SmartBrain, stupid male pride

“Good morning Starbuck, this is your wake up call,” SmartBrain intoned. “The time is 8am on Monday August 7. Today is brought to you by Man in a Can antiperspirant deodorant.”

He made no effort to open his eyes. SmartBrain wouldn’t allow it until he had watched his morning advertisement.

There was a soft humming sound. He felt the gentlest of vibrations behind his temples. After a few moments, light filtered into the insides of his eyelids, replacing the Coca-Cola darkness with the image of a rodeo arena. A raucous crowd whooped and cheered as a bull bucked, reared, kicked and spun, sending its rider to the ground in a cloud of dust.

“No score. Another one down, folks,” the announcer boomed. “Is there a cowboy on earth who can tame Dante the Destroyer?”

“I can,” someone called. The crowd gasped as a man who must have been at least 80 stood on the precipice of the bucking chute. He removed a small canister of deodorant from his pocket, sprayed it under both armpits, spun it around his index finger and put it back in his pocket like a gunslinger returning his weapon to its holster.

‘‘Man in a can - all man, no fear,” the voiceover growled in a deep, gravelly man voice. The bull shot out of the chute with the old man on its back, waving one arm above his head and grinning from ear to ear as he rode.

An AC/DC inspired jingle played in the background - guitars wailing, the singer shrieking like a chipmunk who had overdosed on testosterone.

‘It’s man in a can, yeah it’s man in a can,

This little pocket rocket packs a whole lotta man,

Spray it on twice a day, 3-6-5 days a year,

Spray yourself with man juice and you’ll live without fear!”

Starbuck opened his eyes, certain he’d made a mistake. He was only 32. He couldn’t give up on his dream.

*******

He stepped into Slepy’s apartment complex, ignoring the broken intercom and letting the cracked security door swing back against the sawn off piece of broom handle that had been used to prop it open.

As he climbed the carpeted Campbell’s pea and ham soup coloured stairs, he wondered how his former coach would react to him crawling back with his tail between his legs, just days after he had announced he was quitting.

He hadn’t wanted to walk away. His doctor had told him his latest concussion had been one too many. Any further head trauma would increase his chances of developing serious neurological symptoms, potentially even doing serious damage to his SmartBrain. So he had informed Sleepy he was opting out.

However, over the past few days, he had become increasingly more uncomfortable with his decision. He couldn’t quit. This was the only thing he had that made him a man. He had never married, had no partner. He had fallen in love once, with a girl named Gloria Jean. Neither set of parents had approved. A Starbuck could not marry a Gloria Jean, It had been like the Montagues and the Capulets. He still thought of her often. His sweet Gloria Jean, with hair the colour of Caffe Americano, eyes of green Jell-O, skin as yellow as a slice of Kraft cheddar. They had planned on running away together… then she had died of cirrhosis of the liver.

But he was digressing. All men needed a thing that defined them. Some were family men, others ran boardrooms, some were good at fighting, others kicked round balls into nets that had been attached to metal goalposts. All men were put on this planet for a reason. All men had a gift, a calling, a higher purpose. Starbuck had been born to crush walnuts with his forehead.

Be that as it may, he found himself hesitating as he reached the top of the stairs. Was he really willing to risk permanent neurological damage in pursuit of his dream? Was he brave enough.... man enough to knock on that door?

“Man in a Can -all man, no fear,” SmartBrain offered helpfully. Starbuck was fairly certain he had sprayed some on less than 15 minutes ago, straight after he stopped at the shop to buy it. But he thought it wise to listen to SmartBrain. SmartBrain was always on point. He sprayed on some more deodorant and it seemed to give him the confidence he needed - he rapped on the door.

After what seemed like minutes, the door swung open. Sleepy - whose real name was Redbull, cut a typically dishevelled figure. His grey hair was uncombed and stuck up in random tufts. He had heavy bags under his eyes.

“What do you want?” He spoke in monotone, his vocal delivery so slow it would have been quicker to communicate via post.

“Sleepy, I made a big mistake. I need you to coach me again. I need walnut smashing in my life. I should have never quit.”

“So why did you?”

“I don’t know. I guess I got spooked.”

“This sport isn’t for the faint hearted. If you want to smash walnuts, your head has to be in the right place.”

“It is. I’m sorry I quit. I was stupid. The doctor told me I could end up with serious neurological damage.”

“That’s a myth. Walnut smashing doesn’t cause neurological damage.”

“Sure. I know. I was stupid. Will you help me?”

“Ok.... who are you?”

*******

“To truly master the walnut, one must become one with the walnut,” Sleepy said sagely.

They were seated at his wonky legged dining table. A solitary walnut had been placed in the centre.

“Yes sensei.”

“A true champion has no time to see the walnut. A true champion must sense the walnut. This is how I came within two nuts of the world record. Maybe with a little more practice, I wouldn’t have missed that second last walnut and knocked myself unconscious.”

