Failfic

Let me start out by saying I am NOT a hero.

I work a boring-ass job, selling photocopiers over the phone. It's not what I wanted to do, but I realised that playing drums for a living isn't going to pay the bills. I had to take a REAL job. I hate this job. I stay here because...well...I think I forgot my reason for leaving this hellhole. Also, I really don't have the skills to work anywhere else. I hate my co-workers. They're a bunch of high-strung yuppies who all want a spot at the top, so they kiss ass all day to "level up" in the company. Not me. I just do what I'm told. Another faceless drone in the corperate hive. Why don't I want an upper management position? When I was a teenager, I adopted an anti-consumerist attitude. Partially because I was raised by hippies. Partially because I was one of those kids that hung around the AV club too long in high school. After grade 10, AV club loses most of the nerds and becomes a hangout for the social rejects and weirdos. The kids who are more likely to be behind a shooting. They had a great influence on me. Told me about Monty Python and Hunter Thompson. We pulled great pranks. Pushed a Volkswagon bug into the library, Hired a stripper to perform at grad...spliced single frames of porn into the year-end video.

Where was I? oh yeah, co-workers. I hate them. If you see them, don't tell them. If they think I'm their friend, they'll continue including me in the daily round of drinks after work. Alcohol is the only way to cope with them. When I drink, I become more sociable. I hate all of them, except Samuel, who I've known since college, and the one girl who works in the complaints department. She's named after one of those eastern european countries...Estonia, Turkey, Armenia...Can't remember for the life of me. Probably because I've never worked up the guts to talk to her. If I did, she'd probably know me as that one cynical fucker who really doesn't talk to anyone, and when he does, he's pissed about something. She's short, sweet, and annoying...completely the opposite of my type. She's hyperactive...I'm not. I guess I see her hyperactivity as a challenge. She's like a creature I have to tame. I can talk about her all I want but that's not going to get me any closer, now is it.

All this changes, one night when I leave the bar, and some guy in a trenchcoat comes up and...Oh, wait what the hell am I doing? Starting into the story without even telling you my name, or backstory? My birth certificate doesn't say Chuck Palahaniuk, so I doubt I could get away with that kind of thing.

Name: Edgar James Wilson Graham III Or, as my hippy parents named me, rivers apple leaf saturn. Yeah, there was alot of weed in the house. Good thing my 'prude' grandfather stepped in and gave me and my 7 siblings real names. That's right, 7 siblings. Dad couldn't keep it in his pants. I'm 27 years old. Second of the 7 siblings. To put some context in, The youngest child, My sister Abby, Is just getting into High School.

We're from Seattle, by the way. It's where we spent most of our lives. Now, I live in Chicago. I live in an apartment that looks like it could be a 1930's private detective's apartment. I almost put "Michael Flemming" Over the door. For those of you who don't know Micheal Flemming was the hard-boiled private investigator in Raymond Hammet's detective novels. I used to pour through those things about two books a week.

What else do you need to know...I covered that i'm a drummer, I'm from Seattle, living in Chicago, hippy parents, 7 siblings. I'm single, if you haven't guessed. Ma's always after me to find a nice girl and settle down, but that's not going to happen any time soon. I'm too introverted...well, was too introverted. Then all this happened. I changed, let's just say that to avoid ruining the rest of the story.