Albert-Writes

Ch 3. – An Unusual Customer

July 11th 2056
New York – United States of America

“What’s this?” Pompi thought, as they looked upon the circular labyrinth, clenching their jaw at the seeming inefficiency of their two legged journey. The first leg of the trip, right up to the “National Park Gate”, looked like the normal sharp zig-zag, honing it’s way through the City. What stood out, was the winding and coiling which commenced past the landmark Gate, on the second leg of the trip and onto the customers location. The stark contrast of the recommended route on either side would have been evident to anyone staring at Pompi’s AdTel-screen and it’s map-reader. In an attempt to reason as to why this was the case, Pompi thought that maybe the winding path had something to do with the special nature of the park itself; like how department stores laid out their walking areas in a winding way, to fit as many products as possible. According to Pompi’s AdTel, the park contained an open air museum – so Pompi reckoned, perhaps open air museums wanted the same thing as department stores; and fit as many interesting buildings and locations, in as small of a space as possible – thus, the reason for the winding paths.

“But why not connect the multiple circuits of the coiling paths, together – so that one may travel across the radius of the labyrinths concentric circuits, without having to tread the coil in it’s continuity? Why the absence of shortcuts or by-paths?” Pompi thought. Well, perhaps this was not odd either. Those same department stores often removed all additional shortcuts, and escapes – settling on a single entrance and exit – precisely because that kept their customers walking in a tedious loop – their faces plastered to their commercial proposals, all up until the they had reached the end, in theory increasing the stores sales. Perhaps a similar wish was had, in the minds of the park management, and it’s open-air museum tenants. In the case of the museum, the continuous time maximizing path could have served an additional purpose; namely, to ensure that it’s visitors experience was kept chronological; so that visitors did not – by some short-cut – see the museums various parts in the wrong historical order. Gaining the wrong ideas, and being confused to bits and taken out of the learning experience. Mid thought– something caught Pompi’s attention.

Out of the corner of their eye, Pompi saw an Indian colleague – or Pakistani – snap. Turning their head, Pompi saw him – his AdTel shaking in his hand – on his way up to relay his country-men of the new affair; an inconvenience his friends seemed to share with him since they sympathetically vented together. Pompi was curious to know about the contents of the angered man’s call, and wether it might perhaps concern Pompi themselves, as Pompi too worked for the same magenta food-delivery company. So Pompi decided to walk up to him, and ask what had happened. In response, the men told Pompi that it was the continuous malfunction of AdTel’s religious service – and it’s hampering effects on their morning prayer – which had caused them anger, as it was bad luck not to pray, and sextuply so, for being idle for six consecutive days. Really, they all felt entitled to financial compensation. Apparently, which their moods not so subtly mirrored, this compensation was denied.

With that information collected, Pompi said good-day – and relievingly strode back to their bike, happy that the nuisance did not stick to atheist like themselves. With the drama behind them, Pompi saw a sign to accept the peculiar-job AdTel had queued – for they reckoned, trouble seldomly came undivided, and before more trouble was due, Pompi wanted their opportunity for some much needed revenue traded in for the customer’s inconvenient customer’s demands; so that their earnings could not be taken away from them. Better to have one bird in the hand, than two in the bush, so to speak. And so, Pompi began pedalling the first leg of their winding trip – cycling to the cold-food sushi-restaurant were they were to pick up the sushi the customer so inherently craved. This, before aiming their handlebars towards the beautiful blue and gold National Park Gate. What Pompi did not yet know, was that their colleagues troubles did for a fact concern themselves – only, in a more indirect manner than was immediately noticeable.

“Sushi, so that’s what they want. How practical!” Pompi thought, as the chefs at the restaurant assembled the fish-pieces – back into fish. No rush needed for keeping the food warm, Pompi thought. The red target pin on Pompi’s map seemed surrounded by yellowish-brown satellite image, like a scar in the green hide of nature. The beat place looked like some sort of construction site, or a depot. Maybe they were construction workers, the customers, and maybe they were tired of bringing their lunch-boxes, and wanted something made for them for once; even if served cold. In that case, ordering delivery was the only way, for the closest alternative was a restaurant lying in the hinterland in-between the City and the Park, a far away from their location. Pompi bagged the sushi and zipped the zipper on the magenta box, in a satisfying flow and rattling motion.

