SEA of IDIOTS
Max Wilson turned thirty five last month. He lives with his mother. He likes alternative music; especially anything from England. Max tried college for a year, but was constantly getting into arguments with the professors, mainly about economics. Max is obsessed with money. This is quite ironic being that he’s unemployed. In fact, Max refuses to even look for a job. It’s all beneath him. His mother spoils him, and justifies her son’s apathy. He’s just special. That’s what she tells herself. Max’s father left when he was four. Max doesn’t remember him. The Christmas cards quit coming twenty years ago. The last one had a picture of his father and a Hispanic boy.
“Mother. Can you bring my dinner?”
“Just a minute honey.”
Max’s room was the biggest. He did important things in there. He listened to vinyl records, chatted on the computer with economic professors, ate Chinese takeout, and wrote occasional poems when the mood struck.
“Hurry mother. I’m hungry!”
“I’m on my way dear.”
Max heard his mother climbing the stairs. The chicken pot pie smelled delicious. He hoped she remembered to bring his buttermilk. Max had a penchant for it.
“Mother. Where is my buttermilk?”
“Heavens forgive me. I’ll go back and fetch it.”
“Thank you mother.”
Max flipped the record over, and hit play. The album opened with a flurry of blistering guitars. Max bobbed his head, and sat down at the computer.
Somebody knocked on the door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me. I got your buttermilk.”
“Is the pot pie hot?”
“I believe so.”
“Good. You know how cold food upsets my stomach.”
“Yes dear. Can we talk a minute son?”
“Not now mother. I have a chat with Professor Hensley.”
“A chat right now?”
“Yes mother. Come back later.”
Jan Wilson grew up in Lufkin. The East Texas town in the Piney Woods. She married John Wilson right out of high school. Two years later, she was pregnant with Max. Her son was the biggest baby born in Angelina County. Jan didn’t know if the record still stood, but Max did a good job of maintaining his weight. John left a few years later, and Jan took to several jobs to make ends meet. She waited tables, worked in a library, and was a substitute teacher for awhile. The latter was her least favorite. The kids were awful.
Jan knew her son was different. Max was extremely bright. He started reading before nursery school, and soon began getting into arguments with his teachers. The school administrators suggested a gifted program, but Max got into a fight with his history teacher. Max was kicked out. The rest of her son’s academic career was uneventful. Max rarely did anything in class, but aced his tests. It came as no surprise, when Max got a perfect score on his college entrance exam. He had scholarship offers to many prestigious universities, but opted for Angelina Junior College. Max was forced out his first year, after leading a revolt against the Economics Department.
Max put on a record. A British group called The Pink Underground. He swayed in his chair, and snapped his fingers.
“Can you see me?” asked Professor Hensley.
“Of course. I have my webcam set. Let’s get started,” Max said.
“I want my students to see,” Hensley said.
Max laughed sarcastically.
“Good evening students and distinguished faculty. We are pleased to continue our series of debates on global monetary policy. Once again, we welcome our guest Max Wilson. A distinguished speaker and author of numerous economic articles. Good evening Max.”
“Good evening.”
“Max. I’m getting a little feedback. Do you have music on in the background?”
“The Pink Underground.”
“Excuse me?”
Max took a swig of buttermilk, and shoved pot pie in his mouth.
“I’m still hearing music,” Hensley said.
Max reached over, and turned down the volume.
“How’s that?”
“Much better. Let’s see the topic was central bank policy last time. Care to add thoughts Max?”
“What policy? You mean printing money,” Max responded.
Hensley’s students started laughing, when they saw the gigantic head of Max Wilson. The Chicago Cubs baseball cap pulled down to his eyes, and pot pie crumbs on the sides of his mouth.
“Can you explain what you mean by money printing?” asked Hensley.
“Quantitative easing,” Max belched.
“Explain what that means to our audience,” Hensley said.
“Money printing.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“No.”
“Central banks are taking the necessary steps to save the global economy by implementing quantitative easing,” Hensley said.
