Arnold J. Putterman vs. the World

Arnold J. Putterman was feeling good today. He jumped from his bed, anxious to meet the new day. His immediate supervisor, Mr. Krelman, had finally given him the long awaited promotion to CPA, second grade at the firm of Stemson Accounting. This, of course, meant more money and a better desk. But, more importantly, it meant he would immediately receive a heightened respect from his boss, his coworkers, his wife and, especially, his mother.
His mother often made thinly veiled remarks about his ambition and abilities. Once she said, “You know, your brother Arthur was a First Class by the time he was 27.”
But what bothered Arnold the most were the snotty little remarks from some of his coworkers. Sometimes they reminded him that he had been at same desk for 6 years.
“Still here Putterman?” Johnson said knocking on his desk like it was a door.
Sometimes Johnson and others would make fun of his clothes. While Arnold was a fairly good accountant, he was a terrible dresser – maybe the worst. It wasn’t that his clothes were cheap or ragged, they weren’t. It’s just that Arnold had exactly no sense of pattern or color relationships let alone any concept of tone, hue or value. It was as if his vision were missing a part of the spectrum, like color blindness.
This morning, after his daily shower, Arnold felt exuberant. This morning he would not be swayed by his wife’s opinions or, for that matter, anyone else’s. Today he would wear all of his favorite clothes to celebrate victory over his enemies and detractors; over everyone who doubted him. Today was Arnold J. Putterman’s victory over the world!
He stood at the front of his closet and took stock. This was a collection he had personally picked out and valued. This was more him than anything else – unadulterated by the noisy opinion of others.
First, he pulled his favorite burnt-orange, polyester dress shirt with the pink paisleys. Paisleys always reminded him of the sixties and seventies, a time he wanted to celebrate but he had been too constricted and shy to join in. Next he selected the pale blue wool pants with the little squiggle pattern running the length of the legs. Then the tri-colored belt form Jamaica. Arnold would have gone to Jamaica himself but flying always made him nauseous. Next was his favorite diamond-patterned argyle socks. He loved the way the yellows and browns looked against his white legs. Then his slipped on his two-toned Florsheim “Executive Model” shoes, “Probably the finest shoes in the world.” He thought.
For a second he thought he heard some unfamiliar, low hum. “It must be freeway noise.” He thought.
Now, it’s time for his jacket that he bought at Target especially for his nephew’s wedding. It was a dark blue and red plaid that always made him feel like a swinger; like a mover and shaker; like a Dude. He slipped on the jacket and immediately received a loud crackled shock.
“Ow!”, he yelped, jumping back a step. He looked around. “It must be static from the carpet.” The hum had become louder. “Probably Audrey was using the microwave again.”
He was nearly ready. Time to accessorize. He took his favorite handkerchief from the drawer. It had a western theme with a silhouette of a cowboy and his horse riding away with the setting sun behind them. As he folded and tucked it into his jacket pocket, he thought he felt a rumble through the floor.
“God, this neighborhood is getting noisy.” He said out loud. “Another promotion and we are moving to Ridgecrest on the east side where the successful people live.”
And now, finally, the tie. He already knew which it would be. It had a gold and green pattern based on a computer-based fractal design. It featured repeating organic swirls that grew smaller and smaller until they disappeared. He got the tie at an electronic gadget convention last year but hadn’t summoned the nerve to wear it until now.
He wrapped the tie into a double-wrapped Windsor knot that he had learned from a Playboy magazine style section when he was a teenager. He knew that was a sophisticated way to finish off his ensemble.
The moment he pulled the knot tight, the background hum and rumble ceased. The room grew oddly quiet. He held his breath. He had the uncomfortable feeling like he was standing on the very edge of a thousand-foot cliff. Then there was something. A rustle? A buzz? The hum, barely audible, began to return even louder than before. The very air began vibrating. The rumble rose quickly like large dump trucks were circling the house. Fine little bolts of blue lightening jumped from his tie to his jacket. The fleur-di-lis flocking on the wallpaper began to crawl around the walls with a life of their own.
“Aaaaahhhh!” Arnold cried for no reason other than fear and confusion. “Aaaahhh!” He could hear other voices screaming from outside the room. He yelled yet again but no one could hear him now over the roaring turmoil.
The room was swirling now. The world outside was disassembling. Mountains shattered into paisley shaped pieces. Planets cracked into fantastical squiggly slivers. The air itself split into fractal patterns that arced toward the epicenter of Arnold’s tie.
As Arnold himself began to loose consciousness his own atoms were imploding in on themselves in red and blue plaid patterns. Before he and the world and the universe and everything sucked into itself like water down a drain, one last image came to Arnold J. Putterman’s mind. He saw a silhouette of himself with a large cowboy hat riding a silhouetted horse into the sunset; head held high and proud, victorious over the world.