Leseprobe "Up the creek - A quirky comedy"
von Andreas A. Reichelt
E-Book, ca 68 Seiten, ISBN: 978-1-39367201-2
Conten
The world stinks!
Poldi 1.0
It gets on my nerves!
What luck!
Hot dogs for breakfast
Somehow, you just knew it!
You’re such a wimp, dude!
It would have been so nice!
It got dark
Poldi 2.0
Now I’m flummoxed!
The step-by-step plan
The first step
Do I have to?
Hands off, dude!
Dear me!
The second step
“Good, then I’m off!”
Poldi 3.0
Project “Poldine”
The invitation
The dinner
“Poldine”
Appendix
Recipe for “Mussels in white wine sauce”
The world stinks!
Superego, the:
Expression used in psychoanalysis for the conscience, the inner moral instance of the human spirit. Sigmund Freud was the first to use this designation in the course of his structural model of the psychological apparatus.
Id, the:
The “id” stands in psychoanalysis for the unconscious, drive-controlled part of human emotional life. In the vernacular, there is a similar apt and yet somewhat seemingly inappropriate term: “one's weaker self.”
Ego, the:
The part of the human being that mediates between the “superego” and “id”.
I would really like to explain this in more detail, but although psychology was my major for two years (or it was supposed to be), both my id and my superego are advising me not to do this. I would be glad to share their dialogue about this subject:
Id: “If the reader doesn’t know, then it’s his own fault. That’s why there are lexicons!”
Superego: “Andreas, your knowledge from back then is hardly sufficient to make you look like a know-it-all now. And the plural of lexicon is ‘lexica’!”
Ego: “If you two agree for once, either you’re right or I’m slowly going crazy.”
Poldi 1.0
It gets on my nerves!
Why the present will hopefully soon be past.
Poldi woke up slouched in front of his sofa. On the TV was a movie in which two young people were traveling through time, having the most bizarre experiences. When he straightened himself up, he noticed that his pants were wet. He took a sniff. Not urine. Beer. There was an empty can next to him.
“Good job, you bum!” said his superego.
Luitpold von Scharffenlow was suffering greatly from the current state of the world. His noble clan had been robbed of its omnipresent social significance, his family had frittered away its wealth, and he himself...he seemed to be the laziest thirty-year-old on Planet Earth. And on the moon, if it was significant in the same sphere of interest. Even Michael Collins, who rode around this planet while his colleagues Aldrin and Armstrong dared to take the difficult step on the sandy soil of that distant satellite, had achieved more in his life. For example, a small planet was named for him. Its name was “6471 Collins.” This seemed to be a lot more than “08 15 Scharffenlow,” who was in his tenth semester studying business administration and was still as far away from his Bachelor’s degree as Collins was from the moon landing.
In the end, his desires had given way to his needs. He neither dreamed of a happy life, a fulfilling relationship, and a lucrative profession nor was he ready to do anything necessary to support himself. His parents paid all the bills and paid him a small allowance, for all the “school books” he required and which he actually never bought.
His buddy Hansi was sleeping next to him. Hansi’s pants were also wet. When Poldi took a sniff, it sickened him. A lot. Lemonade. Hansi always drank lemonade. And he fell asleep sitting up anyhow. Oh, Hansi.
The apartment on the third story of an apartment building on the edge of Frankfurt had been a “temporary living situation” for many years. But there’s nothing more permanent than a stopgap solution.
His biggest problem was currently the defective toilet tank. But he wouldn’t have been a von Scharffenlow if he hadn't had a solution for everything. For #1, he used his houseplants – the ficus and yucca palm had already sustained significant damage. And there was also a sink. But pissing in the sink sickened him a little. The local construction company had helped him avoid the worst. There was a big construction project underway not even twenty meters from the door to his apartment building, and on the day of his personal WC Waterloo, somebody had set up a porta-potty. Now he used this porta-potty frequently and actively.
Years ago, his mother had given him a clothes-drying rack complete with clothespins. He put one of these on his nose when he went to the porta-potty in order to keep the stench out of his olfactory bulb. For a von Scharffenlow must know how to help himself. Recently, he had even screwed a little newspaper rack onto the plastic wall, in hopes that somebody might clip a newspaper in there for him someday. Thus far, without success.
While Poldi was planning his breakfast – that is, searching his wallet for three euros in order to buy a hot dog at the kiosk in front of the home improvement store – Hansi woke up.
“I have to use the bathroom. Which one should I use? Ficus or yucca,” he asked from the living room.
“Porta-potty!”
“Porta-potty?”
“Porta-potty!”
After a few grunts, Poldi heard his friend go out the apartment door.
“People only pee here temporarily. At least starting today...”
What luck!
It's not possible to have only bad luck in life. I've tried!
“The porta-potty stinks.”
Poldi was busy trying to find his second sock when Hansi zapped him with this.
“Get used to it. The world stinks. No wonder, it's all crap.”
Hansi rolled his eyes. “They're delivering a second porta-potty right now.”
Poldi slipped his bare foot into the shoe. This time, his id piped up: “This is your chance. Just stick a sign that says ‘Out of order!’ on the door and then you’ll have a porta-potty all to yourself!”
“You can’t do that. They definitely didn’t get the second porta-potty for free. They need it themselves,” said his superego.
He hated these constant squabbles.
“Be quiet!” he screamed into the room. Neither his id nor his superego responded, but Hansi did.
“Yes, excuse me. And how are you doing today? You got out of the wrong side of bed.”
“But I’m not talking to you.”
Hansi went into the kitchen, saw his friend sitting on a chair with one foot in a shoe without a sock and the other in a sock without a shoe.
“You probably twisted your foot getting out of bed,” he corrected his previous statement.
Poldi jumped up, hobbled into his “office” – harder to do with one shoe – and wrote “OUT OF ORDER” on a blank sheet with a thick marker. Then he put Scotch tape on each corner of the sheet and left the apartment.
It was nice, the new porta-potty. Blue. And completely unspoiled. He aligned the sheet carefully.
Next to a large circular saw was a roll of barrier tape. To be safe, he wrapped the entire porta-potty in the red and white barrier tape. Somewhat irritated by the “tsk, tsk” of his superego and the applause of his id, he regarded his work.
He went back into the apartment with a smile on his face. For a von Scharffenlow also had to conquer something sometimes. This is how his forefathers had achieved their wealth. Now it was time to follow in their footsteps. The porta-potty was just the beginning.
“Where were you?”
Hansi was so curious.
“I fixed the porta-potty.”
“Really?”
“No!”
“Dimwit.”
It was a great morning! Nevertheless, the world stank.
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