“They certainly are not,” Max chimed.
“What is your suggestion Max?”
“Do nothing.”
“Do nothing? You think the central banks should sit idly by and let the global economy implode?”
“Yes.”
“Please explain.”
“Central bank policy created the environment of mal investment. The easy money created the housing collapse. The banks gambled by throwing fire on the rigged casino, thanks to a central bank’s low interest rate policy. Same thing brought on the Great Depression,” Max said.
“Hold on Max. Why mention the Great Depression?”
Jan started knocking on the door.
“Not now mother. I’m in a debate.” Max stood up and knocked over the webcam. Hensley’s class erupted in laughter.
“It appears we’ve lost transmission. Let’s see if our guest can reconnect,” Hensley said.
“I said not now mother. I’ve lost them. See what you made me do.”
“Sorry dear. Can we can talk a minute?”
“No. I’ve got to fix the webcam. I think you broke it.”
“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. I keep getting these bills in the mail from a company in England. Do you know who BANG Records are?”
“Don’t worry about it. Can you go warm up my pot pie? It’s cold.”
“These bills are expensive. The last one was almost two hundred dollars.”
“Just warm up my pot pie. I can’t finish the debate. You’re going to have to go to Radio Mart and buy me a new webcam.”
“Are you ordering records?”
She surveyed her son’s bedroom. The walls were lined with shelves of vinyl albums. Each record had a plastic sleeve on it, and there were little letter tabs for organization.
“Why would you think that mother?”
“No reason.”
“Get me a webcam. Warm up my pot pie. I need a chilled glass of buttermilk.”
“Are the packages on the porch records?”
“No mother.”
“I just can’t pay these bills. We don’t have the money.”
“Relax. Your concern will soon drift away.”
“I’m not blaming you son.”
“Don’t worry mother. I’ll look into it,” Max said.
“Thank you son.”
Jan went back downstairs. She thought her son might be lying, but it soon passed.
Max sat at his writing desk. He picked up the phone.
“BANG Records.”
“It’s me.”
“What’s shaking Max?”
“Just the usual. What you got in this week?”
“Got a few imports from Dark Sky. There’s live album from Weeder.”
“Dark Sky. Sounds good. I
like Weeder too. Send them.”
“You got it Max. Get those out in the morning.”
“What did you think of Dark Sky’s last album?” asked Max.
“I liked it. It was obviously influenced by shoe gaze.”
“I agree. I hear a little dream pop in there too,” Max said.
“You’re right.”
“Sounds good. I’ll look for the records.”
Max hung up the phone. He was still fuming from talking to Hensley. The guy called himself a professor. His views were dim-witted at best.
“All Keynesian lies,” Max said to himself.
There were a few pot pie crumbs in his beard, so he licked them into his mouth. Max had a busy day tomorrow. He was going to give a lecture.
Jan went to Radio Mart.
“Have you got any of those computer cameras?”
“Excuse me?” the clerk said.
“My son has an important meeting. He needs a camera to talk to a professor.”
“I bet your son needs a webcam.”
“That’s it.”
The clerk reached under the counter, and grabbed the most expensive one he could find.
“Here you go.” The clerk handed the camera to Jan.
“That will be two fifty three with tax,” the clerk said.
“Two hundred and fifty dollars? Lord have mercy,” Jan said.
“That’s actually a cheaper model,” the clerk said.
“Lord have mercy.” Jan thought a minute. She pictured poor Max sitting in his room.
“Do you take checks?”
“Of course.”
Jan wrote the check. It was expensive, but Max loved chatting with them professors. She wasn’t sure on what topic.
Max reached into the desk drawer, and grabbed an extra webcam. He set it up, and got the professor back on chat.
“Welcome back Max. Glad to see you got your issue resolved.”
“I believe you were trying to justify the central bank policy,” Max said.
“I think you were talking about the Great Depression,” Hensley said.
“No time for that professor.”
Max took a swig of buttermilk. It was warm, and his stomach bubbled.
