"Phillip," A short story playing around with satire and irony
“We need to break up,” said Veronica.
“What? I thought things were going so well,” said Phillip, with a mouthful of potatoes.
“I really think they were.”
“I can tell you, they were certainly not.”
“I just—I mean, you waited to tell me until we had already got our food? Seems a bit strange doesn’t it?”
“Surely, you can eat at a different table for the rest of the night.”
Phillip was confused. He and Veronica had been dating for five months now. The longest relationship he had ever been in. He even decided to spice things up and take her to this fancy steakhouse tonight. Her short, black, cropped hair didn’t move as she talked and sipped her glass of Merlot. It was her third glass. Phillip wondered why she never got the red wine stains on her teeth. Phillip always got terrible red wine stains on his teeth. Which is the reason he always carried a toothbrush and toothpaste in his fanny pack when he knew he would be drinking red wine.
“But, I mean, we were supposed to go to Napa next week. I already booked the tickets for—“
“That’s not of my concern anymore Phillip.”
“I just—is there someone else?”
“I’m glad you asked this Phillip. There is someone else. His name is Jeremy.”
“But—when did you meet him?”
“While you were in the bathroom cleaning your nasal passages. Jeremy approached me at the bar and commented on how dull you appeared. He said you had a dull face, Phillip. And you know what? I agree with him. He said I had a glamorous face. Ha! Have you ever heard such a thing? ...glamorous face. He wears Armani, Phillip. I am destined to date someone who wears Armani.”
Just then a striking man with a feathery head of hair approached the table. His suit did not even wrinkle up when he walked. Phillip wondered how long he had been wearing the suit in order for it to look so nicely pressed. Whenever Phillip wore a suit, it somehow got wrinkled or stained within the first half an hour of wearing it. Phillip wondered what kind of steamer he used. A new model perhaps? Which reminded him, he needed to refill his steamer.
“Phillip, this is Jeremy.”
“Hello, I am Jeremy,” said Jeremy.
“This is the other man? I don’t understand what—“
“I believe you are in my seat, Phillip,”
“You are in Jeremy’s seat, Phillip.”
“Phillip, good God. Stop being so rude,” said Veronica.
Not knowing what else to do, Phillip got up from his chair and pulled it out for Jeremy. Jeremy smelled like clean sheets and soap as he sat down. Trying to show at least some gusto, Phillip stood next to their table and demanded an explanation.
“I—I—demand an explanation.”
“Wake up Phillip, don’t you see?” began Veronica, “I am a six. A seven on a good day. And after Jeremy adjusts my nose, I will be a solid eight. Jeremy is a plastic surgeon, Phillip. In Sacramento. He says I am the only woman he has ever seen who requires the least reconstruction. Did you hear that, Phillip? The least reconstruction.”
“All we need to do is take a little in here, and a little there, and I think you will be really happy with the results,” said Jeremy, as he did little cutesy pats on Veronica’s nose. Veronica giggled. Phillip had never seen Veronica giggle like that before.
Phillip adjusted his cheap plaid tie. He knew he should have worn the good tie for the night. The only reason he decided not to wear it was because that tie was saved for weddings and funerals. Phillip grew worried that the tie scenario was the reason Veronica decided to break up with him. She obviously liked men who wore nice things. Phillip thought she had more character than that. But now he was not so sure. Adjusting his glasses, he tried to bring out his inner Jason Bourne. This time, Phillip was not going to back down without a fight.
“Veronica, I don’t think this is very fair,”
“Sure it is. I am not attracted to you. Never was really. Not sure why I dated you, but my therapist says it is because I tend to fall into self-destructive behavior. I can’t go on drowning in your pathetic life, Phillip. Drowning, Phillip. I was drowning. Do you understand?”
Jeremy’s bronze skin glistened in the fake candlelight. Veronica salted her salmon. Phillip had lost again. So much for Jason Bourne.
“Can I at least take the rest of my dinner to go? I barely touched the steak.”
“Actually, I am a little hungry. You don’t mind do you, Phillip?” said Jeremy, picking up Phillip’s fork and knife.
“He doesn’t mind,” said Veronica.
