The road to hell - Creative writing
The following piece was originally written as part of a blog I wrote for Partner Telecom (Orange), in order to promote their cellular App-store. The blog was about an urban nature-loathing fellow, determined to show that even he can survive the outdoors if he has the right Apps. This piece originated to promote a gas-station finding app.
Once upon of time, a very long time ago, I bought a scooter. It was my first vehicle, and I bought it in peanuts from this girl who decided it was too ugly to be seen with. I wouldn’t lie to you. It was ugly. It was small, grey, and had weird stains that looked suspiciously like blood stains on the right side of it's seat. However, I was young and ambitious, and I have decided that if I can't turn it to an eye treat, I sooner turn it to a joke. I painted it in blue, drew flowers on it's front, padded it with (Synthetic) leopard fur and named it Jebediah.
Those were the days. Jebadiah and I roaming the streets of Jerusalem at the amazing speed of 20 mph, drinking coffee at our regular spot, racing old ladies on carts and kids with skateboards. We had our share of good times, Jebadiah and I.
Only one thing clouded our wonderful relationship. Jebadiah had a slight drinking problem. Unlike other friends I used to hang out with in those days, his drinking problem didn’t express itself with dirty jokes, puking on the neighbor's carpet, or any other misbehavior typical to youngsters that can't hold their liquor. In Jebadiah's case, it usually ended with him shutting down.
In his defense, I must say it wasn’t entirely his fault. Over the years, his gas meter developed an independent and unrealistic personality. It moved randomly from side to side over scale, and nothing could convince it to take a deep breath and relax. I could get out of the gas station, knowing I have just filled the tank, but Jebadiah was not one to impress easily. To his opinion, the tank was empty. In those times, I would pull over, look at the meter's hand, lying sadly on it's back, and try my best at cheap psychology to calm him down and persuade him that everything is ok, and we can get on with our drive home with peace at our minds. Nevertheless, he would remain unmoved and insist that he is in need of more fuel.
I even treated him once with a special fuel and an extremely expensive oil in order to try to talk to his heart. However, as the yid say- "Gurnisht mit gurnisht". Believe me, you have never met a fellow as stubborn as Jebadiah.
So, maybe those times were unpleasant, but they were nothing compared to the times he decided to play tricks on me. We would get ourselves ready to go out, wear our finest suits and get on our way. The wind brushing our thick hair, the sky is the limit and the night is young. Hey Jebadiah, here is a gas station .what says you? Shall we trouble ourselves with a stop? On those occasions he would shake his head, and erect his meter's hand high high in the sky so I wouldn't fear. Then, somewhere between the middle of nowhere to no civilization at sight he would choke twice, cough three times and stutter his way to the side of the rode.
You know, when I think about those times I feel much better about selling him for spare parts.