Searching for N's

By J. Mara

Dan Burke has been a part of the grinding consumerist machine for his entire life, but after an inspiring conversation with his near-death grandfather Dan decides that his life is missing purpose and he sets out to find it.

Born in Barrie, Ontario, Dan has spent all his life living in Toronto’s bedroom.  Dan has never made a difficult decision, and those around him have scripted his entire life.  A general sense of contentment is all that he has ever known.  His relationships with his family, friends, and girlfriend exist without reflection and without question.  Despite his comfort, though, Dan has never truly known happiness.  

That is, until Dan’s grandfather, whose near-fatal heart attack has left him hospitalized, challenges him to fight for purpose and individuality in his life.  Dan accepts the challenge, but at the cost of his job, his relationships, and his comfortable existence.  From this somber beginning, Dan takes up a backpack and heads out onto the road less travelled.  From Amsterdam to Mumbai to Incheon, Dan’s journey is fuelled by his need for something new, challenging, and deeply personal.  Dan sets out to illuminate the dark corners that he has always hid from by shining a light on his comfortable ignorance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: That Which Consumes
• Release date: Nov 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536545531

J. Mara

J. Mara began travelling in his mid 20s and hasn't stopped since.  He is married and has a beautiful daughter.  They live elsewhere.

Book preview

Part One

Chapter 1

There is no sense of job fulfillment here, no sense of life fulfillment.  They employ probably three hundred people, and not one of them is happy.  All we do is stand around wearing these stupid fucking orange aprons and asking each do-it-yourselfer if they need any help. 

If they can't choose their own doorknob, how are they going to install it?

It's not the customers fault, though.  They are rarely right, but it's not their fault.  If anything, I'm to blame for working here.  If no one worked in this brick and mortar prison than it would cease to exist. 

Is it necessary? 

Am I a necessary cog to the wheel of our capitalistic culture?  I suppose someone has to do what I do, but why did I sign up for this corporate slave bonding?  I am paid so little these are the only places I can afford to shop.  It's a vicious cycle.

The Home Depot's Chief Slave Driver is one smart cookie, I guess.  How did he get that job?  Does he feel empowered?  I imagine that the bushel of money he's made makes the lack of human decency digestible.

That might be a rather harsh judgment. 

He does allow me to participate as a 'functioning member of society' with my twelve dollar an hour wage. 

I'm functioning, but barely.

Again, I guess it's my own fault.  A Bachelor of Arts degree in English isn't exactly the golden ticket to the perfect life. 

What is the perfect life, though? 

I have no clue, but I'm supposed to believe that it somehow involves the Home Depot, Wal-Mart, Costco, and all these other corporate machines.

Excuse me? A voice reaches from reality and pulls me out of my daydream. 

Day nightmare? 

I turn and see a short skinny man with an alcoholic nose and his rather plump looking wife.  How can I help you? I say automatically. 

I am the cog.

Our son, he says with a mix of disgust and humour, kicked a ball through our bedroom window.

I wait for him to continue, but he just stares expectantly at me.  Okay... 

What am I supposed to do about it?    Sell him a custom window, I guess.

Well... it has a big hole in it now, so we need a new one. 

The man with the Bukowski nose and the large lady exchange a glance of shared frustration. 

Because I’m the idiot.

I decide to speak at the speed of the average schlep.  Do. You. Have.  The measurements? 

Nooo... He draws the ‘o’ out in an obnoxious way.  We just came to get a standard size.

There is no such thing as a standard window size.

Rinse and repeat.

His lips curl like a snarling dog.  Listen; if you don’t want our business then I’ll head to Lowes. 

And they will tell you the same thing.  Listen, I’m not trying to be an ass.

I am.

But think about all of the windows in your house.  Are they all the same size? I give them a moment to consider. 

I’ll bet they aren’t.  Therefore, no standard sizes are available.  We can order them, though, if you bring in the measurements. 

I should really record one of these conversations, so that I can just hit play with the next customer.  Every day it’s the same damn thing.

After some huffing and puffing, they eventually leave.  Sometimes I feel bad about being mean, but then I remember that it’s not my fault.  The Home Depot made me this way. 

I am the cog to their wheel.

Chapter 2

Shift’s over, my apron is off, and I’m en route to the British Arms. 

I hate driving through this city.  Nothing interesting has ever been built here.  The giant Spirit Catcher is the most fascinating thing this city has, and it was built in some far off place. 

