Mars, Guitars, and Margaritas

By Jeffery Stone

Joseph Raskin was just an ordinary small town guy. He worked his forty hours through the week, and he played lead guitar in a local band on the weekends. Then one day, Joe stumbles into a better job, and his whole life changes. Gazing up at the night sky, Joe's drummer friend Tapper suspects there is something more going on. Follow the story of Joe "Razzmatazz" Raskin, and discover how he learns that there is something more to life. Happiness is more than just nice guitars and great tasting margaritas.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lively Creations
• Release date: Sep 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9781735403762

Jeffery Stone

A man of many talents, author Jeffery Stone has a creative mind. As a musician he plays guitars, bass, and keyboards. As a songwriter/poet his works include hundreds of songs, poems and lyrics. He has availed himself to learn whatever tools were necessary to facilitate his creativity. Thus, publisher, recording engineer, and artist/designer can also be added to his list of talents. His first major literary work is his family tree autobiographical. The Jeff Chronicles is an accounting about delightfully discovering unexpected connections of kin. Sticking with what he knows, he then presents us with an experiential documentary. The Security Clearance Bungle uncovers this little publically known topic through first hand experience. Next is a travel documentary chock-full of information. American Foreigner provides an excellent reference about the details of experiencing life in South Korea. Then Stone takes his first dive into the realm of science fictional drama. Mars, Guitars, and Margaritas grips us with a heart warming story of an average guy tackling an unexpected opportunity.  Reaching for meaningful existence, Jeffery Stone has been kind enough to share his creative mind with humanity. He has always aspired to achieve doing what he loves for a living. But perhaps leaving behind a legacy of heartfelt creative works is sufficient. Some are lucky enough to do what they love for a living, while others like Stone make time to live doing what they love.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Average Joe

He flings his half-filled water bottle up into the air. After turning over a few flips, it sloshes down with a thud, landing in a perfect stand up position. Sitting comfortably against the wall down on the floor, he glances up at the big round clock that everyone is watching. The Safety First sticker in the center of the clock face is barely legible. Nearly all of it has now faded away. It must have been stuck on there twenty years ago, maybe more. With only two minutes left on the clock, Joe rises up to gather his belongings and draws closer to the crowd waiting by the door. Another humdrum day at the salt mine was finished. The aimless chatter of his coworkers was mind-numbing. Joe wasn’t paying any attention to any of it. He’s got that thousand yard stare, gazing toward the clock but not really looking at it. The slightest suggestion could have easily hypnotized him. His body was drained after a hard day’s work. He just wants to get out of this place. Finally, the four o’clock buzzer sounds, bringing the much anticipated freedom to leave work. Like a herd of cattle anxiously moving in unison at feed time, the noisy crowd swiftly clears out of the room.

While walking out to the parking lot, a coworker suggests a strong drink at the bar. With barely enough energy to respond, Joe motions his agreement with a nod. As he swings open the door of his junky old car, it makes an odd creaking noise, but it’s nothing a few drops of oil couldn’t fix. Then he tosses his lunch pail over onto the passenger side. Slowly, he drags his tired body onto the seat behind the wheel. It’s pretty hot outside making his car feel like an oven, so he rolls the window down to allow the some of the heat to escape.

Joe coughs as he inhales the dust being kicked up around him in the dirt parking lot. Now he just sits motionless. Lifeless like a manikin, he tries to hold his breath for a few seconds while some of the dust cloud clears away. The dust is particularly annoying to him. His car is completely covered by dust, just like all the other employees’ cars. He is irritated by the company’s lack of action to do anything about the parking lot dust issue. For Joe, it is symbolic of how the company shows little care for their workers. The physical dust haze represents his imaginary power struggle with management. He feels that if he could just get this one small victory, then life has somehow proven to be fair and just. In the midst of the surrounding dust cloud, Joe drops his head to muster up more patience from within himself, and then he turns the key to crank up the engine.