“I think you mentioned quantitative easing, care to explain to my students how the central banks are using this monetary tool?”
“Your professor is an idiot,” said Max.
The students erupted with laughter. Hensley could be seen blushing, but maintained his composure.
“Let’s be professional.”
“Just good natured ribbing professor. Seriously he’s an idiot. I’d say the central bank policy is an utter failure.”
“What do you suggest then?” asked Hensley
“The banks need to restructure. Mark off their losses and default. They’re nothing but walking zombies,” Max replied.
“I disagree. The banks are sitting on record amounts of capital. The latest stress tests are positive,” chimed Hensley.
“Fool! The banks are the root of the problem. It starts with the unregulated Federal Reserve Bank. Which by the way is about as federal as Federal Express,” said Max.
“There you go again, blaming the Federal Reserve,” laughed Hensley
“It’s true professor. Their reckless monetary policy created the disaster. The central bank needs to be audited. It’s long overdue,” said Max.
“Do you want to tell my students about the Federal Reserve?”
“Do you teach your students anything? Why do I have to explain?”
“I believe we’re almost out of time,” Hensley said.
“Thank goodness. I can’t tolerate anymore.”
“Thank you Max,” the professor said.
Hensley’s class roared in the background. Max shut off the webcam. He needed to gather his thoughts for tomorrow. Max laid down. He put on headphones, and hit play on his turntable. The sounds of The Pink Underground filled his ears, and his eyelids grew heavy. Sleep was almost there, but a knock on the door woke him.
“Go away!”
“It’s me son. I got your camera and hot a pot pie. A chilled glass of buttermilk too.”
“Not hungry anymore. I’m going to the college tomorrow. Make sure and wake me up. My brunch needs to be ready. I can’t be late.”
“Let me bring in your camera. The man said it’s a nice one.”
“Alright mother. Slide it under the door.”
“I don’t think it will fit.”
“Set it by the door. I can’t be disturbed.”
“Yes son.”
Jan could be heard walking down the stairs. Max got up, and went to get the webcam.
“This is a piece of crap,” Max thought.
He walked back in his room, and tossed it in the desk drawer.
Max walked to Angelina Junior College. The school had gotten a new dean five years ago, and Max was able to smooth things out despite his torrid past. He offered to give lectures in the Advanced Economics class, although there was nothing advanced about Angelina Junior College. The college was about a mile from Max’s house, but it was a chore for him to walk. The East Texas humidity beat down on him. Max could feel the sweat dripping through his Chicago Cubs hat, so he pulled it further down. His beady eyes squinted to shield the sun. By the time Max arrived on campus, it appeared he’d just gotten out of the shower.
“Max. Professor White is expecting you,” the secretary said.
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
“You look hot,” the secretary said.
“Thanks. I try to keep in shape.”
“I mean you’re sweating,” the secretary said.
“Oh.”
Max walked down the hall.
“Come in Max. We’ve been expecting you. My students always look forward to your lectures,” White said.
“I’m here.”
White’s students laughed when Max entered the class, followed by applause. The students loved Max’s lectures, in fact they’d much rather have him as their professor. Max walked to the front of the class, and stood behind the podium. He never used notes.
“You guys are talking about the history of the central bank. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sure your distinguished professor has told you some rather uncouth tale about its conception.”
The class laughed.
“I’m here to set the record straight. The central bank has taken various forms in the United States, which is the focus of my lecture. Instead of talking about those variations, I’d like to center on the Federal Reserve Bank that we have today. The very entity that sets monetary policy at home but also globally.”
Max could feel the sweat building up on his forehead. He pulled the cap further down his face. His eyes were barely visible, and he often stopped to dab his face with a tissue. Max spoke for about twenty minutes, often making comparing economic policy to pop music. The class seemed confused at times, but found the whole thing humorous.
“I conclude that your professor is a brainwashed Keynesian.”
The class was silent. Professor White scribbled down a few notes.
