Highbrow Magazine - Sam Chapin https://www.highbrowmagazine.com/sam-chapin en New Fiction: Arnie Blank https://www.highbrowmagazine.com/2124-new-fiction-arnie-blank <div class="field field-name-field-cat field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/books-fiction" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">Books &amp; Fiction</a></div></div></div><span class="submitted-by">Submitted by tara on Mon, 02/11/2013 - 10:31</span><div class="field field-name-field-image field-type-image field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="og:image rdfs:seeAlso" resource="https://www.highbrowmagazine.com/sites/default/files/styles/large/public/field/image/mediumcomputerscreens%20%28Rebecca%20Bollwitt%20Flickr%29.jpg?itok=8KdH0TMg"><img typeof="foaf:Image" src="https://www.highbrowmagazine.com/sites/default/files/styles/large/public/field/image/mediumcomputerscreens%20%28Rebecca%20Bollwitt%20Flickr%29.jpg?itok=8KdH0TMg" width="480" height="321" alt="" /></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>  </p> <p> <strong>A Good Catch</strong></p> <p> Arnie Blank was bored. So bored that his chest cramped and the back of his throat itched. He was sitting in front of his computer, opening and closing the same tabs over and over, waiting for news to happen and statuses to change. He stood up and walked around the office, avoiding the gaze of his coworkers, and then found his seat again. He put in his headphones and listened to nothing. He typed ArnieBlank ArnieBlank ArnieBlank ArnieBlank ArnieBlank ArnieBlank…and then his phone rang.</p> <p>  </p> <p> “Arnie Blank.”</p> <p> “I’m looking for Molly O’Brien.”</p> <p> “She’s in the management office. It’s a different number.”</p> <p> There was an awkward silence and Arnie sighed.</p> <p> “I’ll transfer you.”</p> <p>  </p> <p> Arnie Blank had been working at the leasing office for…he didn’t like to think about it. Suffice it to say he had a full head of hair when he started. He also weighed 20 pounds less and was one ex-wife the poorer.</p> <p>  </p> <p> On this particular day, which happened to be a Friday in April, Arnie was feeling especially insignificant. His morning started with a cup of tea, some cereal, and an eviction notice taped to his door. His landlord threatened that if he was late with his rent one more time…it turned out that Dowall was, unfortunately, a man of his word.</p> <p>  </p> <p> But it wasn’t like Arnie had nowhere to go. His aunt lived in Carroll Gardens and his grandma was out in Queens. He could stay with them for as long as he wanted, but he really didn’t want to stay with either one—Arnie was fed up with family. His phone rang again.</p> <p>  </p> <p> <img alt="" src="/sites/default/files/mediumfinancialdistrict%20%28Dirk%20Klein%20Flickr%29.jpg" style="width: 600px; height: 398px;" /></p> <p>  </p> <p> “Arnie Blank.”</p> <p> …</p> <p> “Arnie Blank.”</p> <p> …</p> <p> There was no response so he hung up. He sat back in his seat and stared at his computer, allowing the letters to blur as his eyes crossed. He blinked and his eyes regained focus. It had been ten minutes since he got in to work and already he was watching the clock.</p> <p>  </p> <p> “Arnie.” Chuck Powell put a firm hand on Arnie’s shoulder and smiled a fake smile. “How are you today, my friend?”</p> <p> “I’m fine, Chuck.”</p> <p> “Well, you look terrible. And you sound miserable. If this is fine, I’d hate to see you unhappy.”</p> <p> Arnie smiled an angry smile.</p> <p> “That’s the spirit!” Chuck started to sing as he walked away. “<em>Just put on a happy face!”</em></p> <p>  </p> <p> Arnie watched him go and grimaced. He had seen Chuck come into the office as an intern and get promoted to Director of Residential Leasing within a year. Chuck was clearly the Boss’s son.  Arnie had been there four years and had seen only one pay raise and zero promotions. Life, as they say, was not fair.</p> <p>  </p> <p> Arnie took a deep breath in, held it, and let it out. He did it again and then again after that. He couldn’t get enough air so he decided to walk to the window and open it up.</p> <p>  </p> <p> Two floors above, the law office of Jeremy Taglioni was having a party. Mr. Taglioni had been called out of the room to attend to some business but his co-workers, friends, and family remained. His wife, Sylvia, was standing next to the window, talking to her husband’s mistress. Mrs. Taglioni was holding her one year-old daughter, Emma, in one hand, a drink in the other.</p> <p>  </p> <p> “This party is exhausting,” she muttered. “These people are barely alive. Just look at them all.”</p> <p>  </p> <p> She and her husband’s mistress surveyed the room. Aside from a couple of small groups talking amongst themselves, everyone seemed to be aimlessly roaming the room, taking uncomfortable sips from their plastic cups. People nodded to one another, offered a polite word or two, and continued on to nothing and no one in particular.</p> <p>  </p> <p> “They suck the life out of me, I swear to God.” Mrs. Taglioni took a healthy swig of red wine.</p> <p> “Where did your husband go?” The mistress asked.</p> <p> Mrs. Taglioni scowled . “Who gives a shit?”</p> <p> Emma laughed.</p> <p> “She’s beautiful,” said the mistress, bitterly.</p> <p> “Yes, well, weren’t we all?”</p> <p>  </p> <p> Mr. Taglioni entered the room and waved Mrs. Taglioni over with his hand.</p> <p> “His highness beckons.” She turned to the mistress. “Could you watch this one for second?” handing Emma over. “And careful, she’s got a death wish.” Mrs. Taglioni walked across the party to her husband.</p> <p>  </p> <p> Mr. Taglioni’s mistress looked down at the little baby. Emma held her hands out, reaching for her face and smiling. Mr. Taglioni’s mistress smiled back. She lifted the baby towards her face and Emma spit up, some of it hitting her lower lip. Mr. Taglioni’s mistress let out a scream and set Emma down on the desk behind her, searching the room for a napkin.</p> <p> <img alt="" src="/sites/default/files/mediumsubway%20%28Nick%20Neyland%29.jpg" style="width: 600px; height: 387px;" /></p> <p>  </p> <p> Meanwhile, the married couple were having a heated discussion. Mr. Taglioni was very upset but was being mindful not to raise his voice amongst company.</p> <p>  </p> <p> “Why should I care? I don’t give a shit about your reputation. What about my reputation, huh? What about <em>me</em>?” Mrs. Taglioni, on the other hand, was being much less mindful. The whole party had quieted and all eyes were on them.</p> <p> “Excuse us everyone,” Mr. Taglioni said, as he tried to usher his wife to the door. “It seems my wife has had a few too many Shirley Temples for her own good.” There were a few scattered laughs issued from the party-goers.</p> <p> “Yes,” Mrs. Taglioni smiled, “perhaps I have.” She looked Mr. Taglioni in the face. “And perhaps you’ve had a few too many whores for yours.” She shifted her gaze to her husband’s mistress and screamed, “Emma!”