Purple Two-tone Wind Pants
There was something missing by the boy’s side but he seemed very content. He wore his tailored suit, his best clothes for the biggest night of his year. But he had no date to this formal occasion, no female guest with whom to share this special evening. But Ross had no intention of slowing down his behavior in order to satisfy any dependents. He wasn’t thinking much of anything bad that could happen from his loss of control, he was focused on sucking everything from
the night he could.
And this kid was a consumer. A consumer of food, a consumer of drink, a consumer of life. But one thing I later realized was of all the consumption this kid and the others did, they did not eat a lot of meat.
The living room is loud but my glances make it seem like I am looking at a number of stills from the 1950s. Everyone seems pretty nervous in their formal outfits. The awkward girls are standing in a circle with their fingertips together, not exactly scheming but you know what I mean. Those who belong here, and know it, they just hug each other and
keep on giggling. But the men behind the bar, one looking like an elegantly dressed bartender, the other what one might expect to find in an Irish pub. But in this room and atmosphere that reeks of the 1950s, they use the internet to find out how to make the drink I request. The legions of guest uncomfortably mill around. They do not quite seem ready.
Downstairs in the formally set dining room Ross and the others still look out of place. But they feel like they are at home. The Consumer is there, obnoxiously loud but not caring or even thinking about it, yelling at the girls to open the window. But they are cold. He perseveres in his effort to get the window open with no success. All
of a sudden he screams “Ah, screw it” and rips off his tie, throws it to the floor, throws off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves as though he is about to start throwing punches. But the only thing he attacks is the food on his plate and the wine in his glass. But no meat. And slow down, boy.
Once again he feels a new vibe, his existence is focused on one thing. He has realized Donald is not in their presence. He says the revelation out loud to himself and then shouts it like an umpire trying to reach the bleachers. He asks the crowd if he should go look for him and they just give him encouragement. They all feel the absence of this guy. Or they just don’t want to say no to this kid who has too much energy for his own good. Donald, as Ross finds out, is in his room with a migraine and he regrettably wakes him up and tries to bring him downstairs. Ross returns without Donald to applause.
Like an old man, Doug saunters up the stairs. He is wearing a flamboyant outfit –white corduroy jacket, pink ruffled tuxedo shirt, white leisure suit pants, and pointed white cowboy shoes – and once on the dance floor has flamboyant energy. Ross tries to mimic him, but Doug just does his dancing, like skipping across a large bed of coals. Ross darts from view and returns wearing a hat, a foam dome bearing the logo of a fringe presidential candidate that he thinks goes just perfectly with his formal attire. He continues his overenthusiastic and unstylish dancing. One of his female acquaintances viciously accuses him of being a Democrat, which he strongly denies. He sees the need to completely convince her of that fact but she does not budge and he does not change his argument –
The cry of a whistle like an air raid drill is being announced comes down the stairs while the band is finishing up. Ross surprisingly has replaced what was left of his formal attire with a colonel’s outfit -except for the fact that this colonel was wearing purple two-tone wind pants. He just went on his way, blowing the whistle, dancing, approaching people, testing their reaction, a ball of energy. A consumer. Not really expecting that he has any responsibilities, he seems to think his ridiculous outfit is attractive. Or he is just not thinking at all. And this is just the beginning.