“Thank you Max. Would you like to field some questions?”
“Just a few. I am expecting a package at home.”
A female student raised her hand in the front row.
“You talked about the central bank as the root of the economic crisis; can you explain what you mean?”
“I covered this thoroughly in my lecture. If your distinguished professor taped the lecture, perhaps he can go over it in class,” Max said.
“Anybody else have a question?” asked White.
A student raised his hand in the back of the class.
“Can you explain how The Pink Underground compares to interest rates?”
Max liked this question.
“I should have gone into more detail, but basically The Pink Un
derground sets the bar for garage rock in the same way the Fed sets interest rates. The latter is the king of interest rates. The Pink Underground are the kings of shoe gaze.”
The class seemed even more confused.
Max spent enough time with the junior college students, so he said goodbye and left. The students could be heard clapping all the way down the hall. Max waddled past the secretary, and back into the Texas heat.
“Those mullets deserve someone like White,” Max thought.
Max’s throat was parched, so he walked to Ames Chicken. He wanted chicken tenders and a glass of buttermilk. The folding money was in his front pocket. He pilfered it from mother’s purse earlier in the day.
Jan went to her bridge club. The group met once a week, although Jan attended twice a month. The leader of the group was Alice Walker; the pastor’s wife.
“How things been honey?” asked Alice
“Alright. Max got me busy.”
“Where is your son?” asked Alice.
“He’s down at the college. Giving a talk.”
“What about?” asked Alice.
“Not sure. Max says it’s important.”
“Lord have mercy. Your son lives at home. Girl it’s time to set him free. He needs a job,” Alice said.
“Max is special. I need him. He’s always been a sensitive child,” Jan said.
“Special? How old is he now? You need to live your life. The Bible talks about leave and cleave.”
“He turned thirty five. Max can’t cleave. He only had one girlfriend. She broke his heart. Max say she don’t like him talking about money.”
“Money? He doesn’t even have a job,” Alice laughed.
“I suppose you’re right,” Jan said.
“You pay all the bills. Make him get a job.”
“My pension ain’t enough. I’m struggling to make ends meet,” Jan said.
“Even more reason to set him free. You need to enjoy life.”
Jan began to think about it, maybe Alice was right. Max was a grown man. He needed to get a job, and live his own life. There was nothing keeping her in Lufkin. It might be nice to move. Someday.
Willie Ames opened his first chicken shack in 1972, pretty soon stores popped up all over East Texas. He recognized the giant figure that walked through his front door.
“What you say Max?”
“Get me tenders and buttermilk.”
“You got it. Where you been? Look like you take a shower.”
“At the college.”
“Working out with the track team?” Willie laughed.
“Speaking in White’s class. Teaching the dill weeds.”
“How is Professor White? He ain’t come in lately,” Willie said.
“Moronic as ever. I can’t believe he’s tenured.”
“What’s tenured?” asked Willie.
“It means idiotic. Got that three piece?”
Willie smiled and brought the chicken over. He wasn’t sure what Max did at the college, but knew he liked chicken. He didn’t want to pry his best customer too much, so avoiding details was important.
“What you think about the football team?” asked Willie.
“They are putrid like their educators. An abomination to collegiate athletics.”
“Not sure what putrid mean, but I guess not good.”
“They’re better off taking a flame thrower to the campus,” Max said.
“You harsh Max. Coach say they pretty salty this year.”
“The imbecile barely knows English. Much less football.” Max shoved chicken in his mouth, and finished the buttermilk.
“I better go Willie.”
“See you next time Max.”
Willie opened the door for his best customer, and waved goodbye. Max Wilson always got royal treatment, he gave good business. Willie heard Max was educated, but still lived with his mother. That was the gossip at church.
Max walked home. There were two packages on the front porch. He picked them up, and walked inside. Max climbed the stairs and immediately went to the bathroom. He needed a long soak.
“I beat mother home,” Max thought.
