Littered with armchair dreams?

Charlotte stared back at the horrific face staring at her from its place on the wall. 

The unusual white and brown velvet covered the antlers in a marble-like swirl and a muzzle-like face that hang over its mouth and a "bell" of skin which hang from its neck. A moose with big brown fake eyes.

Imagine that being your final resting place. On a wall in the villa of a Texan millionaire. William Donnaway. Low oil prices had flatlined the growth in his fortunes, he was buying distressed assets while the nation's biggest banks were getting taxpayer bailouts. He also owned a successful supermarket chain.

The moose was a perfect addition to any room with a masculine theme, the quiet peace of nature right into your home. Charlotte could almost smell the testosterone and had to resist the urge to grab a handkerchief from her pocket to cover her mouth and nose not to get dizzy.

“I killed it myself” someone with a thick Texan accent spoke behind Charlotte.

“Really?” Charlotte asked flabbergasted as she saw her host.

How on earth was a guy his size able to bring such a massive animal to its knees? He was short, redheaded, with a huge mustache that moved up and down when he talked. It kinda reminded Charlotte of a snail creeping through the forest.

 His skinny arms and legs were like spaghetti, pale and thin.The cowboy hat on his head was way too big and it didn’t exactly add to the art of manliness.

He looked like a garden gnome.  A male dwarf wearing a red pointy hat. The kind of guy Bugs Bunny would unleash his inner trickster on.

Was he even able to hold a hunting rifle without tipping over?

“Yeah it really adds warmth and charm to the house.” he uttered with a nasal twang.

Charlotte couldn’t help but wonder if something was stuck up his nose and how it got there.

Before she could answer, which was probably a good thing, a chirping sound came behind her.

“Welcome, welcome! I’m Bill’s wife Brandi” a tall, blonde woman who some might consider a trophy wife seemed to come from out of nowhere.

She had some kind of procedure done where a permanent smile was glued to her face. Charlotte didn’t know if she should be excited or terrified.

The more a robot or doll resembles a realistic human, the more positive we feel towards it. That is, up to a point. Anyway.

Brandi lead Charlotte and her Sugar daddy husband into a room which Charlotte supposed was the living room.

The people who lived here certainly had an interest in unconventional decor, leopard print rugs, ceramic, cactus-shaped chairs. Butterfly-shaped chairs rendered in ombre pink silk.

Just out of curiosity, Charlotte looked around to see if she could find a Teletubbies-themed bench. The moose out in the hallway seemed out of place now. Poor creature. At least it didn’t have to stare at the horror unfolding before Charlotte now.            As much as she liked bold and colorful patterns, this room was literally going to give her a seizure.

The wallpaper had a kaleidoscopic floral backsplash which could inadvertently hypnotize anyone.

As Charlotte stood in her artificially induced trance she heard Mr. Donnaway’s nose speak.

“Miss Spencer, we’re happy to have you here. Would you like a drink?”

Charlotte nodded, slowly detaching herself from the wallpaper.

Within a second she stood with a drink in her hand. For a short guy he sure was fast. Road Runner. 

“You were always quick with your fingers, Daddy” Brandi chirped at Bill and winked.

Mr Donnaway looked like a puppy being handed a big juicy bone. The smile on his face was huge, and his nose made odd sounds as his breathing increased.

Oh yes, Charlotte thought to herself. The art of discretely unclipping a female’s bra with the click of your finger and thumb in one swift move to create a look of panic on the recipient. 

“I decorated the house myself. I’m not really keen on that whole minimalist trend. Everything starts to look alike. I need more eccentricity and fun.” Brandi said as she picked up a “knick knack” which looked like it had been forged in hell itself.

A naked mole rats limited edition collectible box figurine. Pink, naked, beady eyed, wrinkled and shaped like a sausage. Charlotte took a huge sip of her drink which turned out to be whiskey. Her eyes went watery and her throat felt like it was on fire. With the hypnotizing surroundings she lost her footing for a second. She almost knocked over a drunken occupied Japan Decanter with keg cups.                

Who drinks alcohol at a job interview?                     “Miss Spencer, sit down, tell us about yourself” Brandi took the Japan Decanter and hugged it for a minute. “Well…” Charlotte cleared her throat. That whiskey was a sucker-punch, and she had to gather herself for a minute. Charlotte rolled her eyes out slightly to the left and up, trying to remember the speech she had prepared for the Donnaways.

The wallpaper kept messing with her brain.                  

“My name is Charlotte” she chuckled softly. I have several years of experience in the service industry. I have a keen attention to detail, I am punctual, a hard worker….”

