One More Thing: Stories and Other Stories(60)

Today, I am a former millionaire living in an air-conditioned apartment not far from the historic town of Patchogue, New York. Would I give it all up to change places with you, a gifted teen on the cusp of an unforgettable summer of priceless, idle pleasures? Of course not. Being a gifted teen is a walking, waking nightmare. But perhaps, with some time and effort, you can change places with me.

Remember, there is no adult supervision at Camp Fantastic, so be sure to keep an eye out for your own safety and best interests.

As a favor to me, please do not kill yourself at Camp Fantastic.

Have a fantastic time.

Pugel Karnopovich, Jr.

Founder, Camp Fantastic





There Is a Fine Line Between Why and Why Not





“There is a very fine line between why and why not,” said our graduation speaker.

And the secret of life was to live right on that line.

Or on the “why not?” side.

Or on the “why?” side, but you’re always looking over at “why not?” and wondering.

Something like that. None of us remembered. All of these made a lot of sense. Whatever it was, it was a great speech, and if we ever need to know it exactly, we can look it up.





The Man Who Told Us About Inflatable Women





“Why do I prefer inflatable women?” asked the old man with a torn-throat chuckle, as if surprised, yet in a way not surprised, to have posed himself this question. “Why do I prefer inflatable women?” he asked again, this time with a shake of his head, as though he just couldn’t help being charmed by himself, despite his better wisdom, despite knowing himself all too well.

It was a question on none of our minds. We shot each other little “get me out of here” glances. We didn’t want to know. But now, at this point we also didn’t want to not know, because then we’d always be thinking about it: working it into our group emails as that inside-joke reference you all just had to refer to, eventually out of tradition, long after it had stopped being charming; waking up in the middle of the night with that sudden, quarter-conscious certainty that we had solved it!—but then forgetting the theory by morning; eventually, if it came to this, paying to see one of those “Joke Man” acts that come through the local comedy club from time to time, where the audience is invited to shout out the first parts of jokes so that the Joke Man can prove he knows all the jokes there are to know, and shouting out “Why did the old man prefer inflatable women?” and taking the risk that the Joke Man might actually have the integrity to simply stand there alone in the silence and admit “I never heard that one. What’s the punch line?” and you’d have to say, in front of the whole comedy club, that you didn’t know either, that it was just a real thing that had genuinely been on your mind.

No, it could only get worse if we didn’t find out now.

But it turned out that we didn’t have to ask.

“I don’t prefer them because they’re inflatable,” continued the old man, now all of a sudden more than able to answer the question that had seemed to baffle him only seconds earlier.

His old eyes smiled and his old mouth crackled with decaying mischief as he savored one last second of mystery. “I prefer them because they’re deflatable.”

Oh, gross.

He laughed and rotated his cigar slowly, as though examining it to make sure it was burning evenly, but which he couldn’t have been doing, because when he finished rotating it he nodded at it firmly, sure and pleased, even though the cigar wasn’t burning even close to evenly by any measure. Then he slid another sip of whiskey down his mouth, and then he laughed some more, softer and softer, until he was laughing in perfect silence, as if a skilled DJ were slowly turning his volume knob down to zero.

It was a tasteless thing to say, but I had to admit he said it in a cool way.

Also, who invited this guy? This was supposed to be a party celebrating Mike’s two-year-old’s birthday, and I thought he said he was going to keep things small. Mike said he didn’t know him.





A New Hitler





We need a new Hitler.

Let me explain: a new Hitler nothing like the old Hitler.

I think we can all agree that the old Hitler was a monster, a maniac, and an evil man.

I’m talking about a new Hitler.

I’m talking about a Hitler who’s against genocide. I’m talking about a Hitler who’s opposed to world domination. Now, that’s the kind of Hitler I might be able to get behind! A Hitler who wants to improve our schools. A Hitler who understands that ordinary Americans need more access to health care—and isn’t afraid to tell that to Congress! A new Hitler! A good Hitler.

Hopefully, the new Hitler would not have the name “Hitler,” because I think people might find that distracting.





Constructive Criticism





When it was almost complete, Don took his ten-year-old son to see the office building he had been supervising for almost two years.

Don Junior wanted to be an architect. Just like his dad. That’s what he had declared one night over spaghetti and ketchup, and every birthday and Christmas since then—five, in total—had been devoted to toys, then posters, then books about architecture and construction.