He turned the water on, and slowly climbed into the tub. His skin was red, so he gently washed his back, and dabbed his face with a washcloth. Max grew tired of the lectures, but felt it a necessity. The youth today were dumb at best, and had no concept of economics or anything else for that matter. Max grabbed the first package, and slowly unwrapped it. The record cover looked good. The Pink Underground provided aesthetic value for their fans; it was an experience for the listener. Max didn’t like digital music. It sounded cold and distant. Vinyl sounded better. It was warm and pleasing, and soothed his mind.
“Max. Are you in there?”
“I shut the door for no reason.”
“When you get out. I want to have a talk.”
“Not now mother. I have at least an hour. Then a chat with Hensley.”
“It’s important son.”
“What is it now? Another bill you can’t explain?”
“Let’s talk about it in the morning,” Jan said.
“I’m busy all day. Working on my treatise.”
Max heard his mother walk down the stairs.
“That bridge club has gotten to her head. There’s no telling what kind of liberal ideology they’re filling her mind with, the culprit no doubt is the pastor’s wife. She’s a hussy and a harlot,” Max thought.
The water started to cool a bit, so Max turned the hot all the way to the left. He sank down under the water, and his massive gut protruded above the water level. “After my chat with Hensley, I’ll work on my treatise. I’ve got ideas in my brain. Need to get them down,” Max thought.
The chat with Hensley was uneventful. Max got so disgusted with the professor’s definition of inflation, that he shut off the webcam, and told Hensley to personally write an apology letter. Hensley’s students erupted in a frenzied laughter, which made Max even angrier. All was not lost however; as Max got much work done on his treatise. He penned five pages just for Hensley, and another five for White. This was done to the jangle pop sounds of Weeder. The music reminded Max that he needed to call BANG Records. The new releases were coming out tomorrow.
Jan saw her son stumble down the stairs. There was that ever present Chicago Cubs hat, and the gray athletic shorts snug on his massive posterior. She had little hope for Max; he was destined to be a bachelor, and had no motivation for self betterment. All her son cared about were those damn albums, and talking about whatever on the computer.
“Good morning son. Did you sleep well?”
“Is my brunch ready?”
“No. Today you make your own. There’s oatmeal in the pantry. Waffle mix in ice box.”
“Stop the abomination. Surely you jest.”
“Jest?”
“It means joke mother. I would like French toast. Side of boiled eggs.”
“You make it. I mean it,” Jan said.
“What’s wrong with you mother? You been conversing with the harlot?”
“Harlot?”
“The pastor’s wife. She’s a bad influence. That club has done nothing but ruin your life.”
“Alice Walker is a good lady. She got lots of advice. I know she means well.”
“She’s nothing but a harlot. I’m sure she’s familiar with the book of Revelation. God talks about the great harlot. That’s her.”
“Son. I want to talk.”
“Make my brunch. My stomach is upset. I need a proper meal.”
“I will not. I’m trying to tell you that I’m moving out.”
“Moving out? You’ve gone insane,” Max said.
“It’s true. I am meeting with the realtor today. She said the house will sell for double.”
“You need your head examined. I will not tolerate such imprudent talk.”
br /> “I’m moving to Florida. I called Marge this morning. She said I can live with her until I get on my feet,” Jan said.
“Your sister is crazier than you. You need to calm down. You’re not thinking properly.”
“I love you son. I’ve given up my life so that you can have things. I pay your bills. I do your laundry. I need a break.”
“Foolish talk. You’ll change your mind. You won’t make it one day in Florida. The mosquitoes and alligators,” Max said.
“I’ll be just fine. That’s no way to speak to your mama,” Jan said.
“What am I supposed to do? What about my brunch?”
“I suggest you find a job. It’s time you entered the real world. I’m doing this for your own good. I should have told you long ago.”
Jan left to meet with the realtor. Max stared blankly at the oatmeal, and decided he wasn’t hungry. He walked upstairs and picked up the desk phone.
“Hello.”
“Aunt Marge. It’s your nephew.”