Sleepy slid a blindfold across the table. As Starbuck reached out to take it, a cockroach scurried across his hand and he sensed he had experienced this before. The spiel, the overpowering scent of spoilt milk that wafted from a half finished bowl of cereal on the kitchen countertop, the cockroach scurrying over his hand at the exact same moment. Yes. He had experienced this all before...

*******

“Hey, anybody in there?”

Sleepy didn’t exactly swim into focus, he dog paddled. Starbuck closed his eyes for a moment to clear his head and saw a geriatric cowboy riding a bull as the Man in a Can jingle rang in his ears. He opened his eyes again. Blinked. Then, he took out his deodorant, giving himself a spray under each armpit.

“Huh?”

“Oh, good. You’re awake. That was weird. You just sort of.... blanked out there for a minute. You weren’t saying anything. Just... smacking your lips.”

“What?” Starbuck felt a lump in the back of his throat and a sinking in his stomach. Had he made a mistake in coming back here? Maybe he needed to see a doctor.

“Man in a Can - all man, no fear,” SmartBrain cooed. Ah, SmartBrain. Always the voice of reason. He sprayed himself with a few more blasts of deodorant. If Sleepy minded, he didn’t say anything. Starbuck took a deep breath. He couldn’t quit. He had to soldier on. He was a man. That’s what men did.

“I feel better now. On with the training!”

*******

“I know my rights,” the old man bellowed. “I want my bacon deluxe burger.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t sell the Bacon Deluxe anymore. It was a special promotion,” Starbuck explained. He projected an outward appearance of calm, but inside he was screaming. He had arrived at noon with a pounding headache. It had gotten steadily worse as his shift dragged on.

“Lies. I saw the ad on SmartBrain this morning, I demand to speak to the manager!”

“I’m the manager on duty.”

“Well, I won’t stand for this. I demand justice,” he spat. A Rosa Parks of fast food civil rights.

“Stop it. You’re making a scene,” his wife chastised.

“I won’t be treated like a second class citizen. I fought in Vietnam!”

“He attacked a street vendor with his cane,” the wife explained with a huff of exasperation.

Starbuck had experienced all of this before. He clearly recalled the same angry old man raging over the same discontinued menu item as he suffered from the same pounding headache. In a moment, Starbuck would offer him a regular cheese and bacon burger with an extra piece of cheese and an extra piece of bacon, explaining it was the exact same thing as the discontinued burger. The old man would refuse indignantly because he wanted a bacon deluxe burger and he knew his rights.

Yes, he’d definitely experienced this all before.

*******

“Boss, are you alright?” His assistant manager Mountain Dew didn’t exactly swim into focus, she dog paddled. Starbuck closed his eyes to clear his head - saw the aging bull rider and heard the now familiar melody of the Man in a Can jingle. He opened his eyes and realised he had been ringed by concerned employees on one side and customers on the other.

“Huh?”

“Are you alright?” He nodded uncertainly.

“Sure, I’ll soldier on.”

“I don’t know. You kinda like... spaced out there for a minute. You were just like, smacking your lips and kinda ... picking at your skin… like there was bugs on it. Maybe you should spray on some deodorant!”

“What?”

“I said maybe you should see a doctor. I can hold the fort here.”

“Yeah. Maybe I should.”

As he walked through the restaurant’s automatic doors and into the fresh air, he reached instinctively for his Man in a Can.

*******

“Starbuck, can you hear me?”

Tylenol the bartender didn’t exactly swim into focus, he dog paddled. Starbuck closed his eyes and saw an aging cowboy riding a bull.

“Huh?”

He tried to clear the fog in his brain. He had come in for a drink, had needed something to dull the nerves. He remembered an old man ranting to anyone who would listen about how life support was just a glorified form of welfare. He remembered thinking he had experienced this all before.

“Phew. Thank God you’re with us. You weren’t responding for a while there. You were just...”

“Smacking my lips and picking at my skin, I know.” He reached for his Man in a Can, but Tylenol stuck out a hand to stop him.

“Don’t. You smell like a high school boys locker room after football practice.”

*******

“What the fuck is happening to me, SmartBrain? What’s with the déjà vu? The blackouts?” His skin was pallid and white, his hands trembled.

“Frequent occurrences of déjà vu could be a sign of temporal lobe seizure,” SmartBrain informed him. “Temporal lobe seizure can result in a temporary lack of awareness. Common causes include traumatic brain injury, infection, stroke, blood vessel malformations and insufficient application of deodorant.”

*******

Light was beginning to filter through the narrow gap between his drawn blinds and windowpane as Starbuck sat in his armchair. His mind was a pendulum, swinging back and forth between two options - the doctor, or Sleepy’s house?

He needed to think carefully, his decision would determine his future. Could he really risk his well-being, possibly even his life, in pursuit of his dream? On the other hand, if he couldn’t smash walnuts with his forehead, was life really worth living?

His tortured internal monologue was interrupted by SmartBrain, who informed him it was 8am on August 11 and that it was time for his morning advertisement. His eyes closed. In this morning’s ad, an old man was riding a bull. He couldn’t help but think he had experienced this all before.

He opened his eyes, sprayed on some Man in a Can and turned his attention back to his existential dilemma with renewed courage.