Recession: Millennial Short Stories

By George Boreas

Twelve short stories capture the gloomy zeitgeist of the Millennial generation. Protagonists are mostly young men confronted with a failing society, with its crumbling cultural norms, failing economy, underemployment, unfeasible family life, debauchery, globalist agendas, climate change, technological apocalypse, etc. The author balances the often sombre tones with humour and reveals many of the absurdities of the early twenty-first century prejudices.

• Language: English
• Publisher: George Boreas
• Release date: Jul 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201125226

George Boreas

eorge Boreas is a Canadian expat living in Shanghai, China. He was born in the Balkans. He has a professional background in engineering and business, and he now teaches economics. He moonlights as as an amateur boxer and a writer of short stories, novels, and essays on René Girard's mimetic theory.

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Copyright © 2022 George Boreas

All rights reserved

RECESSION: MILLENNIAL SHORT STORIES

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Many locations are fictitious, and those based on real places are given fictitious characteristics for dramatic affect.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover design by: alejandrob

Recession

Millennial Short Stories 

by George Boreas

To the lost generation

For the first time in history, average Americans have less education and are less prosperous than their parents.

- Narrator, The Inside Job (2010)

Wipe the Code

Raul sat cross-legged in his hard hat, smoking a cigarette and observing office workers going into the strip mall to eat lunch. To Theo, who was sitting next to him, they looked inconsequential: they were pale and walked stiff in undersized office shirts, their doughy guts bulging over belted plain-coloured trousers. Yet, Theo’s boss Raul looked at them intensely as he sat on the lowered tailgate of his pickup truck, and who knows what he thought about them. Raul was an ignorant man who had never worked in an office.

After the break they drove the truck around the mall and got back to installing air conditioners for the mall. They had begun putting up asphalt-coloured aluminum siding in early spring, then upgrading the HVAC system. They had even repainted the big white letters on the roof that spelled the mall’s name: Horseshoe Plaza. The air conditioner units were the final piece of work. They were placed in the deserted back of the mall, across from a McDonald’s dumpster with a peculiar fast-food stench. Theo hated the stench, not so much because it was foul, but more because it reminded him of that job. They had been hauling and fixing aluminum sheets and airway ducts up on the outer walls and the roof for weeks.

The oppressive heat and hard labour made the whole crew edgy. Raul talked incessantly about the construction industry and current affairs. He was an opinionated angry man. His anger had the practical side-effect of spurring his crew to work, for which, admittedly, it was impossible to find any positive inspiration. Raul’s world was filled with puppet masters who pulled all the strings. Their identity shifted every day, but it was generally rich people that Raul had heard of or even worked for, but never anyone he actually knew.

Theo was a thoughtful young man and tried to consider Raul’s words. He wasn’t sure if Raul admired the puppet masters or resented them. Probably both. Theo didn’t agree with him, but he felt sorry for his ignorance and didn’t get confrontational.

Darius was another crew worker. He had a pale face and shaded blue eyes. He was of a slim build and medium height, but his butt chin and wiry limbs gave him a mildly threatening look. He was only a few weeks on the job and talked little. When he did talk to Theo, it was mostly to mock some other worker. He had a lingering Satanic smile. However, his demonic powers were not very impressive, because Raul routinely abused Darius, often calling him names: a bum, a good-for-nothing. Darius would smile incredulously in response, shake his head, but he wouldn’t talk back. It was as though he was accustomed to such judgements of his character. It must also be admitted that Raul complemented his abusive verbiage with a rather imposing physique, consisting among other things of a skinny but ridiculously tall frame, and a bushy grey moustache. Raul wasn’t nice to any of his subordinates, but he reserved the bulk of his scorn for Darius.

In the afternoon, the owner of the strip mall, Larry, came to check out the crew’s work. He was a slum lord and a crime boss, and he looked the part. He wore a ponytail and a Hawaiian shirt, and on his fat wrist he had an abnormally large baguette bracelet in solid gold. His chauffeur and bodyguard was a tall and slender thug who looked like a kickboxer and never wiped his frown off his face. He was barely in his twenties. From the few words he said it was clear that he was exceedingly dumb, and even more aggressive. The kickboxer served as Larry’s human pit bull, and he also had his own pit bull, an actual dog, on a leash.