Barrie lacks character, culture, and charm.  It does, however, have an abundance of things that taste bland, sound bland, and look bland.  This is why the Home Depot thrives here.  Barrie is a big box corporation’s wet dream. 

I decide to take Lakeshore Drive to the pub.  I pass the Salvation Army, and see a couple of old homeless men bickering outside.  It’s always a rare occurrence to see a homeless person in Barrie.  It’s like seeing a lynx.

Lakeshore is under construction again. 

I thought they finished this shit.

The whole road is down to one lane, and some unlucky young officer of the law is directing the traffic.  His brow is slick with sweat from the late afternoon sun.  I wait for a minute or so, and then he waves my lane through.

One of the ever-annoying radio personalities from The Edge 102.1 is jabbering inanely about dating.  Every day there seems to be less and less music and more and more pointless conversation.  I turn it off.

I park my car and walk inside the pub.  Pete’s sitting at a table with Anne, one of the servers.  He has his standard smirk on, and he’s trying to woo the young woman. 

She’s wearing a short tartan skirt and a tight black collared shirt.  Her top is unbuttoned enough to show the pale skin of her chest.  She’s sexy, but some element of her being irks me.  Pete always invites her to sit down with us, and I can barely stand hearing her speak.

I walk up to the table.  Hey, buddy.

Pete looks up from Anne’s peaks, and the smirk turns to a smile.  Hey, Dan.

Anne says.  I haven’t seen you in a while.

Yeah, I’ve been busy with work and what not.

Bullshit, Pete says.  He looks to Anne, his eyes quickly darting down to her breasts again.  His girlfriend keeps him locked up.

Fuck off, I say sitting down.  Can I get a pint of Rickard’s, Anne?

Sure.  She eases herself out of the chair, providing Pete and I with an excellent look at her black lace bra.  She’s sexy, but overtly so.  I’ve never been a fan.

How was work?  Pete throws a few peanuts into his mouth.  As he chews, a couple of peanut chunks get stuck on his snaggletooth.

How the hell does this guy get so many girls?

It was work.  I need to get another job.

You say that every week, so why don’t you?

I look, but there isn’t anything better.  I could go work for Costco or Lowes, but what’s the point?  It’s the same shit.

Pete shrugs, and turns his attention to the television over my shoulder.  His smirk returns, as Anne drops my beer onto a coaster.  She slides it towards me making sure to bend enough so her chest is in plain view. 

She smiles sweetly, and then she walks back to the bar.  A couple of guys are sitting on the stools watching the highlights from last night’s baseball game.

She’s so hot, Pete says.

Yeah, I guess.

Pete scrunches up his face.  You know she is.

I take a long drink, denying him an immediate response.  Yeah, she is, but there is something about her that just irritates me.  I can’t really explain it.

I didn’t say I thought she had a great mind.  Her body is sexy.  That’s all.

I shake my head.  I’ve never been able to disassociate the personality from the body, but, then again, I’ve only ever slept with Mel. 

He waves his hand in the air.  That’s why you’re with Mel.  You think about shit like that.  You’ve never had a one night stand have you?  I shake my head.  Not even when you went to York?

Pete, I lived at home while I went to York.  Mel and I have been together since the end high school.  You know that.

He leans over his beer.  You’ve never strayed?

No.  I’d feel too guilty.  I couldn’t do that to Mel.

Good on you then, man.  I can’t imagine being with a girl for as long as the two of you have been together.  At least not right now, anyway.  He pauses to take a drink.  Maybe when I’m thirty or something, he says with a snort.

It’s not so bad.  You get use to it.

Pete finishes the dregs of his beer.  He waves his hand, and a moment later Anne is standing beside me.  He orders another pint.  She leaves.

You’ve never been curious?

About what?

About the billions of other women on the planet?  Maybe there’s someone you’d like better.

Of course I’ve wondered.  Is it worth it, though?  What if Mel and I break up and I never find something that works as well?

Anne brings Pete another round of beer and breast.  She hurries off quickly when another customer calls her name.

Don’t be an idiot.  Maybe you wouldn’t find any one better, but you’d at least have slept with a few more girls.  He sits back in his chair satisfied with his little speech.  He throws a couple of peanuts down his gullet.  At any rate, how is Mel?

I laugh. 

What an asshole.

She’s good.  Why the sudden interest in Mel’s well-being, though?

He shrugs and says, I have nothing against Mel. I like her, but I think that there are a lot of other cool chicks out there that would suit you.