Pompi began, pedalling away, slowly building up momentum – like a fly-wheel fed increasing amounts of energy – they picked up more and more speed, and the further out the City-centre they got, the less momentum they needed to spend on frequent turning and red-lights. Maybe the trip was not so bad after all. Pompi had not considered that turning less made for a shortening of their relatively longer ex-City trip. When commuting to university in the City, all the trouble with the subway, new classrooms, time-tables etc. made for a maze-like puzzle of a commute – and choices, and decisions, had to be made endlessly. The feeling of knowing exactly where you were going, and how far on that journey you had come, made for a comforting contrast. Even though the path was continuous, unvaried, and winding, it simultaneously made progress much more tangible – and with the benefit of loosening your mind toward thinking what to think, and instead, more simply and meditatively, keeping to the ready-made instructions.

After pedalling for about an hour and a half, the City began thinning out into lower and lower density. The park Gate was located at the old location of the former City, a nowadays mostly de-populated area of The City, from an era before standardization, and large city grids. As Pompi neared this place, their surroundings seemed to shift into a hinterland of sorts – not quite city, but not quite country side, or nature, either. A leopard print of small parks and low houses, mixing the organic shapes of nature, with the grid-like structure of man-kind and its fascination with right angles. Some sort of Turing pattern perhaps. A tunnel came up ahead, exiting stuff. The bikes speed increased in the down hill slope of it, and with the smoothness of its asphalt. It was dark. The sound of the spokes echoed in the tunnel, claustrophobically pressed into heir inner ear. Pompi’s reception dropped, and the GPS of their AdTel map-reader played out the illusion that they were still at the entrance of the tunnel. How long was this thing really?

After what felt like an eternity, they popped out the other end. Perhaps, they’d gone under a river or something? They thought to themselves. Popping out into the light, Pompi could see it in the distance, the land-mark of the old town which had been left behind, as the new town moved to the location of the present multi-million City; the Old Town Church. The church tower, smack in the middle of the old city centre barely noticeably grew in size, as Pompi continued making good progress on the sparsely populated, yet well maintained, bike-lanes of suburbia; it’s spire peaking out like a strong signal from out of the visually pleasing mix of the wider sky-line and city-scape. Pompi thought of the tunnel again, as they saw a river up ahead, which they were to bike parallel to on their ride inside the beginnings of Old Town; and which had – before it became un-navigable, and the city had become de-populated – facilitated the original opportunity which the first City had capitalized on. When Pompi reached the Old Town Church, they saw the heaping remnants of an even older one; one which circulated the heathen burial mounds and labyrinths that composed the first clue of human settlement in the area. An ancient memory of a place our own ancestral predecessors held diplomatic court and religious meetings in, a thousand years before Pompi arrived.

“There it is!” Pompi thought, as the distinct indigo colour of the National Park Gate popped into vision; and beside it – a construction worker on their AdTel. Pompi pushed the breaks and dismounted the magenta bike, and said: “Did you order some sushi by any chance?”

“Damn, you scared me. I did not see you coming. Yeah, that’s me. We know how long the roads are up here, so we thought we’d spare you the trouble and meet you at the gate.” Pompi smiled at the kind gesture, a rare generosity in the high-octane speed of The City.

“That’s kind of you sir. That’s some car you have, I guess those colours and emblems belong to the park?” Pompi said, looking at the large truck parked behind the large park fence.

“Thank you! It’s actually the symbols of the State Property Office – we do the maintenance on all historic buildings in the State, and have a special assignment at the Park restoring some things. But the park-staff’s cars are even cooler, big SUVs with golden deer antlers… And then there’s the Heritage Board too..” The man lit up.

“Really? Three separate agencies. Are the buildings really in such bad shape?” Pompi replied.