“Actually, I do mind a bit…”
“Bon appétit, Jeremy. Can you pass the pepper?”
Phillip walked away defeated, and now, incredibly hungry. On the drive home, he wondered why he always managed to date women who took advantage of him. Veronica had convinced him that in order for their relationship to reach the next level, he had to buy her pet chiwawa a new wardrobe. The girlfriend before that, Vikki, convinced him to pay her bills for the four months they were together. And before that it was Vanessa, who just continually stole money from him. Phillip wondered whether or not the letter V had anything to do with his misfortune. Phillip just wanted to be happy. As an accountant for a small insurance company in Gridley, California, Phillip needed some happiness in his life. He wanted a family. He wanted to teach his kids how to play a proper game of chess. He wanted to teach them the magic of a good book, or movie. Or maybe, when they were a bit older, he could teach them how to play badminton. Most of all, he wanted a wife to share it all with. Phillip thought he would be a good husband. He just needed to find someone who would give him a chance.
Phillip stopped at McDonald’s and ordered a Big Mac with extra large fries and a Dr. Pepper. Not wanting to wait until he got home, Phillip dug into the fries as soon as he pulled out of the parking lot. Phillip sighed as he realized they didn’t give him ketchup. He would have to eat dry fries; he didn’t like doing it, but he had no choice. By the time he got home, Phillip had eaten all of them.
As Phillip approached his front door, he could already hear the loud noises of tonight’s boxing match coming from his house. His mother, Francis, lived with him and had recently gotten into watching professional boxing—claiming that it kept her young. She normally got a little riled up and would yell at the television, especially after her third or fourth drink.
“Hello, Mother,” Phillip said as he took his Big Mac out of the bag.
“Did you eat the fries on the way home, Phillip, or did you finally decide to cut out trans fats?” said Francis, as she attempted to have her own boxing match with the air.
“I didn’t get any fries this time.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re lying, Phillip?”
Phillip changed the subject.
“So how was your day, mother? Any new replies on the dating websites?” he asked in an overly light and sarcastic tone.
“Joe keeps trying to take me out again. But, I tell you what, that was the last time I ever decide to date anyone over seventy-five again. It is just so depressing,” said Francis, crossing over to refill her margarita.
“Well, you are seventy-six yourself.”
“Phillip! Did we not discuss that you shall never speak of my age?”
“Well maybe you should branch out, um, try dating someone your own age?”
“And what then Phillip? Hmm? Sure, it starts by dating someone who is seventy-five but then pretty soon it will be okay to date some one who is eighty, and then what after that?”
“Do you want me to date someone who is ninety years old, Phillip?”
“Might as well go on a date to the funeral home! Maybe we could pick out coffins together. Is that you want, Phillip?”
“No, it is the opposite of what I want.”
“You want me to date someone right before they kick the can?”
“If you would just let me move to a retirement community, we would not be having this conversation. I would be able to date anyone I wanted without you breathing down my neck about age requirements. A sixty-five and over age community is just what I need. It gives me a solid dating pool.”
“You are not moving to a retirement community mother, you are staying here with me.”
“But look—I found these brochures on a community called Summer Glen in Florida. Could you imagine, Phillip? Me in Florida? Lounging by the pool? ”
Phillip grimaced at the thought of his mother in a bathing suit.
“Oh how marvelous that would be. See here, they have a spa, and a golf course. They even have karaoke night. And Phillip, you know how I love karaoke.”
She started to sing “New York, New York.” Phillip interjected.
“Mom, please. You are the only person I have left,” Phillip sighed and continued, “Veronica broke up with me tonight.”
“Oh that is terrible! Why? Was it because of your personality or the way you looked?”
“I, well, I don’t know. I suppose a bit of both?”
“Well, Phillip, I have told you time and time again to use that Rogain I bought you to get rid of that balding spot. Don’t think people don’t notice, Phillip. They do.”
And with that, Francis took another sip of her margarita and turned her attention back to the boxing match on TV.
Lying in bed that night, Phillip decided that he might need therapy. It seemed to help a lot of people. Maybe if Phillip went to therapy, he could gain some confidence he never had. Maybe then, he could somehow change his whole demeanor and even whisk some beautiful woman off her feet.
