Escape from Coolville. Sherman Sutherland

I’ve employed these same techniques for hundreds of years, over many lifetimes.”

      “You’ve been making long-distance calls on people’s phones for hundreds of years?”

      “Providing karmic adjustments,” he said. “It’s different today—we don’t have the same student-master relationships—so I’ve had to adapt. I help more people this way, but the help I provide isn’t as significant.”

      I was like, “All you’re doing is getting revenge on people who piss you off.”

      “It probably seems like that to the untrained eye. It’s not revenge, though. It’s a service. I provide them with unsolicited spiritual renovation.”

      “You should put that on business cards.”

      “Yeah, maybe.”

      I still don’t know if he was messing with me, or if he really believes what he was saying. He seemed pretty excited about the whole phone thing, though, until I told him the pawn shop would just call the phone company and dispute the charges.

      “Some people make it hard for me to help them,” he said.

      So, yeah, he’s a freak.

      He gave me ten bucks for gas, though, so I’ll probably give him a ride again if he needs it.

      June 10

      Tanha. Her name’s Tanha.

      Tanha Tanha Tanha.

      Let’s hook up mañana,

      you can ride on my iguana,

      I’ll take you to nirvana,

      better than marijuana,

      my flora in your fauna,

      you know you really wanna,

      so tell me, are we gonna?

      Taa-a-a-a-a-a-a-n-ha-a-a-a.

      * * *

      Here’s how today began: Tim said, “Okay, we’ll take a break from PowerPoints for a while—”

      We all cheered.

      Then Tim got all pissy, like, “I didn’t make the PowerPoints, okay? I just have to read them.”

      After we all shut up, he was like, “As I was saying, we’re going to take a break from the PowerPoints and do some mock readings.

      “Get together with the person next to you and take turns reading each other’s cards. Use the ten-card spread that we talked about yesterday.”

      Viking Boy asked, “What if we prefer the fifteen-card Romany?”

      “While we’re in training and OJT, we’ll all use the same ten-card spread that we taught you, okay?”

      “But the fifteen-card Romany is more accurate for general readings.”

      “Once you’re out on the call floor, you can use whatever spread gives you the best handle times. Until then, we’ll all use the same ten-card spread, okay?

      “And remember, you want to practice like it’s an actual call, so use your scripted greeting and close.”

      Then Tim said, “Any questions?”

      As soon as he asked, you could tell he regretted it.

      Viking Boy asked, “Don’t you think it’s ironic that the majority of viruses on your computer come from pictures of women who probably have all kinds of real life viruses?”

      Tim was just like, “Um, I don’t—”

      “And is the universe eternal or transient, or both—or neither?

      “Just pair up and start your readings, okay?”

      The girl of my dreams turned and said to me, “Do you want to be my partner?”

      “Sure.”

      Before I got the chance to say, “I’m L.J., by the way”—and I was totally ready to say it this time, too; I’m pretty sure I would’ve said it, anyway, but she beat me to it—she held out her hand and said, “I’m Tanha,” and she started one of those super-long hand sandwich handshakes that’d feel totally uncomfortable if it was a guy doing it.

      Her hands were so soft and warm and perfect and my hand was just sitting in between there all happy like, yeah.

      Finally I said, “I’m L.J.”

      “I know,” she said.

      That’s a good sign, isn’t it? That she knows my name. I think it’s a good sign. I don’t know how it could not be a good sign, so I’ll keep thinking that it’s a good sign.

      I said, “We actually met a couple months ago. At Lucky’s. I was playing darts and—”

      “You remembered!” she said. “I was starting to think I must not have made much of an impression.”

      That’s totally a good sign.

      And now I know her name. Tanha.

      I didn’t learn too much more about her during our mock readings. She had the inverted King of Swords in her eighth position and the moon card in her sixth position, so apparently there’s somebody close to her who’s immature and, if she keeps going in the same direction, somebody will deceive her in some way, but that’s about it.

      I had the moon card in my eighth position; that’s never good. Apparently there’s somebody lying to me right now.

      * * *

      Another thing that sucks about training is that we all take our lunch break at the same time, so it kind of limits my opportunities for one on one time with Tanha.

      Tanha Tanha Tanha.

      I figured if I sat at this empty table in the back, maybe eventually she would see me and come back here and say, “Hey, do you mind if I sit here?”

      But instead, Viking Boy came and sat down right next to me—or, actually, right next to the chair I’ve got my feet on—and now he won’t . . . stop . . . talking. Seriously.

      I thought if I took my notebook out and started writing, he’d eventually get the hint, but so far it hasn’t worked. I mean, I’ve been writing for the last—what? two minutes? five minutes? ten minutes?—and he’s been talking the whole time. I don’t even know what about.

      Right now, he’s saying that he’s usually shy, if you can believe that, but the medication he takes makes him more outgoing and he’s not sure if he likes it because the old him is inside there somewhere and the old him can see the new him and he’s not sure if the old him likes the new him and what’s wrong with being the shy version of himself, anyway, because that’s the real version of himself, even though the doctor said this is an improved version of himself, but it doesn’t feel like the real version of himself and why should he have to accommodate what society wants him to be, anyway? Why can’t he just be the real himself? He wasn’t hurting anyone. And on and on.

      Holy crap.

      Everybody else in the whole break room is completely quiet. They’re probably waiting to hear what kind of bizarre weirdness he’ll blurt out next. This morning, he spent pretty much the whole fifteen-minute break telling some pregnant lady why momma dogs eat the afterbirth after they have their puppies.

      I’m guessing that’s why nobody else has sat down at this table.

      Normally I’d just get up and leave, but I don’t want everybody to think I’m a jerk for abandoning him. I’m pretty sure everybody’s staring at us. I don’t want to look up because that’ll just encourage him—kind of like, you know, how