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Gnomes and Thunderbirds

written by Abteen Bagheri-Fard

Hello. Thanks for visiting this page. I have created this website so I

can tell you something—something that happened May 6, 2006, which was

and will be forever, the day I got fired. My mother told me that if I wanted to

write about it, I should change the names of all those involved. This would

be for everyone’s protection. I’m not interested in protecting anyone, so

here’s my disclaimer:

All characters appearing in this work are factual. Any resemblance to

real persons, living or dead, is purely intended.

My name is Michael Graham. I got fired from my job at the Arlington

Gnome and Appliance Factory in Brainerd, Minnesota. At Arlington, they

make everything from pots to garden appliances, to forks and knives. But

they’re mainly known for their garden gnomes.

That’s where I worked—the garden gnome division. It’s on the first

floor. At around 8:00 am each morning, I came in with my red tin, cylindrical

lunch box, grabbed a hair net, some goggles, and some colored latex gloves

and sat at station number 2. Station 2 was (and probably still is) a long

conveyer belt that ran unpainted garden gnomes between me and ten other

people. Our job at Station 2 was simple: we colored the gnomes. But we

didn’t color the whole gnome—no, the job was split into five different

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stations. Station 1 did the eyes, Station 2 did the hats (that was us), Station

3 did the pants, Station 4 did the shirts, and Station 5 did the hair and beard.

By the way, I’m in love with Nancy Richter—she worked (probably still does)

at Station 3.

I wasn’t allowed to listen to music on my headphones at Arlington. Our

ears needed to be “free” in case there was an emergency or a fire. One time

a gnome caught on fire. I don’t know how—but they’re made of plastic and I

believe that’s flammable. It was just kind of burning, going down the

conveyer belt—its face melting and dripping everywhere. Julio put it out

using half a can of his energy drink. Nancy hugged him and said thanks. I

wish Nancy noticed me. Unfortunately, the layout of the warehouse had it so

everyone at Station 3 was facing the other way. I wish Nancy wore a

backless dress to work. I wish Nancy worked naked.

Well, she did notice me. You see, my first month at Arlington, I used to

get bored quickly. To pass the time when the conveyer belt was moving

slowly, I’d use the airbrush to paint other objects I had brought in for fun. I

only had the color red at my disposal so it would be things like a small

racecar and once, a red plastic dog. One day, I had nothing to paint so I

started very carefully airbrushing my fingernails. At lunch, Nancy noticed my

red fingernails gripping my bologna sandwich and approached me. She said

she couldn’t help but notice my choice of nail color. She liked it very much.

Then she excused herself for asking the question, but politely asked if I were

gay. By mistake, I said yes.

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Yes was my ready-made go-to response. In cases of extreme

nervousness, it is the correct answer 60% of the time. I have included a list

of when it would be appropriate:

“Would you like to get some coffee?” Yes.

“Are you single?” Yes.

“Are you free later?” Yes.

And when it wouldn’t work:

“What’s your name?” Yes.

“Where do you work?” Yes.

“Who is your favorite actor?” Yes.

Clearly, it is also a less than adequate response when dealing with the

occasional inquiry regarding sexual orientation.

So for the next week I did nothing but spray paint gnome hats and

wonder how I could get the girl in front of me to revaluate my sexuality.

**

I’m going to pause here. If you’ve read this far, thank you. I hope you

find my displeasure amusing. If you would be so kind, please click one or

two of the advertisements on the side. I recommend the one about weight

loss. My mother says it works. If you are reading a printed version of this

story, please disregard this message. Sorry for the interruption.

**

Juilo was suave. He was a 25-year-old Venzuelan guy whose parents

ended up in Little Falls, just south of here. I worked directly underneath him,

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even though I had two years more experience. He was the “Stations

Manager.” On Fridays, he wore cream-colored suits with giant double-

breasted lapels and unbuttoned green floral shirts. Around his neck a little

crucified gold Jesus nestled into his tiny forest of chest hair. Over all of this,

he wore a plastic see-through raincoat to preserve his look and to protect his

suit from unwanted paint splatter. On Fridays, he would announce:

“TGIF! Who’s coming with?”

David McCormick usually said yes. Larry Price, the floor manager,

usually said maybe. And Nancy usually said no. Julio, like me and David

McCormick, was in love with Nancy Richter.

On days other than Friday, Julio would position himself next to Nancy

at Station 3 and make jokes. I wonder if Nancy liked them. I’ll provide you

with one of many of these scenarios stored in my memory bank:

One Tuesday, Larry Price was going around with his clipboard, counting

the number of gnomes drying at the end of the belts. He did this every day

at 2 o’clock. Larry wore short-sleeved dress shirts with colorful ties.