It was the same speech she had given a 1000 times before. A speech which would unlock a door to pay her bills. Bills! In her heart Charlotte was an artist. She loved being able to express her creativity. Expressing her thoughts, feelings and emotions and doing work which she actually believed in. Her dream was to be her own boss and not having to answer to anyone else. Being able to put pencil or brush on paper anytime she wanted to. Spending her days feeding her creativity. Unfortunately, it didn’t pay her rent. Being an artist was an armchair dream, something only realized in her fantasies. Reality was something else. Work, bills, sacrifice. It had been made clear to her by other people that there were millions of people seeking the same as her.

“Let go of your armchair dreams and get real!”

As Charlotte stopped her flow of speaking she registered the Donnaways weren’t particularly impressed by her performance or her fake Burger King smile.                      

Brandi’s face was cement, except from that uncontrollably forced smile on her face. She began texting on her phone.                            Mr. Donnaway, the wrinkled old cowboy glanced up as I stopped talking. He must have taken a siesta under his massive hat. Charlotte must have been hypnotized by the wallpaper because she hadn’t noticed. How could she NOT have noticed?

What seemed like a good idea last night only seemed to be full of flaws by morning.

Her speech was well rehearsed, but she had failed to engage the Donnaways. The house felt emptier than a Scottish pay toilet. 

She wished she was anywhere but here. The embarrassment flared in her innards. Despite the poor taste, these people were used to people sucking up; these were influential people. Charlotte began to drift into an unpleasant, paranoid daydream. What if the word spread about her poor, effortless performance? She’d never find work. Everyone would think she was a lazy drop out. 

“Thank you for coming by” Mr Donnaway’s nose said. 

Brandi put down her phone and stood next to him like a creepy mannequin.

Charlotte shook their hands and trudged out to her car. She was relieved to get away from the disturbing doll and figurine collection, but disappointed in herself because she needed a job.

As Charlotte sat behind the wheel of her gradually worn down Suzuki she sighed deeply. The Suzuki was dilapidated and rusting. It had more than 200K logged on the odometer and the tires were bald. Still it always managed to get her from A to B.

Her hands were stroking the wheel as she changed gears and drove off. 

The traffic snaked up the free way. Nothing but lanes of metal and tire. There must have been an accident. One person's misfortune became the inconvenience of the many.

She had managed to bore her potential employers to sleep and lose a job she needed. 

 Soon confirmation would come. She glanced at the phone again, annoyed with its silence.

Charlotte decided to get off at the nearest exit. She wasn’t in the mood for concealed-carry permit holders and road rage.

Her mind was racing. Maybe she should take down her website, burn her paintings and get a job at her uncle’s bank. Her eyes filled with tears. 

There wasn’t much on this exit  but a small store called The Lily Hut Vintage and Café. So Charlotte decided to give it a chance. 

This was definitely a place to unleash the inner hippie. Clothing, jewelry, crystal, stones, hemp, and self- help books. Hippie and Vintage finds picked with love and good vibes.

Sunlight flooded the brightly colored room. Native American paintings hang above the counter.

She was greeted with a “Namaste” by a shirtless guy with a vest over his bare chest.

A sign read: Helping make the world a brighter place with wall tapestries, psychedelic art posters, stickers, curtains & more. Maybe this was where Brandi Donnaway shopped?

In the café there were  solid-looking whole-wheat cookies and muffins alongside cold, sloppy vegetable curry, some raisins and vegan chocolate cake. A hipster couple were debating whether  to order the tempeh, or the tofu burger because both sounded so delicious.

Charlotte went down the self-help book section, she needed something to take her mind off things. A sign of some kind.

It appeared that any moron could write a self- help book. Common- sense advice and empty cheerleading. People who pretend that a little willpower and a few worksheets can solve all your problems, a great deal of insight as to why you're so f-cked up in life.

The truth is, Zen doesn’t pay the bills when you’re coughing up blood in the hospital. It takes money!

Charlotte wasn’t looking for purely feel- good and ego-stroking nonsense.

A book stuck out among all the Dr Phil and colorful books promising to correct your aura, chi and other things you didn’t know existed in your body.

 A tattered black book with golden letters: The Prosperity Bible.

Charlotte took the book down from the shelf and struck it gently. As she flipped through it, she noticed it wasn’t like the other books. 

 A one-of-a-kind resource that collects the greatest money making secrets from authors across every field-religion, finance, philosophy, and self-help.

It explored success advice from Napoleon Hill, P. T. Barnum, Benjamin Franklin, Charles Fillmore, Wallace D. Wattles, Florence Scovel Shinn, and Ernest Holmes-along with a bevy of legendary writers and success coaches.

