Furious George

Opportunities like this didn’t occur very often and George knew he’d be remiss not to try and take advantage. The Tamale vendor wasn’t budging on the price despite the bad man’s firm assertion that two American dollars is the highest amount of money anyone should be required to pay for, in his words, “undercooked ethnic street meat.” 

George rolled his eyes. The bad man was racist and cheap and stubborn and ignorant but more than anything, the bad man was very bad, and George desperately needed to get away. He surveyed the landscape. The crowd wasn’t as dense as he expected but he still felt like with the right move at the exact right moment, he could elude the bad man and finally escape his stranglehold once and for all. But what about after that? Where would he go? Where would he stay? How would he continue to evade capture? The same troubling obstacles presented themselves once again. A group of speed walking middle-aged women glided past him. George shook his head in disgust. If walking is too slow for you, why not just run. Several people browsed the market tents. Two grungy looking young men wearing disc golf shirts and cargo shorts sat on a nearby bench eating ice cream cones. A family of four crossed the street as a policeman stood at the intersection directing traffic.

Maybe this time will be different he forced himself to think optimistically. There’s a lot of people here. Maybe this time someone will understand me. Hopefully this time someone will actually help. George snuck a few steps away from the bad man like a base runner eager to steal second. The bad man didn’t notice. He was too busy informing the tamale vendor that it wasn’t about the money, he could buy a thousand tamales if he really wanted to. No, this was all about the principle of the matter and as the bad man describes himself, he’s a man of strict principles. George snuck a few more steps away and when the bad man didn’t seem to notice he took his shot. “Goddamn, I hope someone here speaks monkey!” he mumbled to himself as he quickly scurried away. 

“Help, Help!” He cried out gesticulating wildly towards no one in particular. As usual, he had the crowd’s attention, yet no one seemed to be processing his pleas for assistance. “Help!” He shouted while lunging towards the speed walkers. “He beats me! He tortures me! You have to help!” The speed-walkers exchanged nervous glances and fled the scene in terror. 

“Oh now, you know how to run!” George snidely remarked. He was losing time fast. “Please!” He pleaded with the young men eating ice cream. “He does terrible things to me! Detestable things! Unspeakable things!” 

“Dude, these edibles are too intense, are you seeing a monkey too?”

George jumped onto the bench and held the man by his shirt collar. “Don’t you understand me!” He shouted in frustration. “You have to do something!”

“I’m too high for this!” The young man whimpered while running away in tears, his buddy laughing uncontrollably with his cell phone pointed directly at George. What was it with those phones, George thought to himself? Why did they always pull their phones out like that? Yet, as he thought that he noticed more people with their phones out. This wasn’t good. He had, once again, attracted too much attention. 

“Mommy, look, a monkey!” A small child exclaimed. “Can we take him home and keep him?” 

George’s eyes lit up. “Yes, yes, yes, please take me home. Take me far, far away from here!” 

“Don’t be silly,” The mother replied. “He’s probably riddled with diseases.” 

George scoffed. “You Judgmental bitch!” He nervously hopped back and forth searching for rescue, praying for some kind of intervention, but everywhere he looked he only saw phones pointed at him. This wasn’t good he thought to himself. Too much time had already passed and sure enough the next thing he saw was the bad man walking briskly in his direction holding half a tamale. “Oh George,” the bad man called out. “What are you doing little buddy?” 

George was aghast. This can’t be happening. Not again. Fortunately for him, the cop at the intersection had also taken notice to his presence and seemed to be on a collision course with the bad man. He jumped up and down again shouting, “Don’t let him take me, officer! He’s abusive. He’s manipulative. He’s evil!” 

“Sir, does this animal belong to you?” The officer inquired. His hand resting firmly on his taser. 

“Easy,” The bad man answered. “He’s harmless, I assure you. He’s just a little curious, that’s all.” 

“Well that may be so,” the officer cautiously replied. “But this is a crowded Farmer’s market. You can’t have a goddamn spider monkey running around without a leash.” 

Desperate for help, George pulled out all the stops. “Look, look closely at my leg. You can see the scars from when he puts his cigars out in my fur. Look, look here at my tail. You’ll see the marks from when he hooked me up to jumper cables. He’s an awful human being! He has to be stopped. Please, please for the love of god, don’t let him take me!”  George pounded on his chest and pointed frantically towards the bad man. 

“Well, well,” the officer chuckled. “You’re right. He’s a curious little guy, isn’t he?” 

The bad man nodded his head. George was devastated. 

“Well, I suppose I’ll let you be on your way. Have a good afternoon!” The officer said while walking back towards his post. 

“Same to you.” 

The bad man scooped George up and placed him on his shoulders. “Let’s get you home, buddy. I want to see if this waterboarding thing is all it’s hyped up to be.” 

George hated that officer for not helping him. He hated those people for simply pointing their phones at him rather than trying to offer him any kind of assistance. He hated the language barrier which prevented him for communicating his misery. But more than anything he hated the bad man and his stupid goddamn yellow hat.