Basically, he looked like a bus driver—a moderately stylish bus driver. He

was fourteen or so gnomes deep when Julio caught him picking at his nose.

“You can always pick your nose, Price. But you can never choose your

face.”

What followed was a moment of confused silence broken by Julio’s

eruption of laughter. Larry joined in, laughing nervously and Nancy laughed

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brightly and smiled. I couldn’t really hear what happened next but I think

Julio turned to Nancy and said,

“But you don’t have to worry about that, Nancy. Your face is

beautiful.”

Or at least that’s what I would have said if I were given the chance. No

I wouldn’t. Maybe I’d use the word splendid. “Your face is splendid.” “You

are sweet like Splenda.”

During lunch breaks on his way over to the vending machine, Julio

would usually punch me in the arm and say one of three things:

“Hey Fuckhead, good job on the hats.”

“What’s up Gay Boy?”

“TGIF tomorrow.”

But on one special day, he said something else. He didn’t even punch

my arm. At lunch break, he came up to me and whispered,

“Hey Mike, I got to show you something.”

I was busy browsing through the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition,

making sure to hold the cover up close to my face in case Nancy looked over

to see what I was reading. Amused, I agreed to follow Julio outside to the

back of the warehouse. As we walked by Nancy, I dropped my magazine.

She picked it up.

“You dropped this,” she said, noticing the hot babe on the front cover.

“Gee thanks,” I said.

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I turned to Julio.

“Hey Julio, I’ll meet you outside. I have to speak with Nancy.”

He said he’d wait out by the door. I had been preparing what I would

say for days. I turned to Nancy, nervously.

“Hey Nancy,” I said.

“Yes?” she said.

“I was wondering.” I paused and looked at the girl in the g-string

bikini, staring up at me.

“What?” she said.

This was my big chance. I looked back up at her, but I did this thing

where I made my vision blurry. That way, she’d think I was actually looking

into her eyes, when really, all I saw was a blurred face. Then I lost it.

“Do you like word of the day calendars?” I said.

Not the plan.

“I guess. I’ve never had one,” she said.

“Oh well, I have one at home.” I paused. “It’s really great.” I made a

last minute effort to save it. “It’s splendid.”

She seemed slightly interested.

“Oh, what’s today’s word?” she said.

I thought about it for a while.

“Mercenary,” I said.

“Oh,” she said.

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There was a long silence. I started to walk outside. Then I stopped

myself.

“Oh, Nancy?” I said.

“Yes?” she said.

“You can have mine,” I said.

“Your what?” she said.

“My calendar. It’s only April and I don’t write in it or anything,” I said.

“It’s ok,” she said.

That’s when I stopped talking.

Outside, Julio was leaning against a wall.

“Come on,” he said.

He led me past the lake and we walked up a steep hill to the nearest

road. I looked around but saw nothing.

“The surprise is on the left,” he said.

I looked to the left and there it was. About twenty feet from the road,

buried under deliberately placed branches and leaves was a teal 1955 Ford

Thunderbird.

“I’ve checked for the last week and a half. It hasn’t moved,” he said.

“There’s no key though.”

I looked over at him, a bit uncertain of his intentions. Then I thought

aloud.

“There must have been a murder here.”

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I checked. No blood. No semen. Just dirt, leaves, rust, and the

occasional dead mosquito or fly. Not what I’d come to expect from

television.

“Mike?” he said.

“Yeah?” I was admiring the fiberglass top, the fender skirts and the

twin exhaust pipes, still clouded with smoke. Then I interjected.

“Julio. It’s splendid.”

“Yeah, Mike.” He coughed. “It is … splendid.”

He looked over at me.

“I want you to help me fix it up. You’re good with an airbrush. What

do you say? How about that candy apple red you’re so familiar with, huh?”

I was easily persuaded.

“Of course, I’ll compensate you for your time and effort,” he said.

“Sure.”

Then it hit me.

“Nancy will really like this, don’t you think?”

“Oh yeah, sure, Julio.”

He unveiled his “plan.”

“Gonna bring out a generator, plug some Christmas lights into it and

string ‘em up around the top here.”

My mind was going numb. He continued, laughing.

“And then Nancy and I will go inside for a picnic. You think I’ll get with

Nancy?”

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Then a pause.

“Well, I guess you don’t care. But, how does that sound? Engine’s

shot but she’s got a full gas tank. Oh, and I’ll find a Y-block V8 so I can take

her for a spin some time. But for now, the picnic—”

Fuck Julio.

When he was done talking, we started climbing down the hill.