“Hello Max. It’s been a long time.”
“I know. Mother changed her mind. She decided to stay. As you can imagine, she’s having a difficult time letting go.”
“Are you sure? I spoke with her. She sounded excited about moving to Florida.”
“I’m afraid she’s upset. Not to mention her fear of gators. It was a major factor.”
“Is she there? Can I speak to her?” asked Marge.
“She’s at the church. Talking to the pastor.”
“Is she alright?” asked Marge.
“I don’t think so.”
“I find it hard to believe,” said Marge.
“I think it came down to mosquitoes,” Max said.
“Mosquitoes?”
“Yes. They’re quite horrific in Florida.”
“They’re just as bad in Lufkin,” said Marge.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news. Mother couldn’t bring herself to call.”
“I’m going to phone her later,” said Marge.
“It won’t do any good. She’s set in her ways,” Max said.
“Goodbye Max. Tell her I’ll be in touch.”
Max hung up and went to the kitchen. He immediately unplugged the phone. He kept the one in his room on, but turned down the ringer. This was vital to order records, and chat with Hensley. The first order of business was finding the harlot. She was the perpetrator responsible for the brainwashing.
Patty Harris worked at Panther Realty for twenty five years, not to mention she played bridge. She was more than pleased to assist Jan Wilson.
“Everything looks good. I think we can sell it in a few weeks,” Patty said.
“That’s good. I’ve already made plans for the move,” Jan said.
“What about your son?” Patty asked.
“He’ll be fine.”
“That’s good to hear,” Patty said.
“I’m gonna live with my sister.”
“She’s in Boca Raton?” asked Patty.
“That’s right. It’s a beautiful area,” Jan said.
“I’ll run the ad next week. Let’s hope for the best,” Patty said
“Thank you. Let’s cross our fingers.”
Max sat down, and worked on his treatise.
To whom it may concern: (Professor White, Economics Department Angelina Junior College and Professor Hensley, Economics Department Texas College)
I detest your ludicrous methods of teaching and your asinine philosophy of economics. I call for your immediate resignations due to false instructional methods based upon utopian fairy tales, and blatant lies directed at your students under the guise of pseudo economic theory. I detest the Keynesian lies your culvert mouth spews. I’ve been personally offended while conversing with you, and your unfortunate pupils. This stems from a blatant misunderstanding of economics, which as we know gets its roots from the devil himself; John Maynard Keynes. I don’t feel obligated to explain the CORRECT economic theory, which we know is the Austrian school. However, I will provide a correct definition of inflation. You have incorrectly brainwashed your students and other toe heads by stating inflation is an increase in prices. We both know that the accurate definition is an increase in the monetary supply. I look forward to seeing you quit or resign. I would be embarrassed to even call yourself a tenured professor.
Sincerely,
Max Wilson
Max printed out two copies, and got them ready to mail. Then he wrote a letter to Pastor Walker.
Pastor Walker,
I’ve discovered a great brainwashing amongst your beloved flock. The root of this evil stems from a brood of vipers known as the Ladies Bridge Club. It is with much wretchedness, that I state your wife is behind it all. The power of Satan has transformed her into the Great Harlot as prophesized in the Revelation of Jesus Christ. Unfortunately, my own mother has been a victim of this false prophecy. She is possessed. This demon threatens to devastate our family. With much prayer and fasting, I call for your immediate resignation and exorcism of your harlot wife. I will bring this matter before the church board.
In Christ,
Max Wilson
P.S. Pray for my mother Jan Wilson
Max put all the envelopes in the mailbox. He went back inside and took a nap.
Willie Ames. His business was on the decline. His best customer hadn’t shown his face in weeks, and the opening of a chain restaurant brought unwanted competition. The truth being, Willie should have filed for bankruptcy years ago. His pride wouldn’t allow it, not after the years of hard work. He needed capital to get above water; a loan that could be reinvested in the chicken shack. Willie fought back the tears, when he pondered his dire situation. He needed a spark to reignite commerce.