Raul’s attitude transformed in presence of Larry. He turned from a resentful bully to an obsequious servant. Darius’ demonic smile tempered somewhat, and Theo looked not to get noticed. It was only three of them working on that day, the rest of the crew having been taken off the project because it was about to be finished and they were mostly wrapping up.

Larry parked his black Range Rover in front of a truck dock and invited the crew over to it. He took out a box of doughnuts and coffees for them and the three labourers sat down for an afternoon break. They perched on a guard rail looking onto the truck dock, around the corner from their work and away from the stench of the dumpsters.

Now that’s an amazing car, said Raul, I had a chance to drive one of those a couple of years back. My cousin had one. It’s a hell of a machine. Top styling.

Everything about that big boss is top styling, said Theo, haircut, jewelry, clothing; the guy looks like he walked out of a gangster flick.

You better watch what you say about gangsters, boy, said Raul.

Larry and his human and animal pit bulls went around to have a look at the work done. End of that week was the deadline and due date for paying the second half of the invoice, so they came to check that the work is wrapping up to satisfaction.

When Larry returned from the inspection, he invited Raul over to his SUV. He complained: This job’s no good. Our tenants are complaining about the heat. That thing’s not generating enough power to cool the mall. And you’re two months over the original deadline.

Raul cursed in Portuguese, then answered in English: Boss, you approved of the model! I told you what it can do, and you picked it. You picked the cheapest one. Don’t be like that now.

Larry was not pacified. You people drive me nuts, man. You first wanted me to pay a quarter-mill for an AC unit. That’s bull. You think I’m an idiot here?

Yeah, old man, the human pit bull added, Who you think you are to insult my boss like that? His animal pit bull tugged at the leash.

Looking at them out of the hearing range, Theo and Darius saw that Raul fussed, and Larry shook his head often. Raul returned to them and lit a cigarette. He looked despondently into the distance.

To hell with this life, he said. He explained what was the problem.

Theo was angry and he had an idea. Boss, I can type in a command and the whole electronic control system code will be wiped out. It’ll take another crew a whole week just to figure out everything we’ve done. And then another week to calibrate everything again. They don’t pay, we wipe the controller clean. If they do, I can re-enter the command and the code will be restored.

After the cigarette Raul went back to the SUV with Larry and his pit bulls. They had been unloading some stuff into the truck dock. There was a muffled argument, and it ended with Raul yelling: If you don’t pay, we wipe the electronics. That’s it.

He then walked off. Larry waved him off and the two men and the dog packed into the car and drove off.

After another cigarette Raul stepped off the guard rails and went into the mall to sit indoors and call some friends for advice. Theo and Darius walked back around the corner to the air conditioner. They were surprised to see the kickboxer meddling with the control box. His dog’s leash was tied to a steel post. He was trying to pry open the box and take out the controller.

Hey, leave that alone! shouted Theo.

The kickboxer turned around and cussed him off. The man looked wild and threatening, and Darius and Theo turned back and around the corner. They stopped just out of sight and talked. They made a plan of attack. Theo ran up and jumped on the kickboxer’s back before the latter could turn around away from the control box. Theo had him in a flimsy chokehold. The kickboxer stood up and began trying to fling Theo off his back. This lasted a short few moments, for Darius walked up to the scuffle and hit the kickboxer in the gut with a hammer. The blow felled him immediately. While he was on the ground, Darius and Theo kicked him with their steel-toed boots. The kickboxer began to bleed from the mouth and skull.

The canine pit bull was growling and barking furiously throughout the scrap. Darius threw the hammer at the dog and hit him, and the dog yelped and limped, injured. He then took a steel beam from Raul’s truck and laid the dog out with a blow to the head. Theo walked over and looked at the dog. The animal was dead, its erstwhile growling chest now still, and its head disfigured, with one eye popped out of the socket and hanging on a string of nerves. Half of the facial bones were crushed in.

