A New Angel Reports to Work

Just a yob, doing a job? Friends in low places? Walk a mile in my footwear.

[Humor/Whimsy]

We've dealt with my good and bad angels before. Yes, I have them, and I can't seem to be rid of them. Back in December, I wrote:

“But good Angels- you know, the little figures all dressed in white who perch on your right shoulder, who you can't shake off unless you’re concussed or eaten some 'shroom or somethin' -they have eyes sharper than an eagle using Nikon 10x50 binoculars; they don't miss anything. And they're quick to remind you if you've lapsed! Most everyone have them and don't even know they're present, but with my Lux-Vision™ I can actually see mine! Contrast him with my Bad Angel (we all have them too) loafing on a Barcalounger on my left shoulder-both angel and chair in the traditional red- he misses everything except when I seem to be denying myself some temptation, like jelly donuts or pecan pie-then he bestirs himself, whispers a soft word or two. Then it's down the hatch with the treats; he nods approvingly, settles back in his chair and reads that goofy newspaper of his with all the pictures of dog races, doxies, and doper paraphernalia. Life of Riley for him. Not much effort required to keep me on his preferred path! My good Angel has a much more exhausting job and there’s been a high burnout rate as they just regularly quit after a few weeks and apply for an easier posting! Maybe the word is out on me or maybe the Good Angel Bureau (a hive of bureaucrats if there ever was one) is scraping the bottom of the angel barrel but the newest one is quite a character. He must have been in some kind of cryostasis or psychologically stuck in his glory years. He looks and talks like a Party commissar from 1930s Russia! He doesn't even have a white robe! He prefaces every reminder with a 'Greetings, comrade!” My bad Angel on the other shoulder, though red is not a Red. More like an oppressor class banker! He dresses in bespoke three piece suits complete with Brunello Cucinelli shirts, Rep ties (dark red on scarlet of course), and Louis Vuitton dress oxfords. He normally sports a bowler hat like all his buddies in the City (a financial district in London for all you non-Brits out there.) Recently he’s taken to wearing spatz for fashion-forward reasons known only to himself..perhaps the dash of white amuses him. But then that little star on the Commissar’s hat is red. Some deep truth there? Bad Angel's speech is somewhat gravelly and coarse which is odd since he dresses like a toff. On the other hand, the Commissar tends to speak in abrupt short barks. “Think of the workers!” is typical. I don't know which I dislike the most! A saving grace is that I've caught both surreptitiously taking swigs from bottles, cheap gin and double malt respectively. Kind of humanizes them.”

Anyway, back in December I had posted yet another ADDENDUM clarifying and correcting one of my earlier posts in November! That public admission of error satisfied my conscience.

“The Commissar: “Very good comrade! You will be forgiven a struggle session with your fellow comrades of the 153rd Shock Worker Brigade at the Krasny Tractor Factory. Your vodka allowance is hereby increased by 0.12 liters!”

Lux: “Oh thank you! My wife Stalina and I will celebrate with a candlelight dinner of vodka and sardines in our Shock Worker Barracks. Tomorrow we vow to double our production quotas in mud flaps!!”

That will quiet the good Angel down for a couple of days. He's new to my tricks! I estimate he bails in two weeks, tops!

Lux: “Hey Toff! Any good temptations in that newspaper you're reading?”

***

Well such is my life and sure enough my good angel, the Commissar, quit without notice one day soon after I wrote that, taking with him his gin bottle and scratchy LP record of Favorite Red Army Marches (Russiya label 1966!) Peace and quiet reigned for a while and plenty of pecan pie went down the hatch. My bad angel jumped on the opportunity and took a brief sabbatical- going to a Bad Angel Trade Show in where else, Sin City! Maybe he should've felt guilty leaving his post- even temporarily, but apparently guilt wasn't an issue he ever had to deal with! (which brings up a philosopical question: can bad angels ever feel guilty? If so for what- not being better at their craft?)

But the peace didn't last long. Before my friend in red returned from his happy jaunt, there was a new good angel perched on my right shoulder!

I just can’t fathom what's going on at the Good Angel Bureau. I know my right shoulder is not the most desirable posting and there's been terrible turnover in angels there. Maybe I'm regarded as something of a lost cause. Maybe only loser angels volunteer to act as my conscience. A conscience has to put up with my All-World skills at second guessing and finding highly convoluted rationalizations to circumvent or undermine my “better angels.” Alas!

But the new angel the Bureau sent over is certainly a optimistic and cheerful sort! My Lux-Vision™ shows that he is dressed in cowboy boots, Levi's, pearl buttoned yoked shirt and he's sporting a cowboy hat! White of course. Even Toff stared a little at his outfit.. But Toff, used to the parade on the right shoulder, only smirked and took up his newspaper again while humming a little of Charley Pride's “Kiss an Angel Good Morning” song. I decided to greet my new Good Angel who, on my principle of judging books by their covers, I decided to call, Cowpoke.

Lux: “Hi, friend! Welcome aboard! You'll enjoy yourself here I'm sure. I'm basically a real nice guy, so you're not going to have to work too hard!” (Then I turned my head to wink at Toff, who smirked.)

