Wash The Throne (aka A Pontification on...)

[Ollie Maverick]

Wash The Throne

AKA

A Pontification on Mirrors, Chair Symbolism, and what people do in Waffle House Bathrooms

Broken mirror or broken man?

That is the question. Descartes can eat farts.

I take off my N95 mask and my sunglasses. I’m feeling slightly safer now that the reflective surface has taken a few good hits, forming pleasantly distorting spiderwebs. I can see the parts of my face, but not all of it at once.

This…is fine. Is this progress?

Am I getting better?

I just smashed a mirror in a Waffle House bathroom so I’d really say this is more of a lateral move.

A nose. That’s a nose. Perfectly normal nose. A chin. Most people have one of those. That’s totally cool. It’s totally chill that I can see my own chin right now. Hey, a mouth! I talk with that and eat stuff. Mouth’s are pretty dope when you think about it. This is going really well.

And then I lock eyes with myself. I lose my nerve IMMEDIATELY. The sunglasses are back on and after what only feels like a few moments I’m light-headed because I’m breathing considerably harder and faster than I had realized.

I take a few moments to collect myself and let my breathing return to normal so no one thinks I was jorking it in here or whatever heinous things typically happen in Waffle House bathrooms and find that my food is ready. Hell it’s probably cold by now. I was in there for either 5 minutes or an hour.

“Did you… break our mirror?” I am asked by a person in attire suggesting they are in the employ of Waffle House.

“Nope.” I say, lying that way that liars do when they lie.

I did the only rational thing. I ate my waffle and my hash browns and drank my now very cold coffee and asked for a to-go container and tipped them 200 dollars the way someone who definitely didn’t just break their mirror would. Like I said, Rational. 

I mean, it’s a Waffle House in Alabama. What I did was absolutely not the worst thing that has ever happened there. Probably not even top 20. I stop myself before I start trying to think of what the worst thing that ever happened in a Waffle House bathroom is. 

I get in the front seat of my RV and look over to the raccoon looking right at me.

I should probably mention he’s supposed to be there. He lives with me.

We make direct eye contact.

“What?!” I say with probably a little too much anger in my voice.

He breaks eye contact to look at the to-go container of hash browns in my lap.

“Oh. Sorry.” I say before opening the container and setting it in front of him.

He seems to take my previous tone in stride and eats. I start the engine.

It’s been a weird week.

---

Recommended Listening:

‘HUMBLE.’ by Kendrick Lamar

‘Circus Maximus’ by Clutch

‘You’re in Shambles’ by Del tha Funkee Homosapien

Ollie is in his full ring gear, save for a very old, dirty, and torn t-shirt he’s wearing that seems to be for an old wrestling stable called ‘The Guardians’. His face is (of course) censored from this broadcast. More interesting than his attire is his location. Ollie is walking down a path between a Ferris Wheel and a scrambler ride that both look like they’ve seen better days. THe only thing new here being a sign reading ‘GRAND RE-OPENING SOON’.

This place probably should not be reopened. It looks like it should be demolished.

“So this is Trash Land. Through means that are almost too stupid to recount a little while ago I came into ownership of a theme park that was constructed on a landfill and we’re supposed to reopen soon. Sure all the rides haven’t been inspected in a while and most of them are operated by teenagers, ex-cons, and occasionally by whichever customer was next in line. Sure, one time our food court got around a health inspection by adding a question mark after every instance of the word’ food’ on all the menus and signage...” Ollie says, directing the camera to turn its attention to the ‘Food(?) Court’ as they pass by it.

“...but to build something that brings people joy on a foundation of garbage is… well it’s basically my life story. Re-introducing myself feels weird. Hi, I’m Ollie Maverick. How are you doing? Neat.” Ollie says, not really talking to anyone in particular. Ollie’s walk finally comes to an end as he opens a door and enters what seems to be a large shack. There’s a championship with the letters ‘GRBG’ in a glass case on the wall and something covered in a huge tarp. Ollie removes the tarp to reveal an elaborate throne constructed out of garbage. Ollie takes a deep breath as he takes in the….majesty, I guess? After a few moments he finally takes a seat on the throne. It couldn’t possibly be very comfortable.

“So what on Earth is Ollie doing in the National Pro Wrestling Association? What is the Dumpster Cryptid doing in a company that is setting out to create a professional structure? Doesn’t he see he doesn’t belong here? This is a place for people who care about star ratings and say stuff like ‘WORK RATE’ and care very deeply about a crummy jacket they got at a steakhouse in Japan. That was supposed to be the vibe here, right? PROFESSIONAL Wrestling with Professional in all caps. Ollie doesn’t belong in that world. He’s supposed to be doing snow angels in thumbtacks and eating light bulbs or whatever those guys do.” Ollie says, shifting position in the throne to try and find a way to sit that doesn’t feel terrible.