“Watch your head Gay Boy,” he’d say, as we ducked under branches.

When we got back to the warehouse, lunch break was almost over.

Nancy was sitting at one of the tables, making origami flowers out of white

paper. She handed one to Julio.

“And one for you,” she said, as she pressed one into my palm.

I brought it up to my nose.

“Wow, they smell beautiful.”

“That’s weird,” she said. “They’re paper.”

I lowered it down into my right pocket and took my seat at Station 2.

While I fingered the flower, Julio was blabbering to Nancy about something

he saw on “The Today Show.” Sexting. Teenagers texting each other about

sex.

**

Alright. Since there’s no use, I figured I’d publish a poem I wrote for

Nancy on this page.

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What a beautiful light

Shines in this place

In the Brainerd night

What a beautiful face

Julio, no. No Julio.

No Julio.

**

On the first day of Julio’s “plan,” I met him up on the hill past the lake

after work. Julio had all the painting equipment there. He had rented it from

a used car dealership’s auto repair shop. He was sanding down the paint

while I cleared out the leaves and dead bugs.

“So it’s not exactly like the airbrushes back at the factory,” he said.

“But you’ll catch on quick,” he said.

“How will she know you did all of this?” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“The cleaning, the repainting. How will she know you didn’t just hop

into someone else’s ride?”

Well, I guess it was someone else’s.

“I’ll tell her about it,” he said. “Don’t you think she’d ask, man?” He

said this as if I were dumb. Dumb because I was getting no credit.

“Let’s hurry it up. I’m taking Nancy to dinner on Friday.”

“Dinner where? TGIF?”

“No. Dinner in the car, baby.”

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At the end of that night, my hands were dark and sticky from the dead

bugs and dirt that had transferred from the leather upholstery to my skin.

By Wednesday, we had already begun painting. I was laying on the

candy apple red, carefully circling the taillights. Julio was cleaning the

exhaust pipes with a toothbrush.

“She’s looking sexy,” he said to me.

“Thanks,” I said.

It took me about two hours to paint the doors without getting the side

mirrors or the handles.

Thursday was ‘80s theme day at work. Nancy was wearing pink

leggings, black leg warmers, a black tutu, and a black lace top. I had

forgotten and came to work in jeans and a t-shirt. They wore jeans in the

‘80s. I know that for a fact.

“What are you supposed to be?” she said.

“I’m just regular,” I said.

She poked my nose with her finger and scrunched her face, smiling.

“I’m a material girl,” she said.

Julio had a jheri curl, a red leather jacket, and was wearing sunglasses

inside.

“It’ the thriller look,” he said.

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Unenthused, I went over to my position at Station 2 and grabbed the

airbrush. I started working and Larry Price started playing a Talking Heads

album over the intercom. Home is where I want to be, pick me up and turn

me round. I looked over at Nancy. She and Julio were reveling in their ‘80s

splendor. Splendid.

I called over David McCormick and said I needed a bathroom break.

Then I walked up to Nancy. The words from the intercom rang true. I feel

numb. Born with a weak heart.

I tapped her on the shoulder. She couldn’t turn around or else she’d

miss coloring in the gnome pants. One of the gnomes would be pantless.

“Today’s word of the day is cosset.”

“Oh?” she said. “What does it mean?”

“It means to treat with excessive indulgence; to pamper. Or as a noun:

a pet, especially a pet lamb.”

“You can be my cosset. I want to cosset you.” I thought inside my

head. I wondered if it could be used in that way. The calendar said it was a

transitive verb. I don’t know what that means.

“Thanks for a word I’ll never use, Mike” said Julio.

Nancy laughed.

“That’s a cute word. Cosset,” she said. She continued to paint the

gnome pants, mindlessly. I walked backward toward the bathroom as

everyone else was moving to the music. Feet on the ground. Head in the

sky. It’s ok, I know nothing’s wrong…nothing’s wrong.

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Later, during lunch break, Julio grabbed me and we went up to put

some finishing touches on the car.

“We’re almost done. I want you to cosset this car,” he said. He

laughed. “I guess I was wrong. I did use the word.”

We had finished painting the night before. We only needed to clean

the rims and tires. I went over every steel part with a handful of cotton balls

dipped in rubbing alcohol. Julio looked proud.

“I’m gonna go get the Christmas lights tomorrow. Thanks a lot. Don’t

worry about anything else. Oh, and here’s something for all your trouble.”

He handed me a free pass to the Great Lakes Aquarium.

“Thanks,” I said, faking ecstasy.

**

You must think I’m a dope. But I’m not a dope.

**

When I went back inside, Nancy handed me what she was working on

during lunch break—a blue paper flower.