Cowpoke: “I'm happy to make your acquaintance. I'm a nice guy too, but even being easy going, there's stuff I can't let slide and there's folk I cain't abide" At this point he gave a steely-eyed squint at Toff, who just shifted his cigar to the other side of his mouth, smirked again, and adjusted his barcalounger to full recline position and commenced a nap!

An auspicious start, one might say. It looked like the new angel wasn't going to be too obtrusive. Aside from the occasional “Cowboy up!” or “Put your big boy pants on.” remarks, Cowpoke was pretty tolerant and let most of my minor lapses and peccadilloes slide.

But all was not roses, for almost immediately, Cowpoke and Toff started sniping at each other. They probably were unaware that I could hear everything they said (using my Lux-Hearing™.) Now normally good and bad shoulder spirits ignore each other. I guess they accept each other as unavoidable facts of life rather than as say, competitors much less opponents. There is definitely a professional courtesy usually in evidence.

Cowpoke and Toff must have somehow got off on the wrong foot as early on, I could hear them launching personal attacks at each other. Unprecedented behavior in my experience and definitely not the usual professional courtesy. If I had to lay blame, it would probably be at Cowpoke's doorstep. He was a pretty snarky and aggressive youngster! Leaning over and peering at Toff, he would yell something like, “Wake up over there, cull; earn your vittles!” or “What kind of duds are those? Where did you find them- Badwill? Hat har har!!” or “You look like somebody who’s spent their whole life drinking crik water from downstream of the herd!”. I had to think on that last one.

Now Toff has never, in his long sojourn on my left shoulder, been subject to such contempt and billingsgate from a fellow angel, even one from the other Bureau! And he didn't take it well. “Sod,” “Twit,” “Wanker,” “Knob,” “Arse,” and “Piss off” or “Bugger off, blighter!” were routinely directed back at Cowpoke!

I soon got weary of all the bickering, shouting and hullabaloo and tried to play peacemaker to my own consciences!

Lux: "Guys, guys! Can't we all just get along! I can't sleep with all this going on! If you just must play tit for tat, then can't you do it by emails?!”

The response was not enthusiastic- in fact there was only a stoney silence. So I tried another tack:

Lux: “You two could profit by spending a day walking in each others, er, footwear! See how hard each other's jobs are! Cowpoke! Toff, all appearances to the contrary, has a difficult job. He pursues it with exactitude, dedication and unflagging courage. He is devilish in appearance but he has a great heart and many admirable qualities! You should try a day doing his job. Toff! Although Cowpoke may seem a benighted, goody-two-shoes hayseed, you have to admit he has a devilish command of vitriol and invective. He evinces many pertinaceous and bedeviling behaviors that are all quite respectable! You also should attempt 24 hours performing his tasks.”

There now was a glum silence! But backing up such an appeal to pride and reason, with my taking off the velvet glove and threatening to go to the Bureaus and have both of them jerked off my shoulders, the two angels actually agreed to my scheme. I think particularly effective was my threat to stop listening to either of them! That, they couldn’t abide.

So they laboriously switched shoulders- Cowpoke actually helping Toff manhandle the barcalounger over to the right!

When they had settled in to their new positions I decided on the first test. I wandered over to the refrigerator and took out the current pecan pie I was demolishing.

Lux: “Cowpoke, you’re Toff for the day, you got to approve of me eating this.”

Cowpoke: “But I jes cain’t! It's bad for you!”

Lux: “But remember! This is genuine Texas/Oklahoma Pecan Pie! Every real cowboy in those parts, white hat or black hat loves a slice. Why, Garth Brooks likes real Texas/Oklahoma pecan pie!”

That did the trick, Cowpoke started urging me to “man up” and have myself a real “cowboy breakfast!”

Now I had to convince Toff.

Toff: “You can't expect me to oppose eating that pie! It'll wreck your health, ruin your teeth with sugar, has no nutritive value.. why of course you should eat it!”

Lux: (reasonably) “But Toff, dear chap, remember your dear old mum who raised you from a little imp! What if she were a pre-diabetic, why you’d be condemning her to a quick grave if you urged her to eat even a sliver of that pie! Just think of your dear old mum! How hard she worked to make that nasty little imp you were into the fine devil you are today!”

Toff, wiping a tear from his eye nodded silently and started yelling in that gravelly voice of his, “Don't eat that pie. Don't eat that pie!”

I didn't want to give either angel a victory so I just took a tiny forkful and told them they were both convincing!

I gave them a couple of more test cases, like buying tickets to the Eras concert in Seattle, or going to the third annual Monster Mud Truck charity event in the Coliseum. Each had the desired effect. Moral ambiguity wins again! By the time the day was through, the angels were back on their accustomed shoulders and we were all three of us drinking sarsaparilla and singing Garth Brooks' “Friends in Low Places.”

“Cause I've got friends in low places
Where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases my blues away
And I'll be OK
Yeah, I'm not big on social graces
Think I'll slip on down to the Oasis
Oh, I've got friends in low places…”

Don't we all!

*********

(ps: In high places too of course and sometimes the two are hard to distinguish. As Saint Elvis sang

“If I only had the wings
Of a little angel
Don't you know I'd fly
To the top of the mountain
And then I'd cry, cry, cry

Walk a mile in my shoes
Just walk a mile in my shoes
Yeah, before you abuse, criticize and accuse
Walk a mile in my shoes.”)