I was really just tweaking my Pandora account. When I pulled out my ear buds to
head for the head she asked, ‘Are those Tarot cards?’
No they’re chick magnets. ‘Yeah, you want a reading?’
‘Let me run to the can, then I’ll Do you. OK?’
I then ran to the can, and picked up two more double shots on the way back. ‘I got some
espresso. You want Some?’
‘What’s your question? Romance or Finance?’
‘Can I do both?’
‘Sure, of course!’ Time to work your magic, Java Meister.
And so it went — And so it goes. Coffee, Tarot, Write, Flirt . . . Coffee, Tarot, Write, Flirt . . .