There was no one in the back of the mall. Only the stench of the dumpster. Theo opened the control box with a key and removed the controller and put it in his pocket.

The kickboxer soon got up cursing and staggered back to his car, a white worker’s van. He made no eye contact with his attackers. Theo and Darius monitored his movements. Just before he got into the car and drove off, Raul arrived on the scene and caught sight of the blood on the man’s head and face. He then saw the dog dead.

Get in the truck, he calmly told his two employees.

Darius disobeyed. He took out his backpack from the truck’s cabin and walked away from the property. Theo stayed. He felt ready for war.

Some forty-five minutes later Larry drove up in his Range Rover. He got out and walked up to the window of the truck. All right you animals. Can we all agree that nothing happened here?

What happened? said Raul.

Larry tossed a white slip into the car. It was the check for the second half of the payment. He then walked over and picked up the dead dog. It took some effort, but he managed to lift him into his trunk. He then drove off.

Raul turned to Theo: You are fired. Who do you think you punks are? And do you have any idea who you just made into an enemy?

You are going to let that puppet master string you like that, eh?

I got to feed my family, you snotty brat. And you are now between them and their bread.

*

Theo returned from work at seven in the evening. It was still sunny. The heat was warm and caressed his skin as he sat on the porch of his parents’ house. It was no longer the oppressive heat of midday. It was Friday evening, the beginning of the weekend. The construction work that week had been gruelling, and Theo was going out as he did every weekend, to seek powerful stimuli that will make him forget about his mind-numbing daily reality.

He got a text message from Darius. That man is best avoided, Theo thought, but earlier that day Darius had his back. They needed to discuss what happened. Darius was coming to pick him up in fifteen minutes.

Theo walked back into the house and upstairs to his room. He showered and put on his party clothes. He put on his gold chain, styled his hair, and put on cologne. Downstairs, his parents were yelling at each other, and his younger siblings were screaming around the house. His dad was sliding into full-blown alcoholism, and there was nothing anyone could do or say about it. Theo and his old man avoided each other because they both feared that a violent confrontation may break out.

Darius texted him that he had arrived. As Theo slid down the stairs towards the front door, his mother asked him where he was going. He answered out as rushed out. The screaming in the house drove him nuts, and he was relieved to have left.

An old black Mercedes was waiting for him in front of the driveway. Darius sat smiling in the passenger seat. Theo got in the back.

This is my cousin Marco, Darius introduced the driver.

Creepy looks seemed to run in their family, thought Theo. Marco was even paler and more bug-eyed than Darius. Darius always looked somewhat sweaty and oily. His face showed a range of emotions. These were signs and proof that he was subject to the physiological processes of ordinary humans. His cousin Marco on the other hand looked like a vampire. His face was deathly pale and dry, and it showed no emotion whatsoever. The pallor of his skin was highlighted by black hair that receded into a broad m-shape – much like that of Count Dracula - and jet-black seventies moustache.

Marco’s got a sweet condo downtown, said Darius to Theo, Want to join us there and party? He’s got a DJ set and everything.

Sounds good man, said Theo.

Darius then produced a massive bag of marijuana and started to roll a joint. He passed the bag to Theo so he can roll his own. It was a day of plenty, thought Theo. Darius also produced a tub of hemp oil. Theo had never seen such a thing before.

That’s going to give you a massive kick, said Darius. You smudge some on the zigzags.

Sure enough the weed was powerful. The three men took a long, slow route towards downtown. The sun was setting. Marco played a reggae record that matched and enhanced the marijuana high.

So what do you do for a living, Marco? asked Theo.

I’m a property manager.

And his hobby is marijuana, added Darius, as you can see, he-he. He’s got some sweet connections, don’t you cuz?

Let’s just say I know some very important people, said Marco.

Cool, which properties? Theo asked again.

Several high rises downtown, Marco answered.

We are making a quick detour to one of them right now, said Darius, then we will head back to Spaulding Avenue to the condo.

Oh, you got some work to do man? Theo addressed Marco, Then just drop us off at the club district.

It’s only a quick drop-off, don’t worry, explained Darius. Marco wasn’t quick with words.