I’ll be sure to pass along the compliment.

The sex must be fantastic.

I nearly choke on my beer.  What do you mean?

With Mel.  The sex must be fantastic.

I lean back in my chair, and rest my arm along the one beside me.  Enlighten me, I say beckoning him to continue.

Well, you’ve been with her for a long time so I figure that must be one of the big reasons why.

I have no complaints.

Pete raises his hand, and in a moment Anne is standing beside me.  Have a seat gorgeous, he says patting the chair beside him. 

That shit works?

She sits down.

Pete brings her up to speed by saying So, our good friend Dan, here, says that his sex life is great.

Her cheeks flush.  She is clearly interested in Pete, but he makes her feel uncomfortable. 

Okay... She says wanting him to continue.

Pete looks me in the eyes. 

He’s trying to challenge me.  It’s a show of strength or something.

How often do you have sex, Dan?

I’m not talking to you about my sex life Pete.

Why not?  It’s a simple question, and I’m curious.  I’ve never been in a long-term relationship, and I’m interested in the staying power of great sex.

Anne seems to accept Pete’s interest as truthful, but I know him better.  He isn’t interested in the consistency of great sex in a long-term relationship, but, rather, he wants me to admit that I’m not happy with the sex I’m having.  I’m not ecstatic about it, but I’m sure as hell not going to tell him that.

The sex is good Pete.  That’s all that I’m going to say.

He looks to Anne, and he feigns a look of innocence.  Alright! Alright.  He lifts his hands in a show of mercy.

How long have you been with your girlfriend Dan?  Anne asks.

It takes me a moment to count back the time.  About five and a half years, I guess.

Her eyes open wide, Wow, a long time!

Yeah, it is.  We met in high school, and we’ve been together ever since.

Her glossy lips purse together.  Aw.  That’s sweet! 

She looks to Pete, and he promptly fakes that he wants to be sick.

Shut up, I say stifling a laugh. 

I wish I had a sweet boy like you, Anne says with her eyes still on Pete.  He tries to contain a laugh, but he fails and beer dribbles out of his mouth.

Speaking of... I indicate the spilt beer on Pete’s face, May I have another?

Of course, Dan.  She heaves herself out of her seat, and she makes her way to the bar.

I think you might have a new admirer, Dan.

Even if I was single I wouldn’t want your sloppy seconds.

I’m sorry, but I think my sloppy seconds might be better than whatever it is you have.

Why am I friends with him?

Chapter 3

Dinner’s ready!  Mom shouts from below. 

There are some benefits to living at home.

In the kitchen, she is busy dropping food onto four separate plates.  Steam rises from the freshly baked potatoes and fogs up her prescription glasses.  She takes them off and lays them next to the sink.

Chrissy is already at the table.  She’s texting as usual.  I mess up her hair as I walk behind and sit down in the seat next to her.  She barely notices my existence.

Her finger tips fly like they are on fire and each keystroke is a potential basin of water.  It’s a marvellous display of dexterity, and it never ceases to amaze me.  The words seem to come out before she can even think of them. 

Jerry! Dinner!  Mom screams from the top of the basement staircase.  Why does he persist in prolonging his arrival to dinner every night?

The old man lumbers up the staircase, each step creaking under the weight of age and beer.  He settles into the seat to my right, at the head of the table.  He wiggles his ballooning ass between the armrests, and when he finally touches down he emits a sigh of a job well done.  The wooden chair groans under the weight of the chief.

Mom rushes back and forth between the table and the kitchen counters trying to place all of the food on the table in a neat and organized way.  Father Jerry pleads, Sit down Nance.  Everything looks fine.

Not great, but fine.

I will, I will.  She says.

This is the same scene every night, and, eventually, she has nothing left to do but sit down.

Rinse and repeat.

I stare out across the food and drink.  Chrissy mindlessly stabs small bits of food with her fork and then she gently sucks them off the end.  All the while, she looks as though she is telepathically texting; or thinking about all the messages she’ll send as soon as her food becomes busy with digestion.

Mom looks like she’s surveying the damage done to her persistently clean kitchen.  She’s anticipating how long she’ll be in here cleaning tonight. 

I should help tonight.  I think that I should every night, but I never do.  I should help tonight.

Ol’ Jerry in his Canadian tuxedo and with his big round belly looks miserable.  I suppose every middle-aged man is supposed to look like this though.  I wonder if he ever thinks about what his life would be like had he used a condom.  Would he and Nancy still be together?  That’s probably how he gets to sleep every night.  Dreams of what could have been.

