Enter the pod


It was bound to happen. One could practically smell them. The pods. Rebirth on a global, an extra-terrestrial even gigantic scale. Something was up, it just seemed sort of fishy, out of place. No, it didn’t smell fishy, it just wasn’t “natural.” I just buried my nose in my paper, after all, that is what I came in for. I sucked on my coffee, not really knowing what my next move should be. But my third sense, that keen “reporter’s guide to the universe” kicked in almost immediately. A reporter’s sense, if you didn’t quite know is like a spidy sense, one of those Spiderman kind of senses that I personally try to use it only when I have to. It is like running around with a loaded gun, a pair of scissors, or one of those sharp double- headed axes. I am not so proud of the spidy sense ability because with it comes a great deal of responsibility. Sure, little kids get a real kick out of all the tricks you can do and it isn’t bad for picking up chicks. But as I went into that coffee shop I realized that my spidy sense also needed to be sort of recharged. One might say that I was up a crick without a spidy paddle. “Damn,” I thought, “if I’d only have charged up my cell phone or brought one of those damn keen pad and pencils!” Well, such is life. I guess that is one story that the world will not live to hear. However, there is no harm in making up all the crap as I go along. Besides, reporters usually do that anyhow. The only problem here is that by telling too much of the truth I might make the story a bit too phony. Don’t fudge it? I figured I’d just play it by ear. Anyhow, these pods seem to have wanted to come “out of their shells,” so to speak in this sleepy little town of Rockport, Massachusetts on the North Shore, Cape Ann. It was a gorgeous day, but not really for this. I can’t imagine people coming out for a little fun in the sun and maybe some Pod watching. I guess they had been hiding and waiting for just the right time. It wasn’t like watching the white whale take a spin around the neighboring waters, while everybody tried to tell it, in whale talk, of course, “You are in the wrong waters! Go out a bit, then take a right and it should take you where you want to go!” Silly humans, the whale must’ve thought. “Their ‘whale’ (as in whale language) is terrible.” Where was I? Yes, the pods.  I had just ordered a coffee and crueler (I recommend the Rockport crullers; they are out of this world). But, I had a case of that writer’s block and figured that a good coffee might get me over the hump. I was going to go for the double espresso but didn’t quite have enough change. I just finished doing laundry…well, at least I was now sitttin’ pretty. I looked up at this woman. She was the spitting image of my little sister, but as she leaned over to pay for her own coffee I saw that she was still in her pod. I guess she had ordered one of those breakfast sandwiches. She came over to where I was and asked if she could take a seat. Me being the polite gentleman that I am, I said “Certainly.” What else could I have told the pod! “Yes, only if you don’t suck my brains out bitch!” Now that wouldn’t have been real polite and could have been the beginning of a very long day. I know exactly what you are thinking, and if you aren’t thinking that you are probably thinking another thing. Anyhow, I have it all under control. You see, my Mom didn’t bring up no fool. I could tell that she was still developing inside of her pod because the “shell” hadn’t quite heeled up where the two shells would or should come together or apart. In truth, it is all a very complicated process and you couldn’t really tell that there had been a metamorphosis unless that is what you were looking for. That is where the combo of my spidy sense and reporter sense really was, it really was good for them, I don’t mean to toot my own whistle, blow my own horn, but it was for the betterment of mankind. What can I say, “Responsibility.”You are probably thinking, “How does this guy know that these things are pods?” Well, I have that spidy sense and I saw her undeveloped pod. The clerk brought her the breakfast sandwich, which I admit looked pretty tasty, she dropped a quarter. Okay, I admit it. I sort of peaked. She seemed real pretty, real nice. She was also sort of hot. I mean hot in a grown up way. She was hot and not hot. I had to let my spidy sense and sense of responsibility kick in. This pod was the spitting image of my little sister; at first. That is where it all fell apart. I felt something seriously awry so I asked the clerk at the counter if he could please take his time order with the breakfast sandwich. He said, “No problem, actually, I was just going to tell woman that her order was going to be delayed, she could either get her money back or have a coffee on the house, while she waited for her free sandwich.” This worded perfectly, I called Mom’s and asked if she knew of my sister ever getting a tattoo, a “Rose Tattoo” as in the play by Tennessee Williams play. This seeming identical twin had a “Rose Tattoo” right over the pod. By now, the crack, incomplete pod development was clearly evident. The patrons of the coffee shop had almost all scurried out. Rockport itself was rumbling, some were just taking off.  The day of the pod. I asked this woman with the Tennessee Williams tattoo if she knew of the play. She said, “Why yes, I do.” Somewhere, somehow I mentioned something about The Good Ol’ Red Sox  This woman, clearly knew Babe. She knew the scandal. She knew Cincinnati. This woman probably had an intimate and firsthand knowledge with the Black Sox, if not every damn guy in Chi-town. Pods.

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