Joe shakes his head and sarcastically mumbles to himself, Another satisfied customer.

Ironically however, he is dreadfully dissatisfied with his life. Joe is living paycheck to paycheck with barely enough to buy food and gas to survive. He rents a small trailer, but he never seems to have enough money to be able to pay the rent on time. He is exhausted and tired from working a dead end job, zero hope of advancement in pay or otherwise. And at this particular moment, Joe is longing for anything better. Whatever a long neck bottle could offer would be just fine. So he drives off through the hazy cloud of dust that still hangs in the parking lot. He is looking forward to indulging the typical poor man’s comfort of choice, an icy cold brew.

The Tiki Tavern prides itself on being a full service get your drink on establishment. The owner is an old guy named Jack McCaulley. He is an alcohol bottle collector of sorts. The tavern walls are lined with the many thousands of dusty bottles that he has collected. The old man is a Navy Veteran of 38 years, and he always wears his Captain’s hat. He’s been to dozens of countries, and he claims he’s tasted nearly every kind of alcohol that there is, at least once. None of the crowd, who frequent the Tiki Tavern, ever has big pocket money to squander. It’s mostly a blue collar, beer drinking, pool shooting, and dart throwing kind of crowd. The regulars are generally a two-beer budget clientele.

Roughly once every month or so, the Tiki Tavern hosts a luau, and the beer drinking gives way to the consumption of mixed drinks. Jack pulls out his mini bamboo Tiki counter and always ends up talking about the good old days. Everybody in the whole town has heard the story about how his heart got broken by some woman in Maui named Kalani. Anyway, there’s usually a light menu of pork with rice, and always some of Jack’s famous Jacked Up Hot Wings. Everybody comes wearing the only one Hawaiian shirt they own. And most everybody partakes in downing a few of the mixed drinks, like the house specialty called the TNT (Tiki Numbing Tonic). It’s guaranteed to knock your butt to the floor, if you wasn’t already down there.

But now was not the weekend. The Wednesday after work crowd at the Tiki Tavern were a lot more subdued, nothing but beers and pretzels and the local news playing on the TV. Jack never misses the five o’clock news, so you can always find him faithfully sitting right there in front of the tube at five. Joe walked into the Tiki Tavern hoping that there was an empty booth available. He needed some place to sit with a little back support. It had been a hard day and he just wanted to lean his body up against something vertical. He was in luck. His buddy Tapper had saved him a seat over along the wall. Tapper waved, motioning for Joe to come over.

Hey Tap, what you drinkin’?

I don’t know, it’s some new beer that Jack wanted me to try. It ain’t bad. I already got you one too.

Cool, thanks Tap.

Joe, you looked like you were about to go off on that new foreman today. What’s his name? Jakus? Jaygus?

I don’t know. It’s something stupid like that. That dude never lets up. He just keeps pushing and pushing. We don’t make enough money to put up with that kind of crap. He just doesn’t know when to quit.

I know, right. Aw… just let it go Joe.

Yeah, I don’t even want to think about that right now. Listen Tapper, we gotta tighten up the band. We sounded horrible at last week’s gig. I don’t know what we need.

We need new songs Joe. We’re all tired of playing the same ones over and over.

No, it ain’t that. Tap I’m talking about the quality of the sound. Maybe we need some better speakers, or maybe we gotta get a sound man to mix for us.

That’s not gonna happen bro.

Why not?

Joe, Raz, my good buddy, you got the talent, but we ain’t got the money. All those things cost money.

Hey this beer is pretty good Tap. I don’t know its name, but I’m calling it good.

Joe waves his arm motioning to the bar owner, Hey Jack! Jack! Good beer!

He can’t hear you Joe. Jack’s hearing ain’t what it used to be. Besides, he’s glued to that TV news right now. Even if he heard you, he didn’t really hear you.

Yeah, Joe breathes out a heavy sigh.

You look a little down my man. What’s goin’ on?

