Tao Lin - Eeeee Eee Eeee

Andrew talks to Steve on the phone then drives to Domino’s. “You’re late,” Matt says. “You’re fired. Get your shit and get the fuck out of here.” There are two managers and one is Matt. The other manager is the sad manager.

Andrew grins. “Okay,” he says.

Matt stares at Andrew. “I don’t want to see you again, Andrew.” Matt is twenty-five, singer and guitarist of his own band, and Andrew is making a shit-eating grin at him. Andrew goes to the back, feels tired of life, and logs in. Four other drivers are standing around. Andrew has nothing to say to them. They live in small houses with low roofs and are all very polite. One was a martial arts champion. Andrew had a flat tire once and the martial arts champion drove out to help, late at night. He seemed very nice and a little shy, but also like if he wanted he could walk quietly through a crowd with a neutral facial expression breaking people’s bones. Andrew kept apologizing; he felt bad because one time the martial arts champion had showed him how to save fifteen seconds by driving through a field illegally. “Thank you for helping me,” Andrew said. The martial arts champion said his wife hit a deer and after that would not drive anymore. He said he used to go places for martial arts competitions. He went to Virginia and Georgia. “I was pretty serious,” he said. “I did martial arts one summer,” Andrew said. The martial arts champion was changing the tire; they were in front of a rundown grocery shack; and Andrew kept thinking, martial arts, deer, death . He was not surprised or afraid, but a little bored. Driving home that night he felt undistracted and grateful. He petted his dogs and emailed his mom. He should be friends with the martial arts champion; with all of them. They once invited Andrew to drink beer and watch TV. We’ll eat pizza . They laughed when they said that and Andrew smiled and had an image of himself standing in a corner, drunk and depressed, then facedown in a retention pond. At home that night he wondered if he should’ve gone; imagined it would’ve been fun, just to watch — the martial arts champion probably would have gotten drunk and jump-kicked a deer, or something — and after that was not invited again.

“Is it busy? Today?” Andrew says. He looks abstractly at the other drivers; it’s unfair to look at one person.

“It’s been slow this week,” someone says.

“Remember when kids said ‘slow-mo’?” someone else says. “I’m bringing it back.”

“No you’re not,” Andrew says.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” Andrew says.

The other manager walks by. He is young and overweight, with glasses; ‘the sad manager.’

“A moose gave a ten dollar tip,” someone says. “I said, ‘Thank you, moose.’ Moose said, ‘Thank you.’ It was fun.”

When there are no deliveries you fold boxes; or take calls. Folding boxes is easier. Everyone is folding boxes. Andrew is folding boxes. If the entire job were to fold boxes people would scream. They would fold, and sometimes scream, existentially, then be dragged into a field and beaten into a paste. Sometimes there would be a killing rampage. Steve was going to Seattle but got on the wrong plane and is now in New York City. It’s risky to scream in an airport. Steve is clinically depressed inside of an airport, homeless; let him live in your closet . Sara, I’ll wear him like a shirt over my head, like a hat, and his ears can be my real ears .

“My friend was going to see his dad,” Andrew says. “He went to New York City.”

Someone says something about dying from eating too much pizza after sex with a prostitute.

Andrew feels calm. “If you can’t beat them join them,” he says. Some days he feels calm. Today he feels calm. He feels strange. “Has anyone done that? Not beaten something … then joined it?”

“If you can’t join them buy them out,” someone says.

“Buy them presents,” Andrew says, and makes a shit-eating grin at no one; at a pizza box. He is embarrassed for the pizza box. He folds it. ‘Shit-eating grin.’ He needs to stop. He needs to use his face to convey emotions to other humans in order to move sincerely through life — laughing in groups of three or four; expressing gratitude, concern, or disapproval about people, the weather, or food; and manipulating members of either sex to get them to love him, like him, or respect him. That is what a face is for. One manager isn’t enough so there are two. They should be identical twins. One would make pizzas shaped like pentagrams and have a pointy tail no one would mention but have nightmares about most nights. Eventually the evil twin would go on a killing rampage, which no one would mention but have nightmares about most nights; though sometimes in daytime, during naps. Everyone is folding boxes. Feels like a David Lynch movie. In Manhattan Andrew saw Mulholland Drive with a girl. They saw the movie, ate Chinese food. She kept saying she was having a lot of fun. Andrew liked her. “I really want to do this again,” she said at her door. “We should,” Andrew said. “I’ll call you,” she said. Andrew saw her next a few months later, from across a street, and she averted her eyes. Did she avert her eyes? Maybe she was being polite when she said ten times and enthusiastically that she was having a lot of fun. Maybe she was being sarcastic. Maybe politeness is the same as sarcasm. Someone should write that book. Against Politeness . Andrew is learning many useful and interesting things while folding boxes for minimum wage. I was folding boxes and writing a book proposal. My face was neutral but inside I felt productive and good. My name is Andrew. I am twenty-three years old, I live in Orlando, Florida, and instead of talking out loud to real human beings that I can touch and look at I talk in my head to humans from my past that I will probably never see again .

Matt comes and stares then slowly goes away. Andrew laughs. He likes Matt. If Andrew makes a movie Matt will be in every scene in the background staring. The trailer will be two minutes of Matt’s face. One time Matt told Andrew to deliver a pizza with his hat sideways, shirt untucked, belt unbuckled; and gave him a bike chain to wear around his neck. Andrew did it. The man came to the door, terrified. Andrew felt abstract and out-of-control. It took a long time because it was a large order, with Buffalo wings and extra bleu cheese. The man’s face turned red and neither of them spoke, even when Andrew dropped a container of bleu cheese and they both watched it fall into a little hole in the concrete. It was difficult to get the bleu cheese out because it fit almost perfectly in the strange hole. “What happened,” Matt said. “The person was afraid of me,” Andrew said. “You’re a good worker,” Matt said.

Sitting in the car after work. Listening to music. (“How do you have fun?”) Andrew has not spoken aloud in about three hours. He will never speak again. He is ready to go home. He doesn’t want to go home. He wants to build a tree fort for Sara. Trap her in the tree fort. Matt comes out, gives Andrew a pizza, says to deliver it to Joanna’s house and also drive Joanna home. “Don’t rape her, or we’ll know,” Matt says. Joanna is standing there. “Thank you for the awkward situation,” Andrew says. “What?” Matt says. “Thank you for the awkward situation,” Andrew says. “What?” Matt says. “Thank you for the awkward situation,” Andrew says. Matt lights a cigarette. Joanna stares at Andrew. She waves. Andrew waves. Joanna is four feet from Andrew, who is sitting in his car — a Honda Civic — and they are waving at one another. She is a phone person; a high-schooler. She sits in back. Andrew feels like a chauffer. Matt is training him, taking Domino’s to the next level in cutting-edgedness.