I woke up this morning with a terrible headache.
I slowly stumbled out of my bedroom and in to my kitchen in a desperate attempt to make coffee when I started getting sick to my stomach, seeing double, breaking out in spots, and spontaneously growing hair in new and uncomfortable places. Unsure as to whether or not I was yet again afflicted by the mummy’s curse, (I don’t care what your travel agent tells you, never accept a “discount” trip to Egypt.) the black plague, some yet undiscovered tropical virus found only in the deepest depths of the Amazon, or a good old fashioned hoodoo hex, I decided to go about my day as if it were any other day.
As I filled my coffee maker’s carafe with water and poured out four generous tablespoons of Dunkin Donut’s finest I quickly scanned my body for strange bites of either vampiric or werewolfian origin. No dice- and this just wouldn’t do. How could I enjoy a cup of morning coffee without determining the very source of the pox upon me? Anyway, back to the original plan of not deviating from my normal plans which could possibly result in further planning I made my way down to the extensive bank of newspaper machines outside of my apartment. Once again, I found myself completely beaten to everything, through the dirty window of the Beacon machine I could only see one crap of newspaper left by the ravenous early-morning Starbucks zombies- the sports page.
I rose my fist in to the air, inhaled a mighty breath, looked to the sky, braced myself against the Daily Herald machine prepared to let out the loudest “WHY GOD, WHY?” the greater Naperville area had ever heard when an epiphany hit me like a first-edition Gameboy to the head. I slightly unclenched my first, extended my index finger, and exclaimed- “INTERNET!”
I ran back to my apartment’s door, raced up the stairs, burst through my kitchen while grabbing a cup of coffee, (stopped to pet both my cats), and rocketed to my computer. I spent several seconds contemplating why I even bother buying newspapers when everything is freely available online, then proceeded to plot a course through the vast seas of the internet to the nearest source of news. Upon arrival to my destination and the page fully loading, I read through the various headlines for the day. “Stebic, don’t care. Stebic’s kids, don’t care. Stebic’s second-cousin’s friend’s co-worker’s brother’s friend, don’t care. Inside Stebic- everything you always wanted to know and were afraid to ask, don’t care. Stebicpalooza benefit concert, don’t care.”
I took another sip of coffee in to my mouth, rolled my mouse wheel down another notch, and discovered that Naperville not only wasn’t this year’s #1 place to live according to Money Magazine, but worse yet- It wasn’t even listed. Anger grew in the pit of my stomach which quickly turned to hate then multiplied in to sheer outrage as it reached my throat and served as an excellent propellant for my newly sipped mouth full of coffee which I proceeded to spray all over my monitor in sheer unadulterated disgust.
If I had been wearing my monocle at the time, I can assure you it would have popped right off my cheek in sync with the geyser of coffee which spewed fourth in the light of this shocking news. Worse yet, being a true man of the people and the human embodiment of all things Naperville it was clear that my morning malady was wholly caused by the blight of Money Magazine. Seeking to undo the curse and boost my morale which was rapidly declining faster than than a Black Monday stock market I came up with a plan.
First I rolled all every clock capable of displaying a date, calendar, and any other device I could find which keeps any form of time back to 2006. (A good plan is all about the little details.) After this, I crammed a baseball hat on top my bed head, hoofed it to my car, and made way to my ultra secret maximum security safety deposit box. Walking past a series of armed security personnel, vicious guard dogs, mechanical auto-targeting machine gun turrets, lava pits, and other assorted booby traps I slowly inserted the key in to my lead-lined vault box. I’d love to say my safety deposit box opens with one of those straight-out-of-the-movies electronic/hydraulic noises linked to the opening of anything cool, but I’d rather not embellish this story.
Anyway, I remove the only item and slip it slowly in to my jacket while quickly looking once to the left and once to the right. Driving back to my place I found myself constantly looking in my mirrors making sure I wasn’t being followed by anyone who might have saw me loading my precious cargo in to my jacket. I reached my building and headed to the mailboxes. After delicately removing my former safety deposit box contents from under my jacket, I slipped it inside of my mailbox. All that’s left now is to go back to sleep and just pretend I overslept. Easy enough.
A few hours later I woke up again, recalling this amazing nightmare where the fair town of Naperville wasn’t acknowledged by the likes of Money Magazine. Shaking it off as just another bad dream I made some coffee and decided to check my mail. WHAT’S THIS? THE JULY ISSUE OF MONEY MAGAZINE?!
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO NAPERVILLE IS #2, YES!