</p> <p>  </p> <p> Outside, a group of Japanese tourists were being led around town by a fat, middle aged tour-guide called Ralph.</p> <p>  </p> <p> “And this is the stock exchange. It’s where rich people trade stuff and we all get screwed. Now write that down.” Ralph used to be a decent actor but he wasn’t a very good tour guide.</p> <p>  </p> <p> Hayato was fascinated by all the buildings and had been filming them all day. He was walking behind the group as he didn’t speak much English and didn’t like listening to Ralph’s voice. He was far more interested in just being in New York than learning about its history. He loved all the gray buildings and statues of men on horses and the big, cobblestone streets. In Tokyo everything felt so compact. Here he could breathe. Here he could really spread out.</p> <p>  </p> <p> “Hey you, in the back,” Ralph yelled at Hayato. “Try to keep up.”</p> <p>  </p> <p> Hayato wasn’t sure what he said but could tell that Ralph was frustrated so he rejoined the group. As he walked, Hayato looked at the city through his camera, tripping over the cracks and curbs in his path.  He spotted an old building with giant metal decals and a metal roof and lingered with his camera. He zoomed in and slowly panned down the building, noticing how it gradually got fatter as he made his way down. He got to the twentieth floor and stopped. There was a baby in the window. He watched as it crawled out on the ledge. A man emerged in the window, two floors below. Hayato yelled out but it was too far for his voice to carry. The baby struggled to its feet and Hayato heard a woman’s blood-curdling scream. The man two floors below looked up as the baby took its first ever steps, right off the window ledge.</p> <p>  </p> <p> “Maa nante koto nanda,” Hayato said, as he closed his eyes. After a few seconds he slowly opened them, still looking through the camera. He looked to the window, hoping the baby had managed to hold on or regain its balance. But there was no baby. He searched the street with his lens. Again, no baby. Confused, he panned back up to the window and saw the man, two floors below, now holding a baby in his arms. Instantly, Hayato knew what he had to do.</p> <p>  </p> <p> <strong>YouTube Hero</strong></p> <p> Arnie looked down at the baby, wearing a pink onesie and cap. She smiled up at him and reached with her tiny hands for his face. He gave her his index finger and she held it with both hands. She pulled it to her mouth and sucked on the end of his finger, looking at him with her big, brown eyes.</p> <p> “No! My baby! My baby!”</p> <p> Arnie poked his head out the window and looked up.</p> <p> “She’s okay. I’ve got her.”</p> <p>  </p> <p> Mrs. Taglioni rushed out of the room and ran down the stairs. She slammed the door of the office open and went to her daughter.</p> <p> “Emma!”</p> <p>  </p> <p> Emma smiled a big smile, still holding onto Arnie’s finger. Mrs. Taglioni gently picked her up out of Arnie’s arms and Emma reluctantly released his digit.</p> <p>  </p> <p> “Baby, baby, baby. I’m so sorry.”</p> <p>  </p> <p> Emma laughed.</p> <p>  </p> <p> “Thank you,” Mrs. Taglioni said, looking into Arnie’s eyes. “What can I say?”</p> <p>  </p> <p> Arnie blushed. “It was just a lucky catch—”</p> <p> “No,” she stopped him. “I owe you everything.”</p> <p> <img alt="" src="/sites/default/files/mediumkissing%20%28See%20ming%20lee%20Flickr%29.jpg" style="width: 600px; height: 600px;" /></p> <p>  </p> <p> Arnie’s officemates were all watching, dumbfounded. The rest of the party from two floors up streamed into the office and were very relieved and confused to see the baby in her mother’s arms. Mr. Taglioni went to his daughter.</p> <p>  </p> <p> “Oh thank God.” He kissed her forehead. “What would I have done?” He looked at the tears in his wife’s eyes and kissed her forehead as well. He turned to Arnie and gave him his hand. “You’re a hero. A goddamn hero.”</p> <p>  </p> <p> The people from the party upstairs started clapping and Arnie’s co-workers followed suit. Everyone was hugging and crying, even Tom and Michael from accounting, who genuinely disliked each other. They all came to Arnie, one by one, and hugged him or shook his hand. No one could believe it, least of all Arnie.</p> <p>  </p> <p> After twenty minutes, all the partygoers had returned to their party and all of the office workers had resumed their work. Save for Arnie. He was sitting at his desk, looking out the window, reliving the moment over and over in his mind—the split second between seeing the baby fall and then holding her in his arms. <em>He </em>had caught her. <em>He </em>had saved the baby’s life. He pictured the baby holding his finger and smiling. He pictured the looks on the faces of his co-workers. He pictured the baby’s mother. He pictured the baby’s mother for a long time, remembering her eyes and her mouth when she said, <em>“I owe you everything.”</em></p> <p>  </p> <p> “A goddamn hero,” Arnie muttered.</p> <p> At five o’clock the office started to pack up and file out. Before leaving, everyone came to Arnie and congratulated him once more with a smile and a look of newfound adoration. Chuck Powell emerged from his office and strutted to Arnie’s desk.</p> <p>  </p> <p> “Arnie Blank,” he said, shaking his head. “You look like a million bucks.” He set a cigar down on Arnie’s desk and left the room.</p> <p>  </p> <p> Alone in the office, Arnie  picked up the cigar. He put it to his nose and was surprised at how good it smelled. He slipped it into his chest pocket, picked up his briefcase, and briskly walked out of the office.</p> <p>  </p> <p> As he reached the front door, he heard voices from outside and he smiled. He straightened his tie, patted down his hair, picked up his briefcase and pushed open the door.</p> <p>  </p> <p> “You got a dollar?” a homeless woman asked him as he stepped outside</p> <p>  </p> <p> Arnie shook his head and walked down the steps, heaving a sigh as he went. He had expected a grand reception and he felt stupid for it. He kicked a plastic bottle as he made his way to the subway.</p> <p>  </p> <p> “Mr. Blank?”</p> <p>  </p> <p> Arnie whipped around and there stood Mrs. Taglioni, now clad in tight blue jeans, three-inch heels, and a revealing, billowy, black blouse. Her hair was up and tousled, her full lips a deep, lustrous red.</p> <p>  </p> <p> “Mrs. Taglioni, hello.”</p> <p> “Oh please, Sylvia.”</p> <p> Arnie blushed, again. “Sylvia.”</p> <p> Sylvia strode elegantly over to Arnie. “I just wanted to thank you again. I can’t express how...” She started to cry and fell into Arnie, her head resting on his shoulder.</p> <p> Arnie patted Sylvia on the back. “Really, it was nothing. Just instinct. I didn’t even think about it.”</p> <p> “You saved my baby’s life. You saved my baby’s life!”</p> <p> Sylvia was hysterical. Arnie put his arms around her and Sylvia kissed him hard, pressing her waist into his and holding him close. Arnie didn’t resist and held her tighter, feeling his member grow hot against her body.