Just thinking

Well, stop doing that. You’re gonna hurt your brain.

Seriously Tap. I got a deep question for you. Why doesn’t anybody know who we are?  You know what I mean? There’s like eight billion people in the world, but nobody knows us. We are just a tiny dot on this huge planet.

Wow, Tapper laughs, I can see the alcohol is working on you. Okay, so what I think is the answer to your question … maybe it’s because we are average.

But Tap, why do we gotta be average?

Because you’re an average Joe, Joe.

It’s only one Joe, not Joe Joe. The two chuckle at the lame humor.

Fine. Dude you can be whatever you want to be.

Joe replies, I don’t believe that for a second. I’m clearly not rich.

Well, what else do you want?

I don’t know Tap. But I’m tired of being average Joe.

Listen to me Joe. Do you remember that guitar solo you did last New Year’s Eve? And remember that old guy who said you got razzmatazz?

Yeah, of course, that old geezer was drunk.

But for real Joe, you were great. You were way better than average. In that moment you were a star. That’s why I started calling you Raz.

Wow, I never knew that. I just thought you shortened my last name of Raskin.

Nope. I dubbed thee: Joe Razzmatazz Raskin, because you are just that good!

Thanks Tap. You’re a pretty good drummer too man.

Of course I am. They don’t call me Tapper for nothing.

The two chums gulp down their remaining drinks and then head towards the door. It’s now dark outside and getting late. And tomorrow brings another hard day of work in the Redmond Salt mine. Joe opens his car door and waves goodbye to his sidekick then heads down the road.

About five miles south of Salina, Joe pulls up to the tiny trailer where he lives tucked neatly out of the way on Salt Gap Road. He sees his land lady’s car parked there waiting for him.

Joe grumbles in exasperation under his breath, Dang! You have got to be kidding me.

Joe gets out of the car and so does the impatient land lord. He already knows why she is there. She wants money, money that he ain’t got.

Mr. Raskin! Mr. Raskin!

Hello Miss Swartz.

Don’t hello me. You are three weeks late with the rent.

I been workin’. I’m just getting’ home now ma’am.

"Do you have your rent money or not?

I’ll get it to you next week.

Mr. Raskin, next week will be next month. You are a whole month behind now. Next week is too late. You are only allowed five late days, not five weeks!

Joe is now standing outside the trailer in front of the door. His badgering land lady is standing right next to him, annoyingly and too uncomfortably close. His door key is in his hand ready and hovering right beside the keyhole. But rather than go inside and have to listen to the landlady continue to nag him, he puts his keys back into his pants pocket. He does an about face, and starts walking back to his car.

Mr. Raskin, where are you going? Mr. Raskin! Do you hear me young man?

Without saying a word, Joe hops into his car and drives off. He is tired and hungry. It’s been a rough day at work, and now he can’t even relax at home. With nowhere else to go, Joe heads over to his neurotic girlfriend’s place. It’s maybe not the best place to relax, but at least he can get a bite to eat.

Joe knocks on the door. Hey Nancy, can I come in? I just want to lay low here for a few hours. I’m waiting for my pestering land lady to go away.

Sure, come on in. I ain’t busy.

Joe opens her refrigerator and starts making himself a sandwich.

Nancy starts right in complaining, Joe you know eventually you’re gonna have to pay that woman. She got bills too you know. You can’t stay there for free. By the way, my food ain’t free either. Why don’t you ever got anything in your own fridge?

Nancy, it’s just one sandwich, this ain’t like steaks and lobster tails.

Joe you ain’t never bought me some lobster or steak, unless you count a cheap two dollar ground beef hamburger. And even then, I got to share the fries with you.

Well you was sharing something with that guy Greg what’s his name.

That’s because Greg got something Joe. At least he tries to take care of me. I got bills just like everybody else. And I need a man that’s got something. I need a man that’s gonna lift me up Joe.

Nancy I’m trying.