“How’s it smell?” she asked.

“Like paper.” I said.

“That’s weird,” she said. “These ones are sprayed with perfume.”

On Friday, I came in to work with my red tin, cylindrical lunch box,

grabbed a hair net, some goggles, and some blue latex gloves and sat at

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station number 2. In my pocket was a blue, crumpled paper flower. I pulled

out my headphones and put them on. On came the sweet sounds of a pre-

pubescent Michael Jackson and his brothers as I began spraying away hats.

Over Michael’s sugary uttering of Come on and take it, girl, Larry Price’s

voice came on over the intercom.

“Michael Graham, please remove your headphones.”

I didn’t take them off. After all, to me, he sounded like he was saying,

“Cheese and Ham, we are using telephones.” In front of me, Julio was

pointing to his ears and mouthing the words “Headphones. Off.” Of course,

he was wearing a cream-colored suit. Nancy was just looking over her

shoulder. I took them off and placed them on the surface in front of me.

Then I hummed the rest of the tune and asked David McCormick to cover for

me. I told him I had to use the bathroom. I also asked him for matches.

“Getting high, Graham?” he asked.

“No, McCormick.”

I had thirty minutes before lunch break, so Julio couldn’t disturb me.

When I got into the bathroom, I checked to see if the sinks were sturdy and

stepped onto the one closest to the window. After some struggle, I managed

to climb out and land on the gravel outside. Then I walked the forty yards

toward the back of the warehouse and began walking up toward the lake.

When I climbed to the top of the hill, it was exactly where we left it. No

Christmas lights yet, but beautiful. I admired all the hard work for a bit and

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then I climbed into the front seat, popped open the gas tank and took off the

parking break. With one hand against the shiny candy-apple red trunk and

one on my Walkman, I began pushing the car forward. I hit play and the

Jackson 5 continued right where they left off. All I can do since you've been

gone is cry. I put both hands on the trunk. It didn’t budge for a while. And

don’t you ever wonder or worry your head of what I do. After I got the tires

over the first few rocks, the car really started moving. The hill started

getting steeper and the car gained momentum and moved faster—bumping

over rocks, dirt, and twigs. It rode all the way to mouth of the lake. And

then the nose touched the water.

I thought back to Nancy and Julio sitting there. On Thursday, it was the

material girl and the thriller zombie. Today, it was the lost, pretty girl and

the TGIF enthusiast.

From my back pocket, I pulled out a rag and dipped both ends into the

gas tank. Then I walked over to the trees beside the lake, where I had

hidden a can of gasoline. I started dousing the leather upholstery in that

sweet cyclobutane and watched it wash and dribble over the candy apple red

coat. Who’s loving you? I, I, I gotta know yeah. Then, using my foot I

pushed the whole damn car toward the lake and threw one of McCormick’s

matches at the rag hanging out the gas tank.

The flame started small at first but then it spread across the trunk, the

seats, and the hood as the car slowly sank into the water. Thirty seconds

later, the whole thing blew as a film of gasoline caught fire right on top of the

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lake. My legs felt like butter. Michael Jackson was asking, Don't you know I

…. sit around … with my head hanging down? The car was sinking but the

gas was still burning. I hurried back to the warehouse just in time for lunch.

And I wonder who’s lovin’ you.

When I got back, Nancy was braiding violets out of purple yarn. She

didn’t give me one. Julio stood up.

“Hey Mike? Where are you coming from, man?”

I said nothing. I just grabbed Nancy’s hand and said,

“Nancy, I love you.”

She said ok.

“Come here, I want to show you something,” I said.

I grabbed her hand and started walking out the back toward the lake.

Seeing this, Julio stood up and started to follow.

We ran toward the lake and Nancy was running with me. I was holding

her hand so tight my fingertips were turning white. She didn’t have a chance

to speak. The whole time through the trees, I could see the fire. And we

kept running while the mud and dirt caked around the lace flowers on her 1-

inch heels. I ran her to the edge of the lake. We stopped and stood still.

To Julio, we probably looked like two charcoal silhouettes pressed up

against an orange horizon. I didn’t look back. We were staring at a burning

lake.

“Let’s get away from this place,” I said.

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She looked at me, too confused to respond.

“You’re too sweet,” I said. “Like Splenda.”

I heard footsteps running up behind me but I didn’t budge. There was

a tap on my left shoulder. I turned around and saw Julio’s fist coming straight

at my right eye. And then I saw stars. As my eye filled with blood I looked at

Nancy and said,

“I’m not gay, baby.”

“I know,” she said. “But don’t call me baby.”

**

Copyright 2006.

Michael Graham.

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