</p> <p> “Take me home,” Sylvia whispered in his ear.</p> <p>  </p> <p> On the subway, the two sat silently next to one another. Arnie glanced at Sylvia but she stared straight ahead, her eyes glued to a beer advertisement. Arnie summoned his courage and reached for her hand, which was left limp in his grasp. He placed it back on her lap and shifted his gaze to the beer ad.</p> <p>  </p> <p> “Do you have condoms?” Sylvia asked, as they walked out of the station in Park Slope.</p> <p> “I don’t think so,” Arnie replied.</p> <p>  </p> <p> They went into a corner store downstairs from his apartment and bought a box of condoms and a six pack of beer, at Sylvia’s request. They climbed the three stories to his apartment and Sylvia noticed the piece of paper still taped to his door.</p> <p> “Were you evicted?”</p> <p> Arnie jammed his key into the lock.</p> <p> “Sorry about the mess.”</p> <p>  </p> <p> Sylvia looked but the mess was nowhere in sight. Arnie lived in a studio apartment with a small table, couch and loveseat, bureau, and a full bed. Sylvia set her things on the table.</p> <p>  </p> <p> “Where’s the bathroom?”</p> <p> “It’s in the hallway. I share it with my neighbor.”</p> <p> Sylvia opened a beer and sat down on the couch. Arnie remained standing.</p> <p> “Aren’t you going to sit?” Sylvia patted the cushion next to her.</p> <p> Arnie opened himself a beer and sat down next to Sylvia. She took a long pull. He took a longer pull.</p> <p> “You know, I’ve never done this before,” Sylvia lied.  “I don’t know where to start.”</p> <p> “I’m not sure. I mean, neither have I.”</p> <p>  </p> <p> Arnie nervously drank his beer, his right knee bouncing up and down uncontrollably. Sylvia set her beer on his bureau and moved closer on the couch. She tenderly placed her hand on his thigh and his knee stopped.</p> <p>  </p> <p> “Relax, Mr. Blank. Just relax.”</p> <p> “You can call me--”</p> <p> Sylvia pushed Arnie down on the couch and got on top of him. She took off her shirt.</p> <p> “Take off your shirt,” she said.</p> <p> Arnie took off his shirt. She kissed him and bit his lip, drawing blood. Arnie gave a shout and bit her back.</p> <p> “Take me to bed.”</p> <p> Arnie stood up with Sylvia’s legs wrapped around his waist, turned,  and threw her on the bed.</p> <p> “Take off my pants.”</p> <p> He unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them off. She wasn’t wearing any underwear.</p> <p> “Take off your pants.”</p> <p> He took off his pants and boxers. Sylvia raised her eyebrows and smiled. Arnie walked towards the bed.</p> <p> “Socks!”</p> <p> He took off his socks and they made love for an hour and a half.</p> <p>  </p> <p> Arnie was woken up by a phone call from his aunt. He turned over expectantly but Sylvia was gone. He let out a sigh, and picked up his phone.</p> <p> “Hello, Gail.”</p> <p> “You didn’t tell me you were famous, Arnie.”</p> <p> “What are you talking about?”</p> <p> “On the internet. On the YouTube.”</p> <p> Arnie opened his computer and found emails from virtually everyone he knew: his doctor, his co-workers, his childhood friends, his cousin, Pete, even his grandma. Each message had “Congratulations!” or “Oh my god!” or “You’re a hero!” or “What a catch!” in the subject heading. He opened one and it had a link to a video titled, “Hero Catches Falling Baby.”</p> <p>  </p> <p> “I’m so proud of you, Arnie. You saved that baby’s life. You’re a superhero.”</p> <p> As Arnie watched himself catch the little girl, he felt the same twinge of excitement and pride that he’d experienced the day before.</p> <p> “I’ve told everyone. I still can’t believe it!”</p> <p>  </p> <p> Arnie said goodbye and closed his computer. He sat there, thinking. Soon, thoughts of his heroic exploits were overcome by Sylvia. She was nothing like anyone he’d ever been with, which was, by all means, a compliment. He looked back on the previous night and he could barely recognize himself. He had been so confident, so decisive. In the past, sex for Arnie had been filled with insecurity and doubt. It felt like an exam that he had never studied for and that he dreaded taking. With Sylvia, he wasn’t worried about making mistakes. He felt an unbridled freedom that he had never felt before, certainly not with Helen. In all their four years of marriage, he had never experienced the level of comfort and intimacy that he felt in one night with Sylvia Taglioni.</p> <p>  </p> <p> Arnie took a shower and got dressed, smiling as he put on his socks, and walked out of his studio. As he locked the door, he noticed that the eviction notice was gone. In it’s place was a phone number. He took it off the door.</p> <p> “Hola, Arnie.”</p> <p> Arnie quickly pocketed the number and turned to Dowall.</p> <p> “Hi.”</p> <p> “You’re a lucky man, you know?”</p> <p> “I’m sorry?”</p> <p> Dowall laughed. “Okay, sure. You don’t know. But if it were me, I would not be keeping her a secret.” He raised his eyebrows and winked. “And don’t worry, I told management that it was just a misunderstanding. So, no hard feelings?” He held out his hand.</p> <p> Arnie shook it. “Sure. I mean, yeah, of course.”</p> <p>  </p> <p> Dowall laughed again and started walking down the stairs, shaking his head at a bewildered Arnie standing in the hallway. He withdrew the phone number from his pocket and looked at it. <em>It must be Sylvia, </em> Arnie thought with a smile. Any reservations that Arnie had surrounding Mrs. Taglioni were washed away, leaving him utterly in love.</p> <p>  </p> <p> <strong>Author Bio:</strong></p> <p> <em>Sam Chapin is a contributing writer at</em> Highbrow Magazine.</p> <p>  </p> <p> <em><strong>Photos: Rebecca Bollwitt, Dirk Klein, Nick Neyland, See-ming Lee (Flickr, Creative Commons).</strong></em></p> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-tags field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-above"><div class="field-label">Tags:&nbsp;</div><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="dc:subject"><a href="/sam-chapin" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">Sam Chapin</a></div><div class="field-item odd" rel="dc:subject"><a href="/arnie-blank" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">arnie blank</a></div><div class="field-item even" rel="dc:subject"><a href="/new-fiction" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">new fiction</a></div><div class="field-item odd" rel="dc:subject"><a href="/new-fiction-writers" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">new fiction writers</a></div><div class="field-item even" rel="dc:subject"><a href="/short-stories" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">short stories</a></div><div class="field-item odd" rel="dc:subject"><a href="/highbrow-magazine" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">Highbrow Magazine</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-text field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even">Sam