Trying when? All I ever see you do is hang out with your Rock and Roll band members and drink beer. You got money for that. You got money for you.

Nancy, you know that ain’t true.

Joe, when are you gonna do right by me? I got things I want in life. I got things I want to do. I got places I want to see. I want to see New York City. I want to visit another country. Joe I ain’t got no life.

Nancy, it just takes time. We’ll get there.

Joe I ain’t never seen anyplace outside of this lousy county line. I need a man that can give me a life. Greg says he’s gonna get me a nice cat. You know I been wanting one for a long time. I just love cats. And some day I’m gonna have me a Ferrari.

Nancy we talked about this. We ain’t the kind of people that got Ferrari money.

That’s you thinking small Joe. You got to think big. Think big and dream big, or else you ain’t never gonna have anything Joe. I want me a big five bedroom home, with a big backyard, and at least twenty babies.

Come on Nancy. That’s not realistic. Don’t nobody have twenty babies.

I will! Yes I will Joe. And you’re gonna give them to me. Do you know why? It’s because I can think big Joe. You got to expand your mind beyond the county line.

Nancy, I know you’re hurt, but you know it just wasn’t meant to be.

Joe why you got to bring that up? We had a son. He was alive inside me. And it will be again. You’ll see. Nancy starts to cry.

Jimmy don’t make me cry like this. Joe you’re just cruel. I love you, but you’re just cruel.

What? Wait. Who’s Jimmy?

Joe, get out! she says with tears streaming down her face.

Are you talkin’ about that real estate guy I saw you talking to last week? That bald headed guy?

Get out! Get out of here! she yells, sobbing uncontrollably.

Joe walks outside, and she slams the door shut. He stands there stupefied with his half eaten sandwich in his hand. He shakes his head and then shrugs his shoulders, Oh well. Then Joe takes another bite of the sandwich and walks back over to his car.

Then Joe mumbles to himself, Twenty babies?

Joe’s meager existence does not impress his neurotic part-time girl friend. She just wants a big home with a cat, a Ferrari, and twenty babies. That’s all. So she has her eyes on other men of more means, to fulfill her insane requests. Their relationship is slightly tattered. It’s complicated.

There is a special bond between Nancy and Joe. They were sweet on each other ever since middle school. And they’ve officially been a couple since high school. When Joe got a good job working at the salt mine, they had young lover’s dreams. Nancy got pregnant and Joe was finally able to buy furniture and other small household items. They were happy together and started making plans for the baby’s bedroom. A lot was spent on credit cards and loans. Then tragedy struck. Nancy had a miscarriage. That sad reality hurt them both pretty deeply. It cut through both of them like a knife. And that was the beginning of the end of the dream. They still love each other deep down. But they both feel like life just hasn’t treated them fairly. Nancy’s always had a little bit of an eccentric personality, but after she lost the baby, it was like something just snapped. She isn’t crazy or anything like that. She’s just different; she’s changed. She just doesn’t know how to face reality. Perhaps when reality rips away every ounce of what you knew to be real, it’s kind of hard to find your way back to get a grip on things.

On the flip side, Joe is a realist. He presses on through the day to day obstacles in life focused only on the task at hand. And in some ways, he has become Nancy’s one connecting string that keeps her tethered to reality. When nothing else seems to be working for her, Joe pops in to make a sandwich, and offers her a dose of practicality bringing her back down to earth. And the cycle repeats.

The next morning Joe wakes up to the harshly shrill sound of his beeping alarm clock. He bought it at a thrift store for just one dollar because, well, it was cheap and he needed one. It looks like a cheap black plastic toy with big red numbers. It’s loud, and it sounds awful. It doesn’t even sound like a real beep. It’s kind of a fake synthesized buzzing noise. It’s like whoever designed it was trying to come up with a sound so horrible that you just couldn’t ignore it. In that case, mission accomplished. It would probably make a very effective torture tool. The unbearable sound will definitely drive you out of a room.