Explaining and promulgating the laws of winning was exactly what Charlotte needed.

Not advice from some talk show host luring vulnerable people to his show and exploiting them on live television, with absolutely no remorse.

Or advice from an angry vegan, social justice warriors, who take on a holier than thou persona.

Charlotte needed to fire up the creative powers of her mind to attain a life of prosperity. She was getting weary of 10 dollar jobs cleaning someone else's toilet.

Charlotte went to the counter and paid the hippie her last 20 dollars.

“Good choice! Usually, this is a test, will you overcome, or will you succumb to this temporary roadblock and give up? The hippie said pointing at the book.

Charlotte just nodded not knowing what to respond to his strange outburst.

She sat down in one of the bean bag chairs and started to read. 

Napoleon Hill. Think and grow rich.

 “3 feet (0.91 m) from gold.” A Story About Perseverance.

This analogy came from a story of a young man during the gold rush. After mining away at a Colorado gold mine for many months, he finally quit. He sold all of his machinery and equipment to a “junk man” who sought counsel prior to resuming digging. His engineer advised him that gold would be found just 3 feet from where the previous miner had stopped.

Charlotte closed the book. There were many lessons to be had from this story, but what she learned from it was this: that most people give up right before the gold because it gets TOO hard.

Charlotte closed the book and stared at the ray of light beaming at her from the window. It was time to buckle down and stop crying. She was an artist, so she had to act like one. She had to make her dream come true one way or the other.

Charlotte swallowed her pride, asked her uncle for help, and took the job at the bank. She painted and made art at night. She put her art on Social media, hung around art galleries and handed out her business cards and started networking.

The breakthrough came on a Sunday morning when she was mowing down her cereal. 

With a racing heart and growing smile on her face, Charlotte listened to the voice at the other end of the line.

Someone was interested in buying some of her artwork. She sold a painting for 500 dollars. Then another painting sold. Slowly she moved up the ranks as her work got recognized.

When a recognized art gallery in New York City wanted to do a solo exhibition of her work, Charlotte quit her job at the bank.

It was a rainy night and Charlotte was working on a fresh painting at her brand studio.

Usually, she had her phone on “do not disturb” when she worked, but this time it had slipped her mind to silence the phone.

At first, she wanted to ignore it, but the ringing had broken her line of flow, so she answered.

“Hello?”

“Miss Spencer?” a nasal voice with a Texan asked.

“Yes. Who is this?”Charlotte replied.

“I don’t know if you remember me, but my name is William Donnaway. You applied for a job at my house once.” the words sounded strangely insecure. He chuckled. “Getting your phone number was quite the hassle.”

“I remember you” Charlotte answered wishing he’d cut to the chase.

“I have a business proposition for you. Would you be able to meet with me?”

Charlotte didn’t really feel like seeing Mr. Nasal or Mrs. Mannequin again, but it was thanks to the pair that she had gotten her life back on track, so she agreed. 

As Charlotte set foot on the famous black and white striped marble lobby floor, it gave off an exclusive boutique vibe. Interiors were all understated elegance.

The Donnaways were waiting for her in the lounge. Charlotte didn't understand why but she was nervous.

She was greeted by cheerful voices and big Burger King smiles. The Donnaways were dressed to impress and sucked up to her. Praised her every move, her art, her clothes, her hair, her choice of drink.

It was strange for Charlotte to be at “the other end of the stick.”

“The thing is miss Spencer” Mr. Donnaway declared out through his nose. His lips stretched into gaping grin and his eyebrows arched.

”We need something new and fresh for our stores. We want to draw in new customers, you see.”

“That is where you come in. You are like the hottest name in the art world right now” Brandi joined in still with that strange smile on her face.

“We want to offer you a 6 figure contract to make art exclusively to sell at our store,” she continued clearly enthusiastic.

Mr Donnaway sighed and looked with a tired expression at his wife. The cat was out of the bag. 

Charlotte was at a loss for words. It took a couple of seconds for the new information to sink in. Life was quite astonishing, when you clawed your way out of the mire of dysfunction.

The smile Charlotte showed on the outside couldn’t satisfactorily, reflect what she felt on the inside.

“Hand the contract over to my lawyer and I will get back to you” and with those words Charlotte shook their hands and walked off.

You are so close to your breakthrough, and like the first miner, you may not even know it. It’s right around the corner. You have the power to create the change that you want, so push through, make it happen, and enjoy your gold mine.

Go for your dream no matter how littered the may be. Go up and beyond like it says in the Prosperity Bible. You are only 3 feet away from gold.

Winners never quit and quitters never win. Don’t stop now! Keep plugging away…