He is my idol, or, rather, he is supposed to be.  He is the image to which I have to craft my own identity. 

I’m not looking forward to middle age.

So, Danny, your father and I were talking... Mom ventures out into the wilderness of dinnertime conversation.  She lets the sentence hang.

This must be money related.  Every time she drops the rest of the sentence, it is money related. Wondering?  I prod.

You need to start paying rent. The patriarch decrees without bothering to swallow.

Fuck. 

I can’t afford to pay rent and save for a house on what I make.  Are you serious?  We’re family!

You’re almost twenty-four years old.  Are you going to live here forever?

You know that I’m trying to save for a place of my own.

He puts his fork down, and he stares into my eyes.  I hate it when he does this.  I’m easily intimidated.  And you’ve been saving for over a year.  You graduated almost fifteen months ago, Dan.

I know when I graduated.  I have a fair bit in the bank, but I think that the more I save the better.

I don’t disagree, but you can’t live here indefinitely.  How much money has Mel saved?

She’s back in school and you know that.  She’s not saving anything right now.

You still plan to move in with her?  He returns his focus to the plate in front of him.  Mom sits across from him interested, but unwilling to add anything.  Chrissy finally looks as though she’s involved with what is going on around her.  Her ears have perked with interest.

Yeah, that’s the idea.

Jerry just shakes his head.  He’s told me before that he thinks this is a bad idea, so at least he has the decency not to say it again. 

A few moments of silence, and then he says, I think it’s a bad idea.  My father, oh what an indecent human.

I know you do.  I chew on a few pieces of pork.  If you make me pay rent than I’ll have to live here even longer.

In the periphery, I see Chrissy roll her eyes.  Oh shut up, Chrissy.

I didn’t say anything, ass.

Leave your sister alone, Dan.  At least she’s got plan for the future.

Plans?  What plans?  She’s fourteen years old!

Yeah, no kidding.  What were your plans when you were fourteen?  Porn and video games? 

Ouch, Dad, that hurts.

Your sister is very bright, Daniel, Nancy adds.

"But she’s fourteen."

All three of them shrug, and with their collective shrugs they label me an outcast.  I’m no longer wanted here.  So I’m a loser then?

Yes, Jerry says simply.

What is this shit?  You guys all-of-a-sudden hate me?

We don’t hate you Daniel. 

Thanks Mom.

Listen, Dad puts his fork down, and he stares into my eyes again.  You’re almost twenty-four years old, you live at home, and you work at the Home Depot.  You need to get your shit together, Dan.

You told me to apply to the Home Depot last summer!

Yeah, because I didn’t want you sitting on my couch all summer doing nothing.  You have a tendency to be a lazy ass.

This conversation is not going my way.  I’m looking for something else.  There isn’t much that relates to my field.  I regret saying this immediately.

Jerry’s mouth curls into a smile.  What exactly is your field?  The juice from the pork dribbles out of his mouth and down his chin.

English Literature.  I hang my head.  He never passes up an opportunity to harp on me about my education. 

You should look into apprenticeships. He had said when I was applying to schools.

What type of job do you hope to get in your ‘field’? He asks.  The disdain for my education drips from his mouth like the saucy bits of pork.

I’m not sure, really.  An editor maybe or I could do some writing.  Reviews, or stuff like that.  I’ve been submitting book and movie reviews to a couple of websites.

And are these reviews profitable?

I look to the other members of this roundtable, but they are of no help.  Mom is quietly listening, but she shows no signs of support.  Chrissy, has finished her dinner and she’s quietly texting under the table.  Normally, she’d get in shit for that, but I guess the attention is off her. She’s free to exercise her dexterous phone skills.

No, I do them for free, but it’s a stepping stone.

You can’t always be taking these stepping stones.  At some point you have to get to where you’re going.

I’ve thought about going back to school.

Maybe.

For what?

Chrissy looks up from her glowing lap, and she says, May I be excused?  Mom waves her off.

I could become a teacher, get my MBA, or get a Master’s or something.

Don’t fool yourself with an MBA.  Teaching, though, that’s a good job.  Are you going to follow through with that, or are you just speaking out of your ass?

I don’t know! I plead.  It’s something.

Yeah, and it’s a good something, but you have to be sure about it before you start the process. 

Mom starts clearing away the dishes, and she moves further back into the kitchen.  Jerry rests his elbows on the table and he