“You could say so, they look good from the outside though; mostly since they are built from natural materials – who have a natural patina to them, that looks beautiful almost. But structurally and foundational, they have not received the love required. The huge cupola of the Natural Science Museum has not been properly funded for decades, and if it were not for us – there would be risk of entering, for it is under significant strain and could fall in, given enough snowfall. It’s a lot of work keeping up the place. Partly because large parts of the park are of ‘English type’, meaning that they have been sculpted out of nature by the hands of humans – in order to make them romantically wild, whilst staying orderly beautiful. The effect takes a lot of care, not only by humans and their agricultural tools, but also by the Parks many grazing animals, and pollinators. It is a never ending job, and it does not help that we have been understaffed for about 30 years or so. But then, it is not difficult to sympathise with the government spending it’s resources elsewhere, than on this gigantic park with more area than it has visitors to wander.” The construction worker said. After seeing Pompi’s tired expression, their eyes saddened a little, and after that – they quickly prepared loading the two sushi paper bags up the high ride hight of the SUV and onto the passenger seat. The man stepped down the car again.

“We have worked on restoring the place for two decades now and only scratched the surface. Hardly anyone bothers to come out here, even though it is practically free and you can walk almost anywhere you want. People don’t know this is state property – and some even believe it is royal grounds still. Maybe because of the park personnel and their pride and strict care of the place – and what is permissible, with camping and lighting fires and whatnot. With so few visitors, especially during the summer – with every city dweller in the Hamptons or something – this place is dead quiet.” Pompi nodded along slightly. Peering on their AdTel which was pinging with another delivery.

“Sorry for rambling, you must be in a rush.”

“Yeah, sorry. My bosses keep a busy schedule. If I don’t jump onto a job, someone else – more desperate, and nomadically migrant – will instead.” Pompi said, surprised at their odd phrasing of things. The construction worker looked into the paper bag at the sushi, and Pompi could almost hear their belly rumble.

“Look, I have an idea. It’s real difficult to get people to bike all the way here, and me and me and my colleagues do love our sushi; why don’t I give you my AdTel-number, and dibs on all our orders – that way it’ll make it more worthwhile for you to come bike over here every once in a while?” Pompi’s face turned positivley conecentrated. The man continued.

“We only order take-out once or twice a week, so you won’t have to ruin those legs of yours, biking here too often.” Pompi’s mouth slid up by it’s corner, into a half smile, giving the man a cue to pull a little tighter. The man took of his hard-hat and held it in his hands.

“If you pay tips, with increasing size depending on how far in the park I need to bike to get you. Sure”

“Then we have a deal.” The construction worker smiled back, and nodded. Pompi smiled back, as they fastened their bike helmet around their chin; shaking the hand of the worker in agreement. With a bump of their AdTel’s, their contact information was transferred and shared, into the web of it all. As they both said goodbye, and the large SUV circled on the popping gravel and through the blue and gold gate house, a large bust peaked out it’s head and shoulders. Aristotle. Interesting choice of guardian. “Nice that I did not have to bike all the way inside, but also a bit of a bummer – since it looked pretty inside.” Pompi thought. Then, they turned their bike back towards the city.

When Pompi reached the old church again, they paused for a water break, to empty the piece of gravel which had stuck to the arch of their left foot, and to empty their magenta delivery pack from the annoying piece of leftovers which had rattled inside the hole way there. When they emptied their bag, a beige blob rolled outside. A fortune cookie. Pompi did not remember receiving any such cookie back at the sushi restaurant. Maybe they had forgotten to empty the backpack completely when throwing out the old Chinese take-out six or seven mornings ago. On the paper slip, a message read;

“Remember, remember, all on your own.
The facts which tie best, to whom you are known.
In your case – our buildings, and how they’re preserved;
For ideas stuck in boxes, are forever interred.
To kindle your lust, in the old and the rare,
Read more about Picea abies isolating care.”

Pompi looked on the back side of the lengthy fortune, but found it blank. In some odd way, it seemed to be much more ‘normal’ and ‘ordinary’ than the cookie they had read back in the corridor some mornings before. It was cool how the fortune maker could know what to write so that it matched the customer and their person; writing about construction when the delivery was intended for a construction worker. It was also interesting how the cookie seemed to premiere keeping your knowledge in your own head, rather than on your AdTel or home computer or whatnot. Then, there was the added charm of the riddle format, which gave the whole experience a tinge of secrecy and mystery; as if it’s message tried to hide its codes from the light of the Sun.

Pompi looked back on the old church spire, and the large artificial mounds which circled it. Maybe, now that they had some extra income set through their deal with the park-restoration workers; they could afford a little sightseeing? Pompi thought, and began walking up the old burial mounds to get a better view of the Old Town.