Chapin</div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-pop field-type-list-boolean field-label-above"><div class="field-label">Popular:&nbsp;</div><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even">not popular</div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-photographer field-type-text field-label-above"><div class="field-label">Photographer:&nbsp;</div><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even">Rebecca Bollwitt (Flickr, Creative Commons)</div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-bot field-type-list-boolean field-label-above"><div class="field-label">Bottom Slider:&nbsp;</div><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even">Out Slider</div></div></div> Mon, 11 Feb 2013 15:31:37 +0000 tara 2335 at https://www.highbrowmagazine.com https://www.highbrowmagazine.com/2124-new-fiction-arnie-blank#comments New Fiction: Douglas at the Diner https://www.highbrowmagazine.com/1830-new-fiction-douglas-diner <div class="field field-name-field-cat field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/books-fiction" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">Books &amp; Fiction</a></div></div></div><span class="submitted-by">Submitted by tara on Wed, 12/05/2012 - 15:12</span><div class="field field-name-field-image field-type-image field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="og:image rdfs:seeAlso" resource="https://www.highbrowmagazine.com/sites/default/files/styles/large/public/field/image/mediumnighthawksedwardhopper.jpg?itok=1mTH2xGe"><img typeof="foaf:Image" src="https://www.highbrowmagazine.com/sites/default/files/styles/large/public/field/image/mediumnighthawksedwardhopper.jpg?itok=1mTH2xGe" width="480" height="262" alt="" /></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>  </p> <p style="">          It was 8:59 as Douglas lay asleep in bed. He was on his back with his head turned to the right. His comforter was tucked under both armpits and a book lay open in his right hand, marking the last page he had read before falling asleep. His reading glasses had slipped off his nose but its arms remained clinging to his balding head. His mouth was slightly open and a bit of saliva clung to his lower lip. He was breathing deeply when he was awoken.</p> <p>            Thud.</p> <p>             Douglas opened his eyes and was temporarily blinded by the light from his lamp. He squinted as he sat up, replaced his reading glasses with the glasses on the nightstand, and inserted a bookmark into <em>The Disenchanted.</em> He slipped on his slippers and walked to the window, drawing the blinds. The light from the sun overwhelmed the light from the lamp, as he became temporarily blind once again. He squinted out the window, looking for what had woke him. He looked down the three floors to the street and saw, lying on the sidewalk, a dead pigeon. Douglas heaved a sigh, turned off his lamp, and walked into the bathroom.</p> <p>  </p> <p>             He switched on the light, looked at himself in the mirror on the medicine cabinet, shrugged, and opened it. He removed his floss, toothpaste, and mouthwash and placed them on the back of the sink. He picked up the floss and wrapped one end twice around his left index finger, and the other end three times around his right. He flossed every gap on his lower jaw, threw away the floss, and repeated the process with his upper jaw. He picked up his toothbrush and toothpaste. He applied the paste to the brush and began to brush vigorously. While brushing, his eyes wandered to the right of the cabinet at a photo of him and an older woman. They were standing on a beach in front of the ocean, smiling. His eyes remained on the photo until he quickly jerked his head towards the sink to spit. After briefly examining his teeth in the mirror, he ran the warm water, put his glasses on the back of the toilet and rinsed his hair and face. He reached behind him for a towel, gently patted his face down and dried his head. After combing his hair, he picked up his glasses and left the bathroom.</p> <p>  </p> <p>             Douglas walked to the window and took three deep breaths before bending over and reaching for his toes. He was three inches short but held the stretch for fifteen seconds. He straightened, took three more breaths, and reached down again. This time he was only an inch and a half short. He straightened, took more breaths, and went down a last time. This time he made it, just barely, and held it for twenty seconds. He stood up and walked to the other side of the room where, on his chair, he had laid out his clothes the night before. He put on a pair of light, unpleated khakis, a white undershirt, a green turtleneck sweater, a pair of high, black socks and white New Balance sneakers. He left his pajamas folded up on the foot of his bed. He walked to his bedside table, on the other side of the room, and picked up his watch, which read 9:23. He put it on and shook his arm until it settled on his wrist. He walked to the window and heaved a sigh.</p> <p>  </p> <p>             “Okay,” Douglas muttered.</p> <p>             After a few moments he lowered the window and closed the blinds. On his way out, he picked up his wallet and keys, which were in a dish on the table next to the door. He unlatched all four locks, and left his apartment.</p> <p>             Douglas stepped onto the street, and looked up. The sky was gray. He turned right and as he walked down the sidewalk he saw people with umbrellas over their heads in anticipation. After walking four blocks, Douglas turned into Maxie’s Diner.</p> <p>             “Hey, Dougy,” the waitress said as soon as he walked through the door.</p> <p>             “Oh, hello, Cindy,” Douglas replied.</p> <p>             “You’re a half hour early this morning. You got somewhere to be?”</p> <p>             “No,” Douglas said, walking to the counter.</p> <p>             “Well I’ll get your coffee and corn muffin in a sec, doll.”</p> <p>             “Thank you.” Douglas took a seat on a barstool. He looked around at the empty seats and smiled. He was the only patron except for a man by the window, reading the newspaper. He took a deep breath and smelled the thick aroma of coffee and breakfast. He released his breath and his shoulders fell and his spine relaxed.</p> <p>  </p> <p> <img alt="" src="/sites/default/files/mediumdiner%20%28Lert%20Flickr%29.jpg" style="width: 600px; height: 450px;" /></p> <p>  </p> <p>             “Hey, Dougy-boy! How you doing?” asked the cook as he emerged from the kitchen and stood behind the counter.</p> <p>             “How are you, Jay?”</p> <p>             “Alive and well.” Jay looked behind him at the clock on the wall. “Hey, you’re early. What gives?”</p> <p>             “Nothing. I’m just ahead of time this morning.”</p> <p>             “Ahead of time? No one’s ahead of time, Doug. We’re all playing catch up.” Jay said, as Cindy joined him behind the counter.