Phillip stepped into Dr. Keelan’s office; finally ready to get the help he needed. Perhaps this psychiatrist could raise his incredibly low self-esteem. The sessions were a bit pricy, but if there was one thing Phillip should ever spend money on, it was medical help.
Phillip placed his name in reception and took a seat next to a window water fountain.
“So tell me, what kind of help are looking for, Phillip?” asked Dr. Keelan as he sat down in his plush mahogany chair.
Phillip squirmed in his wooden chair. He thought therapy sessions were supposed to make the client feel comfortable. A large sign with bold letters hung behind Dr. Keelan that read: Pain is Weakness Leaving the Body. To the right of the sign was a picture of Dr. Keelan, dressed in military attire.
“Well you see doctor, I just broke up with my girlfriend and I—“
“Do you mean you broke up with her, or she broke up with you?”
“Ha, well, you caught me. She broke up with me. How did you know that?”
“I’m a doctor, Phillip, it’s my job to know when people are lying to me,”
“Oh, very good then. Well, so, my girlfriend Veronica broke up with me. And I am wondering if there is something wrong with me? I mean, I know I’m a bit of an oddball, but I feel like I let people walk all over me, and that’s no way to live your life right? Also, I have this alcoholic mother who wants to leave and move to Florida. So I was—“
“I’m sorry, Phillip, it sounds to me that you are dealing with some very minor problems that do not really need therapy,” said Dr. Keelan, tapping his pen on his white mustache.
“Right, but I definitely need counseling,”
“Phillip, are you in any sort of trauma?”
“Did a close friend or relative die recently?”
“Are you addicted to drugs, Phillip? Alcohol?”
“You see, Phillip counseling is for people with real problems. It sounds to me that you are just experiencing minor setbacks in your life. A bump in the road, if you will. Perhaps you should lose some weight, Phillip. That would boost your low self-esteem wouldn’t it? A little more cardio and a little less lard-io.”
Dr. Keelan laughed at this rhyme.
“Phillip, are you listening? So, if you could please see yourself out, I have another patient waiting.”
“Well see, I—I think I have some real social anxiety or something here. I am just trying to make my life better, you know? You are the only counselor in town, so I just don’t know where else to turn at this point. I will pay anything you want. Oh, well maybe not anything you want, maybe just the normal price,” said Phillip, nervously pulling out his checkbook.
“I’m sorry, Phillip, but I am going to have to deny your request for therapy.”
Dr. Keelan then stamped Phillip’s patient form with a big red, “REJECTED” stamp.
Phillip sat outside on the bench in front of Dr. Keelan’s office looking reasonably upset. This feeling must be why people like his mother drink so heavily. Phillip thought about stopping at McDonald’s on the way home, but he didn’t have enough cash and he didn’t like using his credit card unless it was absolutely necessary.
Trudging up his house, Phillip did not hear the TV Boxing Channel on. He looked at his watch; it was one o’clock. Maybe his mother was at happy hour. Opening the door, he found his apartment empty. Literally, empty. His chairs were gone, his table was gone, even his favorite cheese grater was gone. Phillip wondered if he was robbed. Then Phillip wondered how he would never stand a chance in a robbery. The chances were not in his favor. Phillip thought about taking self-defense classes. Glancing over to the counter, Phillip saw a note written on a piece of paper with a cheap Hawaiian rim. It was his mother’s stationary that she insisted on getting years ago because she thought it made her look hip.
You may suspect that I am abandoning you. Please know that your suspicions are correct. I am just trying to do what’s best for you, Phillip. And if that means me living in Miami, and you living in California, then so be it. You need to move on with your life, Phillip. Show some gumption. I always told your father you got his lack-luster personality from his side of the family. I just needed some space from you, Phillip. You were bringing me down like a 260 pound man who refuses to give up trans fats (I’m referring to you). Why don’t you see this as an opportunity for you? Now that I am gone, the only person to blame for your less than eventful life is yourself. Find some spark in you. You are too dull.
Ps, If you do plan on visiting, please call first so I can make sure I do not have any gentlemen callers staying with me for the weekend.
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