Surgis Plonton: Poster Boy of Modern Mediocrity

by bernquist

Surgis Plonton drove his 1999 Cadillac Seville down the commuter and horse-ridden freeway, not really paying attention to anything, but generally staring at the floor in disgust. It had been seven months since the car (which he had nicknamed Chevre) was cleaned, and Starbucks coffee cups and general squalor were the prominent flavors.

It wasn’t that Surgis particularly enjoyed coffee, but ever since he quit eating cigarettes it seemed like as fine an alternative as any. When he discovered that cigarette consumption had been tenuously linked to hamburger throat, cheese lung, and octopus mullet, he knew it was time to kick the habit.

Driving 20 miles to work every day was fun. Especially when Surgis knew the entire day would be spent packaging iguanas for international shipping. Iguanas aren’t born, but manufactured just outside of Hoboken, New Jersey which is near to where Surgis grew up and regrettably lived.

He hated iguanas.

But ever since graduating with a Bachelors Degree in Management in 2010, iguana packaging was the only job he had been able to procure.

The iguanas were poorly behaved. It was rare that Surgis was able to bubble wrap an iguana without receiving a series of mortal wounds. He had wanted to get in on the building phase at the iguana plant and had been promised a shot to do so when he started with Iguanas R Us. Six plus years later though, he was still packaging, and unfathomable apathy had all but eliminated any possibility of upward mobility.

He assumed he had no success because his bosses hated him, but really he was just useless.

Surgis exited the freeway and decided to stop a few blocks from home and rob a gas station. He parked his Seville in the handicapped space at ARCO and sprinted forth and took everything while threatening everyone with death and six foot long iguanas and so forth.

Firmly grasping his can of Pringles and a Maxim Hot 100, he calmly returned to his sleek Cadillac which much to his vehemently brown dismay had already been decorated with a $72 parking citation. It rapidly became apparent that it was time to drive home which is what he then did.

Surgis lived alone with several roommates.

There were six people total in his house, an early century Hoboken seven bedroom Victorian built in 1994. It had an eat in kitchen.

Surgis ran upstairs with his gas station fare and threw himself into his huge, brown, and unmistakably wooden recliner. He turned on ABC and watched some Jeopardy while he wondered why there had been horses on the freeway during his commute.

He had a pet swordfish named Gregory Peck. The swordfish tank was 11,000 gallons and his roommates often complained of being stabbed by young Gregory when they tried to go for a swim. Surgis knew they were just jealous that they didn’t have a giant katana face sea menace.

Surgis fed the beast some chip dust and went to sleep, which is when he had some nightmares about being brutally mauled by a behemoth lizard and then lit on fire by Joan Rivers. He awoke to find that it was time to go to work again. “Hurray,” he exclaimed.

The End