</p> <p>             “Wow, Jay, I never knew you were a philosopher,” Cindy said as she poured Douglas a cup of coffee.</p> <p>             “Cindy, honey, there are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” Jay replied with a wink. He started back into the kitchen, and received a slap on the backside from Cindy as he walked by.</p> <p>             “Here’s your coffee hon, and your muffin is almost ready. You’ve got to let us know when you’re going to surprise us like this,” Cindy said with a smile.</p> <p>             Douglas reached for the milk and added a few drops, changing the coffee from black to dark brown. He poured a second’s worth of sugar in and stirred. He glanced back at the man by the window, but the newspaper was still concealing his face.</p> <p>             “So how’s work, Doug?” Cindy asked.</p> <p>             Douglas turned back to his coffee. “It’s fine.”</p> <p>             “It’s fine? Every week it’s the same. <em>It’s fine. </em>Anything new? Anything interesting?”</p> <p> “I didn’t get a promotion.”</p> <p>             “Well, that doesn’t sound fine. That sounds shitty. It sounds like things are shitty at work.”</p> <p>             Douglas shrugged and took a sip of coffee.</p> <p>             “So, why didn’t you get a promotion?” </p> <p>             Douglas put the cup down. “I don’t know. I guess it’s not my turn yet.”</p> <p>             “Not your turn? Douglas, how long you been working at that office?”</p> <p>             “Eight years and three months.”</p> <p>             “Eight years and three months, and how many promotions.”</p> <p>             Douglas evened the bottom of the knife with the fork on his napkin. “None.”</p> <p>             “It sounds to me like it’s your turn. Sounds like it’s been your turn for a long time. You’ve got to let someone know that you’re turn has come, and that you need to get what’s coming to you.”</p> <p>             Douglas smiled and took another sip of coffee.</p> <p>             “Oh, your muffin,” Cindy said as she rushed into the kitchen.</p> <p>             The door to the restaurant closed and heavy footsteps approached from behind Douglas. A black man wearing a grey sweatshirt and blue jeans appeared next to him and sat on the stool to his left. Douglas’ spine stiffened. He glanced at all of the empty stools lining the counter, but did not look at the man’s face.</p> <p>             “Have you had the eggs? They any good?” asked the man, after a few moments of silence.</p> <p>             Douglas stared into his coffee. “Yes.”</p> <p>             “Yes you had them, or yes they’re good?”</p> <p>             “I’ve had them.”</p> <p>             “They any good.”</p> <p>             “Yes,” Douglas said, lifting the coffee to his lips. His hand was shaking slightly.</p> <p>             “I love eggs. Nothing like eggs in the morning. Funny how they’re only good in the morning. Someone offers me eggs for lunch or dinner, no way.” The man perused the menu, quickly turning its pages back and forth.</p> <p>             “Here we go,” Cindy said, as she emerged from the kitchen with a muffin on a plate. “Get it while it’s hot.”</p> <p>             “Thank you, Cindy,” Douglas replied, looking into her eyes.</p> <p>             “We were just talking about your eggs,” the man said to Cindy. “He says they’re good.”</p> <p>             “The best in the city,” Cindy replied.</p> <p>             “Is that a fact?” the man said. “Well, that’s quite a claim. They must be some fine eggs to be the best in the whole city.” The man closed his menu and laid it on the counter.</p> <p>             “You don’t believe me? Order the eggs. I guarantee that they will be better than any eggs you’ve ever had in this town.”</p> <p>             “And if they ain’t?”</p> <p>             “Then I will assure you that you are mistaken.”</p> <p>             The man smiled and leaned forward towards Cindy. “Well then, I’ll have the eggs, scrambled, with toast.”</p> <p>             “Perfect,” Cindy said. “You want coffee?”</p> <p>             “No ma’am. Just the eggs is fine.”</p> <p>             Cindy snatched up his menu and headed back into the kitchen.</p> <p>             Douglas had been watching the steam rise from his cup, glancing up from time to time towards the man and Cindy. He reached for the milk and added a few more drops to his coffee. He mixed it with his spoon and took a sip. He put the cup back on the counter, carefully aligning it with the ring of perspiration that had formed around its edges on the counter top.</p> <p>             “What kind of muffin you get?” asked the man.</p> <p>             “Corn,” Douglas replied, turning his attention to the plate.</p> <p>             “Would've got blueberry myself.”</p> <p>             “Oh,” Douglas said, still looking at the muffin.</p> <p>             “You can tell a lot about a man based on his muffin,” the man said, holding a butter knife in his hand. “For instance you’re a corn man. A corn muffin is the most basic of all muffins. It’s consistent and solid, but leaves no room for surprises. Now take a blueberry muffin. Every muffin is different, so you never know what you’re gonna get. You could get two dozen blueberries, or you could get two. You never know, but that’s why you get the muffin. You know what I’m saying?”</p> <p>  </p> <p> <img alt="" src="/sites/default/files/mediumcoffee%20%28Timothy%20Boyd%20Flickr%29.jpg" style="width: 600px; height: 450px;" /></p> <p>            </p> <p>             Douglas nodded and took a bite out of his muffin.</p> <p>             The man laughed and placed the knife back down onto a napkin, next to the fork.</p> <p>             Cindy walked up to the counter from the kitchen. “Here you go. The best in the city.” She set the man’s eggs down on the table in front of him, and remained standing with her arms crossed.</p> <p>             The man pulled his plate towards him. He picked up his fork and scooped up some egg. He brought it to his mouth and began to chew. </p> <p>             “So,” Cindy said. “Am I right, or am I right?”</p> <p>             The man swallowed. “These, ma’am, are some damn fine eggs.”</p> <p>             Cindy smiled and gave a curtsey. Jay emerged from the kitchen.</p> <p>             “What’s the verdict?” Jay asked.</p> <p>             “He’s a believer,” Cindy replied.</p> <p>             Douglas turned his head towards the window. The man with the newspaper was gone.</p> <p>             “So what’s your secret?’ the man in the sweatshirt asked.</p> <p>             Jay laughed. “You think I’d tell you? Come on now. We didn’t get the reputation of the best eggs in the city by telling everyone the recipe.”</p> <p>              The man smiled. “No, I reckon you didn’t.”</p> <p> “How’s the muffin Dougy?” Jay asked.</p> <p>             “Good, thank you,” replied Douglas, as he took a bite.</p> <p>             The man chuckled. “Can I ask you two a question?” he asked, his mouth full of egg. “Is he always this talkative?”