TRANSLATION: MEMPHIS 

TRANSLATION: MEMPHIS

SEEING RED I was at the Czars gift shop in the Pyramid the other day, and I stumbled across some random philosophy. To share: never, under any circumstances, do certain people sign their names in red. At least, the man that I spoke with doesn’t. “Some people believe that it’s bad luck,” he revealed, recreations of one of Russia’s more ostentatious periods sparkling all around him. “I’m one of those people,” he said, as I watched him sign his name in black. Good enough. No red signatures for me. No way. Are you superstitiously challenged when you glide across tidbits like these, too? But then… Hungry as hell and with no will to remove myself from the beauty of my couch, I had a Papa John’s night soon thereafter. Oh, the cheap food, the quick turnaround, and the delivery policy that embraces the convenience of checks! You probably already know this if you’re anything like me. Papa John’s is a dear and perfect solution for the unmotivated moments that we all find ourselves in, um, more or less regularly depending upon the individual. So to cut to the chase here, the only pen in the five-foot radius in which I was willing to search wasÉ you know where this is going. Red. A blood red Jenn Hall stared at me from check number 442, opening the door to sustenance and damning me to a life of broken mirrors. Well, maybe. Will I now live my life cursed, enslaved to the fast food pizza company of America’s impatient dreams? Alas, I mourn and wait for the moment to come when the universe comes back around to deliver my judgment. And if so, it better come with mushrooms and pepperoni as a parting gift. There will be an off-key knock on the door. I will answer, carefree and having forgotten about all that mess with the red signature and all. And there he will be, that adorable older delivery guy that the Midtown location on Union uses, come to take me away. He’ll wrestle me to the ground, branding a giant “PJ” into my forehead, and stuff me into the PJ-mobile and deliver me to my sentence---eternal servitude to the company that collected my unguarded soul. The name scrawled in symbolic blood. My grave mistake. But seeing as how my picture is up here I’m going to ask you a favor. If you ever see my flailing inside said red and green vehicle, rescue me, OK? I’m counting on you. And be careful when you grab for pens in this world. You never know who you might be giving yourself away to.

Comments

Subscribe to this thread:

Add a comment

ADVERTISEMENT
ADVERTISEMENT

Blogs

News Blog

UTHSC Awarded Grant to Study Tobacco Use in Military

News Blog

Here Comes the 'Ikea Effect'

Politics Beat Blog

Dems' State Senate Leader Foresees Clashes with Haslam

Politics Beat Blog

Medical Marijuana Coming to Tennessee?

News Blog

MadAir Event on Saturday

Music Blog

River Records' Jerry Gibson Killed in Store

Beyond the Arc

Grizzlies 88, Trail Blazers 86: Haiku Game Notes

Memphis Gaydar

OUTMemphis Set to Host Open House for Area LGBTQ Seniors

ADVERTISEMENT

More by Jenn Hall

Readers also liked…

  • Looking for a Leader

    Don’t cast your vote based on a candidate’s fund-raising abilities.
    • Jul 16, 2015
  • We Don’t Have Jack

    The real life world of “Law and Order.”
    • Apr 23, 2015
  • Lives That Matter

    We need to choose our “martyrs” more carefully.
    • May 7, 2015
ADVERTISEMENT
© 1996-2016

Contemporary Media
460 Tennessee Street, 2nd Floor | Memphis, TN 38103
Visit our other sites: Memphis Magazine | Memphis Parent | Inside Memphis Business
Powered by Foundation