“More or less I guess you could say I’m making an effort to step outside of my comfort zone. I think that’s a great step, isn’t it? Frankly I think you should all be commending me for this huge step I’m taking and your silence on the matter so far has been reflecting very poorly on you. Shame on you for not offering me unsolicited praise for every modicum of self improvement I achieve.” Ollie says, wagging his finger at us until we feel sufficiently ashamed of ourselves.

“I’ve developed… a theory I’ve talked about previously. A theory on the most prevalent mental illness in the professional wrestling industry and I decided that maybe a place bold enough to call themselves ‘National Pro Wrestling Alliance’ would be the best place to carry out something of an experiment and honestly a big dumb rumble lends itself well to the testing of such an experiment. Protagonist Syndrome. Professional Wrestling is an industry filled with men and women who think they’re the main character. Let’s narrow down an example. There’s ten dudes out there calling themselves ‘Raven’ and every single one of them thinks they are THE Raven. They’re the biggest and most important of the birds. They have to be. They have to be more important than all the other Ravens. Which one of them is right? Or are they just all wrong?” Ollie asks. He shifts in his throne to do the thing the internet calls ‘the slutty vampire sprawl’ but it’s one of the few positions he was able to find that didn’t feel terrible.

“So here we are at a rumble where all the egos gather, each of them eager to blossom more beautifully than anyone else in this fertile new soil. A new story begins in the formation of NPWA and so many scramble to declare themselves The Main Character. That’s why I knew I had to be there. Not to be the Main Character but to ruin the day of so many who are trying to be. I’d really like to win…but mostly because that means the rest of you lose and maybe have to realize you’re just a person. Does that make sense? I hope it does. I’d like people to take the right lessons away from this.” Ollie says, he seems to take a moment to think as if he’s checking his own math on a math problem.

“I will never claim to be anything more than a mentally ill orphan who kicks real good but I definitely hear you all out there. In stating my intent to separate myself from this group am I not surrendering to this Syndrome myself? You’ve got a point but also stop interrupting me. I won’t lie… there is this feeling I get when my foot Chuck Norris’s someone's ego right out of their body where I maybe start to feel a little bit of that syndrome as well. It’s dangerous. I just have to work hard to not let it consume me. If you think that’s me BS’ing you then I don’t know what to tell you. I know the reasons I do what I’m doing and any motive you pull from that in the interim is your own viewpoint and I care very little to change it. I don’t think I’m the only person that can do this, I think I’m the only one who seems to give a crap about it. It’s different.” Ollie says. As he said, he’ll allow you to decide whether or not that’s actually different or not

“And again I can hear you all. You’re so loud. Stop shouting at me. You’re vocally pointing directly at the visual of me seated in a throne speaking like I know better than all of you. It’s a pretty fair assessment to make but I’d like to think I’m being pretty self aware about it. In the end, Self-awareness doesn’t absolve anyone of explanation or self-reflection so let’s break it down into it’s simplest parts.” Ollie says, he gestures around so the attention is turned to the chair he is currently seated in.

“A throne. The seating place for royalty. A throne built out of garbage initially out of some sense of whimsy and irony as I was declared in my previous workplace to be ‘The King of Trash Land’. A throne I chose not to bring back as some reference to my past exploits as they no longer matter in this clean slate I find myself in in NPWA but… a throne I sit on in mockery of most of you. So eager to declare yourself Kings and Emperors and talk about how big and special your pee pee is compared to all the other pee pees. I see a sea of people I can’t differentiate. Every single one of them thinks they’re Kendrick when they aren’t even Drake.” Ollie makes a sweeping gesture with his hands as he describes this ‘sea’ of people.

“So I’ve done my self-reflecting and now I’m asking all of YOU to do the same. Dick Joke Guy. Yorky. Cartoon Guy. Pinky… when you see a mentally ill faceless guy sitting on a throne made of nothing but garbage and think you’ve got an easy insult loaded in the chamber… maybe take another look and make sure you aren’t looking into a mirror.” Ollie says, he kind of chuckles to himself before finally standing from his throne.

“Welcome to Trash Land. There’s thrills and chills and sights to amaze…but everyone keeps asking if we’ve got a Freak Show. To that I say…hang a left past the Scrambler and we’ve got a House of Mirrors. Go on, take a look. Look long and hard at it and tell me what you see. Do you like it? See my trick when it comes to the house of mirrors is that the admission is free. Once you’re in there? 50 bucks for a baseball bat to break as many mirrors as you’d like.” Ollie says, he leans down and picks up a baseball bat on the ground.

“You’d be surprised at just how much money we make off of that.” Ollie says before he swings the bat directly at the camera. There is sudden darkness and the sound of glass breaking and then…

Nothing.