</p> <p>             Douglas’ face reddened as he took another bite of his muffin.</p> <p>             Jay and Cindy looked at each other, and then to Douglas. “Douglas has been a costumer of ours for years,” Jay said. “He’s a good friend of ours.”</p> <p>             “I don’t think anyone has ever been so polite to me in all my life,” Cindy added. “Being a waitress you can imagine some of the assholes that I’ve had to deal with, excuse my French.”</p> <p> “Well, that’s fine,” replied the man.</p> <p> “Can I get either of you anything else? More coffee Douglas?” Cindy said.</p> <p> “No thank you, Cindy. I’m all set for now.” Douglas looked up at Cindy and gave a small smile.</p> <p> Cindy smiled back and returned to the kitchen with Jay.</p> <p> Douglas looked at his watch which read 10:00.</p> <p> “What time is it?” The man asked.</p> <p> Douglas looked up at the clock in front of them. “10 o’clock.”  </p> <p> “Oh, right,” the man replied, looking at the clock. “Time flies.”</p> <p> Douglas looked into his coffee. “If you’re having fun,” he muttered.</p> <p> The man turned and looked at Douglas. “What did you just say?”</p> <p> “If you’re having fun,” Douglas repeated more loudly, his voice shaking slightly.</p> <p> “Well, I’ll be. You made a joke.” The man smiled. “Time flies <em>if </em>you’re having fun. You know, every time I’ve heard that said it’s been <em>when </em>you’re having fun.”</p> <p> Douglas shrugged and took a sip of coffee.</p> <p> “<em>When</em> I have fun, time flies. <em>If</em> I have fun, time flies. Do you see the difference? Now me, I am going to have fun. I know it. There ain’t no doubt in my mind about it.  But you ain’t certain. ‘<em>If </em>I’m having fun,’ you said.  There is a chance that you’re not going to have fun. You ain’t certain you’re gonna have fun at all.”</p> <p>       Douglas looked back to where the man with the newspaper was, and there was someone new: a woman with brown hair and glasses was reading a menu. Douglas quickly turned back to the counter and swiveled his stool so that his back faced the woman. He hunched over the counter and held his coffee in both hands. He took a sip.</p> <p> The man looked at Douglas and then at the woman by the window. “Did you hear what I said?”</p> <p> “Yes,” replied Douglas, in a low voice. “I’m never going to have fun.”</p> <p> The man smiled. “What’s the matter? You know that girl or something?”</p> <p> Douglas shot the man a look and he stopped smiling.</p> <p> “Whoa, okay. I get the picture. I’ll drop it.” The man looked back at the woman who was still looking through the menu.</p> <p> “Don’t look,” Douglas said. “Please.”</p> <p>  </p> <p> <img alt="" src="/sites/default/files/mediumcarsdriving%20%28Royal%20Rivers%20Flickr%29.jpg" style="width: 600px; height: 400px;" /></p> <p>          </p> <p>        The man turned back to Douglas, looking concerned. “All right. I’m sorry, friend. I won’t look.”</p> <p>         Cindy came out of the kitchen, heading towards the woman by the window.</p> <p> “Could I have the check please?” Douglas asked as Cindy was walking past.</p> <p> “Sure, hon. Just let me get this lady’s order first,” she said, moving away.</p> <p> “No!” Douglas shouted in a whisper. “Please. May I have my check now?”</p> <p> Cindy looked at Douglas with the same expression that was on the man’s face. “Are you all right, Doug?”</p> <p> Douglas took a deep breath and looked up at Cindy. “Yes. But I need the check. It is urgent.”</p> <p> “All right. I’ll get you your check. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” Cindy went to the cash register.</p> <p> Douglas remained with his back turned towards the woman. He still had the coffee in both hands, but was not drinking it. His left leg was fidgeting.</p> <p> Cindy put the bill down in front of Douglas. “Here you go. As if you needed it. You know you get the same thing every time. I would have thought you’d have remembered by now. See you soon, Dougy.” Cindy squeezed his shoulder and walked off towards the woman.</p> <p>        Douglas reached into his back pocket and withdrew his wallet. He opened it up and dug in to the main compartment. There were two twenties and a dollar bill. “Oh, for crying out loud,” Douglas muttered.</p> <p> “What’s the problem,” the man said. “Don’t have enough?”</p> <p> Douglas shook his head. “I need change.”</p> <p> “Well, I might have what you need. What you looking for?”</p> <p> “A ten and two fives.”</p> <p>       The man took out his wallet and looked inside. “Well, it looks like today is your lucky day.” The man took out two fives and a ten and handed them to Douglas.</p> <p> “Thank you.” Douglas took the money and handed the man a twenty. He put one of the fives on the table and put the dollar from his wallet on top of that. He put the wallet back in his pocket. “Have a nice day,” he said to the man.</p> <p> “You too. It was a pleasure.” The man held out his hand, but Douglas did not see it. He turned the other way and started towards the door, walking sideways with his back towards the woman. He had almost reached the door.</p> <p> “See ya, Douglas!” Jay yelled, sticking his head out from the kitchen.</p> <p> Douglas froze.</p> <p> “Douglas? Is that you?” said the woman by the window.</p> <p>        For a moment Douglas remained standing still, his chest heaving up and down. He then slowly turned around, his face looking down at his feet.</p> <p> “Oh, hello Lauren.”</p> <p>      Lauren got up from her seat and walked over to Douglas. “It’s nice to see you outside of work for a change,” she said as she held out her hand.</p> <p>       Douglas reached for her hand and shook it twice, firmly.</p> <p> “Do you live around here?” Lauren asked.</p> <p> “Yes. I live three blocks that way.” Douglas pointed to the left side of the diner.</p> <p> “Really? I live four blocks that way.” She pointed to the right.</p> <p>       Douglas pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his left index finger. He was still looking down at the floor, but peered over his glasses at her from time to time.</p> <p> “Do you have somewhere to be right now, Douglas?” Lauren asked. “Do you want to sit and chat for a bit?”</p> <p> Douglas picked his head up and looked at her. “Well, I was going…I was going to…”</p> <p> “Don’t worry about it. Maybe some other time. See you Monday.” Lauren smiled and turned back towards her seat.</p> <p>        Douglas looked at her, and then turned to the man at the bar. Both he and Cindy were looking at him, and quickly turned their heads away. Douglas turned back to Lauren. He wiped his hands on his pants, and took a deep breath.</p> <p> “Actually, Lauren,” he said, walking over to her by the window. “I do have some time.”</p> <p> “You do? Are you sure?”</p> <p> “Yes. I have no commitments.” Douglas stood, looking down at Lauren across the table.</p> <p> “Well, would you like to sit down then?” Lauren asked, after a moment.