The marijuana turned out especially potent. Theo and Darius got extremely high; Theo thought it was one of the highest highs he ever experienced. Marco took a couple of puffs too. It seemed to Theo that they were driving in one eternal circle on the ring road, stuck forever in the golden-brown city dusk, a soft light that was at once beautiful and ominous. Reggae blasted. The music made the car windows tremble and buzz.

Theo observed the other two passengers from the back. He had never spent any time bonding with Darius. Marco was a complete mystery. Darius is more mellow when high. His psycho grin stretches wider. That makes sense. And this Marco guy looks exactly like a big fat raccoon. Complete with whiskers. A psychopath raccoon. This is tripping me out. I wonder if he’s ever killed a man. With those slow raccoon hands. What if he tries to kill me? No big deal. I will kill him first, he-he. He may be a psychopath, but he can’t be that smart. And he’s so doughy. I need some catharsis anyhow. Bloody catharsis. Better Marco than my father. Whoa, I wouldn’t do that. Never. Man: this weed is strong.

At some point after that Marco got a call from his girlfriend. Theo was surprised that Marco had a girlfriend, or that he was capable of any form of intimacy whatsoever. He inferred from Marco’s words that the woman had lost her house keys. Perhaps some other household item. Marco remained cold as ice, but his words were incredibly abusive.

Well honey, you are such a damned retard. What exactly is the use of having you in the house? You never clean the house. You live like a pig. It’s always cluttered. There’s no wonder you lose stuff all the time. Maybe don’t be such a stupid pig next time.

They pulled up to a run-down housing project parking lot for the drop-off. A young man in a sports hoodie walked over to the car and leaned into the passenger window. He seemed restless, as he was constantly rocking back and forth. Lo and behold, he too had raccoon eyes. Darius pulled a plastic-wrapped rectangular package out of the glove compartment and handed it to the man, who quickly slipped it under his grey hoodie and disappeared.

As they drove off, Marco finally initiated a conversation, rather than merely responding to others. Darius told me you had a scuffle with Larry today. That story was hilarious. I can just imagine Larry’s face when he saw that kid all bloodied up. And the dead dog, ha-ha.

Wait, you know the plaza owner? asked Theo, The guy with the ponytail?

Oh, of course. I manage half his properties. Listen, you guys got nothing to worry about. The matter has already been resolved. Larry stepped over the line. He’s like that, he’ll test you to see how much he can squeeze you. But if he sees that you can’t be squeezed, he’s reasonable.

Good to know! said Theo. He was surprised and he began to piece it all together.

Yeah man, said Darius, We got bikers on our side, thanks to Marco. Larry won’t do a thing.

They finally arrived at the condo. It was an expensive glass high-rise. They were greeted by several young males in Marco’s apartment. The main room was devoid of furniture, except for a large mattress on the floor and a DJ set with two speakers size of small washing machines, mounted on stands to face height. A couple of white folding chairs were scattered for those who were tired of standing but wanted to avoid the intimacy of the mattress.

Two guys were sprawled on the mattress, dysfunctionally high. A third man was spinning on the DJ set and listening to the music that was playing only on headphones. Someone was smoking a cigarette on a small balcony connected to the room, a small square space with a glorious view of downtown.

The new arrivals settled in and Marco took over the DJ set. He started blasting reggae on the speakers so loud that Theo could hardly talk to anyone.

It’s a sick system, someone told Marco.

It is, said Marco, but the stupid neighbours complain about the noise all the time.

You have to play reggae loud to fully enjoy it, said Darius, smiling.

At some point Marco approached Theo and started a conversation with him. He didn’t make eye contact, and he talked slow. Darius told me everything that you did today. You got balls, and you got brains. That’s rare.

Thanks.

Marco continued with a lethargic expression that almost looked like he was cross-eyed: I don’t know why you do that job with that grouchy grandpa, what’s his name? It’s a gutter job, and you have a gutter boss. You are too good for that.

I hate that job, man, said Theo. Thinking of his past experiences on the job, and imagining the prospect of it going on indefinitely, his stoned mind filled