</p> <p> “Yes, thank you.” Douglas pulled out the only other chair at the table and sat down, facing Lauren. He picked up the napkin that lay on the plate in front of him and put it on his lap.</p> <p> Cindy approached the table. “You just can’t get enough of us, can you Douglas?” She put a glass of water down to his right.</p> <p> “Thank you,” Douglas said.</p> <p> “You decide on what you want yet, honey?”</p> <p> “Um…I think I will have the fruit and yogurt and a poppy seed muffin.”</p> <p> Douglas looked at Lauren and then turned his head towards the bar.</p> <p> “You want any coffee?”</p> <p> “No, just the water is fine, thank you.”</p> <p> “How ‘bout you Dougy? You want anything?”</p> <p> Douglas turned back around. “I’ll have a blueberry muffin, please.”</p> <p> Cindy smiled. “Okay, see you guys in a tick,” she said and she walked back to the kitchen.</p> <p> “So,” Lauren said, “do you come here often?”</p> <p> “Every once and a while,” Douglas replied. He took a sip of water.</p> <p> “This is my first time. It’s funny, I walk by it almost everyday, but I never come in.” She looked at Douglas. “And you’re here. What are the odds?”</p> <p> “I don’t know. I guess not very good.”</p> <p> They both took a sip of water.</p> <p> “So you said that you live three blocks that way,” Lauren said, pointing. “On what street?”</p> <p> “I live on Eighth and Baker.”</p> <p> “How long have you lived there for?”</p> <p> “Nine years,” Douglas said. He reached for the water but did not pick it up. He put his hand on the table.</p> <p> “That’s a long time. Do you like it here?”</p> <p> “Yes, I do.”</p> <p> The man at the bar laughed, and Douglas turned around. He was talking with Cindy and they both were smiling.</p> <p> “Is something the matter, Douglas?” Lauren asked.</p> <p> Douglas turned back around. “Oh, no. Everything is fine.” He smiled a small smile. “So, you live four blocks that way,” he said pointing.</p> <p> “Yes. On First and Gordon. It’s right by the park, as I’m sure you know. I’ve lived there for three years. It’s funny how we’ve never run into each other until now. But I guess there are hundreds of other people that you don’t run into that live around here. I guess it’s not that funny.” Lauren took a sip of water.</p> <p> “Well, I think it’s pretty funny.” Douglas said. He gave a small laugh, but stopped abruptly. He reached for the water and took a sip.</p> <p> “So, how are things in accounting?” Lauren asked.</p> <p> “Things are fine.” He looked up at Lauren who was looking back at him. “Oh, Charlie got a raise.”</p> <p> “I heard. That’s great for him. How long has he been working there?”</p> <p> “One year.”</p> <p>        Lauren looked at Douglas. He was lining up the salt and pepper shakers with the ketchup and sugar containers in the center of the table.  “Well, I thought you should have gotten the promotion.”</p> <p>        Douglas took his hand of the hot sauce and looked at Lauren over his glasses for a moment.</p> <p> “You deserve it way more than Charlie. He only got the promotion ‘cause they think he’s some kind of hotshot.”</p> <p> “Yeah, well, he’s a good accountant,” Douglas said with a shrug.</p> <p> “So are you, Douglas.”</p> <p> Douglas smiled.</p> <p> “Here we go,” Cindy said, appearing from behind Douglas. “Fruit and yogurt with a poppy seed muffin for the lady, and a blueberry muffin for the gentleman.” She put down the dishes in front of the two. “You guys all set?”</p> <p> “It looks great,” Lauren said, smiling at Cindy.</p> <p> “Thank you, Cindy,” Douglas added.</p> <p> Cindy looked at them both, smiled, and turned back to the kitchen. The man approached the table, giving Cindy a nod as he walked past.</p> <p> “Well, goodbye again, friend,” the man said, putting his hand on Douglas’ shoulder.</p> <p>         Douglas turned and looked at his hand. “Oh, goodbye again.”</p> <p> “It was a pleasure.” He raised his other hand to Douglas, which was holding a blueberry muffin. The man gave a nod to Lauren, and walked towards the door.</p> <p> “Who was that?” Lauren asked, after he had gone.</p> <p> Douglas watched the man walk past the window. “I don’t know.” All three of them took a bite of muffin. It was raining outside.</p> <p>       Lauren set hers down. “What were we talking about?”</p> <p> “Um, you were saying––“</p> <p>       Douglas watched as a car sped past the window, its tires screeching.</p> <p> Thud.</p> <p> “What was that?” Lauren asked.</p> <p>       Douglas stared out the window for a moment, got up and rushed towards the door. He pushed it open and looked to his right. The car that had gone past the window was speeding off, down the street. Two blocks down, something lay in the intersection. He ran to it.</p> <p>       He slowed to a walk as he reached the body. The man lay motionless, with his back to the pavement and his eyes slightly open. His blood mixed with rain as it flowed down the street, into the sewer. Douglas stood, three feet away, looking down at him. Lauren approached running from behind.</p> <p> “Oh my God. We need to call the police. Douglas?”</p> <p> Douglas surveyed the body with his eyes, keeping his head still.</p> <p> “Hello? Yes, someone has been hit by a car. No, I don’t think so. Yes, he is. Because blood is pouring out of his head, that’s how!”</p> <p>         Douglas pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He looked down the street, to where the car had disappeared. He looked up as a pigeon swooped down towards him. It landed next to the man’s head, and walked around it. It bobbed its head and continued down to the man’s hand, which lay limp next to his body. Scattered around it were the broken pieces of a blueberry muffin. Douglas watched as the pigeon pecked at the crumbs, and heaved a sigh.</p> <p>  </p> <p> <strong>Author Bio:</strong></p> <p> <em>Sam Chapin is a contributing writer at</em> Highbrow Magazine.</p> <p>  </p> <p> <em><strong>Photos: Lert; Timothy Boyd; Royal Rivers (Flickr - Creative Commons).</strong></em></p> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-tags field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-above"><div class="field-label">Tags:&nbsp;</div><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="dc:subject"><a href="/short-fiction" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">short fiction</a></div><div class="field-item odd" rel="dc:subject"><a href="/diner" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">diner</a></div><div class="field-item even" rel="dc:subject"><a href="/american-writers" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">american writers</a></div><div class="field-item odd" rel="dc:subject"><a href="/sam-chapin" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">Sam Chapin</a></div><div class="field-item even" rel="dc:subject"><a href="/highbrow-magazine" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">Highbrow Magazine</a></div><div class="field-item odd" rel="dc:subject"><a href="/short-stories" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">short stories</a></div><div class="field-item even" rel="dc:subject"><a href="/new-fiction" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">new fiction</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-text field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even">Sam Chapin</div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-pop field-type-list-boolean field-label-above"><div class="field-label">Popular:&nbsp;</div><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even">not popular</div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-photographer field-type-text field-label-above"><div class="field-label">Photographer:&nbsp;</div><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even">Painting by Edward Hopper</div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-bot field-type-list-boolean field-label-above"><div class="field-label">Bottom Slider:&nbsp;</div><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even">Out Slider</div></div></div> Wed, 05 Dec 2012 20:12:56 +0000 tara 1996 at https://www.highbrowmagazine.com https://www.highbrowmagazine.com/1830-new-fiction-douglas-diner#comments Meet the Staff at Highbrow Magazine: Q&A With Writer Sam Chapin https://www.highbrowmagazine.com/1201-meet-staff-highbrow-magazine-qa-writer-sam-chapin <div class="field field-name-field-cat field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even"><a href="/media" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">Media</a></div></div></div><span class="submitted-by">Submitted by tara on Wed, 05/30/2012 - 22:19</span><div class="field field-name-field-image field-type-image field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="og:image rdfs:seeAlso" resource="https://www.highbrowmagazine.com/sites/default/files/styles/large/public/field/image/SamChapinPHOTO.JPG?itok=4eHPwZ-A"><img typeof="foaf:Image" src="https://www.highbrowmagazine.com/sites/default/files/styles/large/public/field/image/SamChapinPHOTO.JPG?itok=4eHPwZ-A" width="480" height="360" alt="" /></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="content:encoded"><p>  </p> <p> <strong>Sam Chapin</strong> hails from Vermont but resides in Brooklyn, NY, and spends much of his free time playing with his dog and writing. He is currently co-orchestrating a musical that he wrote and is working at an off-Broadway theater in the Village. He is getting married next year and is very excited.</p> <p>  </p> <p> <strong>Q &amp; A With Sam:</strong></p> <p>  </p> <p> <strong>What inspired you to become a writer?</strong></p> <p> I’m not sure what inspired me to become a writer. If I had to guess, it would be watching old episodes of <em>SNL</em> and reading really bad mystery novels as a kid.</p> <p>  </p> <p> <strong>Who are a few of your favorite authors?</strong></p> <p> My favorite authors tend to have pretty flawed protagonists and narrators. Graham Greene and Hemingway are the first two that spring to mind.</p> <p>  </p> <p> <img alt="" src="/sites/default/files/smallHemingway.jpg" style="width: 340px; height: 283px; " /></p> <p>  </p> <p> <strong>What’s the worst job/assignment you’ve ever had?</strong></p> <p> My worst job has nothing to do with writing—I used to work the nightshift at a cheap burger joint in Brooklyn where the customers were drunk, angry, and exceptionally hungry.</p> <p>  </p> <p> <strong>Which is your favorite city in the U.S.?</strong></p> <p> It’s a little cliché, but New York City. It’s where I live, so I’m a little biased.</p> <p>  </p> <p> <img alt="" src="/sites/default/files/smallNewYorkSkyline_0.jpg" style="width: 316px; height: 198px; " /></p> <p>  </p> <p> <strong>What’s your all-time favorite film?</strong></p> <p> Always impossible to answer, but <em>There Will Be Blood </em>is up there. I also really liked <em>Midnight In Paris. </em>And <em>Aladdin.</em></p> <p>  </p> <p> <strong>Which newspapers/magazines/websites do you read regularly?</strong></p> <p> The <em>Huffington Post </em>is pretty great. It’s the lazy man’s periodical as it samples all the magazines and newspapers on the Web and gives it to me in an easy-to-digest serving.</p> <p>  </p> <p> <img alt="" src="/sites/default/files/smallJonStewart_1.jpg" style="width: 341px; height: 256px; " /></p> <p>  </p> <p> <strong>Would you rather become the next editor-in-chief of the <em>New Yorker</em> or replace Jon Stewart as host of the “Daily Show”?</strong></p> <p> Absolutely replace Jon Stewart. I would have no idea how to run a magazine, but I could make some jokes (granted, not as well, and probably more awkwardly than Mr. Stewart).</p> <p>  </p> <p> <strong>What are your favorite “highbrow” pastimes?</strong></p> <p> Drinking wine and betting on dog races. Okay, just drinking wine.</p> <p>  </p> <p> <strong><em>Read a few of Sam’s articles below</em></strong>:</p> <p>  </p> <p> <a href="http://highbrowmagazine.com/1074-will-real-nicolas-cage-please-stand">Will the Real Nicolas Cage Please Stand Up?</a></p> <p>  </p> <p> <a href="http://highbrowmagazine.com/show-hands-who-remembers-global-warming">Who Remembers Global Warming?</a></p> <p>  </p> <p> <a href="http://highbrowmagazine.com/enough-already-rise-lackluster-sequels">Enough Already: The Rise of Lackluster Sequels</a></p> </div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-tags field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-above"><div class="field-label">Tags:&nbsp;</div><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="dc:subject"><a href="/sam-chapin" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">Sam Chapin</a></div><div class="field-item odd" rel="dc:subject"><a href="/highbrow-magazine-writer-sam-chapin" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">Highbrow Magazine writer Sam Chapin</a></div><div class="field-item even" rel="dc:subject"><a href="/highbrow-magazine" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">Highbrow Magazine</a></div><div class="field-item odd" rel="dc:subject"><a href="/highbrowmagazinecom" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">HighbrowMagazine.com</a></div><div class="field-item even" rel="dc:subject"><a href="/brooklyn-writers" typeof="skos:Concept" property="rdfs:label skos:prefLabel" datatype="">Brooklyn writers</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-text field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even">Sam Chapin</div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-pop field-type-list-boolean field-label-above"><div class="field-label">Popular:&nbsp;</div><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even">not popular</div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-bot field-type-list-boolean field-label-above"><div class="field-label">Bottom Slider:&nbsp;</div><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even">Out Slider</div></div></div> Thu, 31 May 2012 02:19:01 +0000 tara 1061 at https://www.highbrowmagazine.com https://www.highbrowmagazine.com/1201-meet-staff-highbrow-magazine-qa-writer-sam-chapin#comments