Long Way Down

“Do you want me to call you a chariot, Ada?”

Her slender body slipped out of the comically large bed and rays of sunshine from the open balcony illuminated her sleek legs as she slipped on her Gucci tunic. Maybe she heard him, or maybe she ignored him, but she said nothing as she exited the master bedroom and slammed the door. Eros, who was barely conscious on a couch made of solid gold next to his own female companion for the evening, reminded him, “This is Ada,” he said, motioning to the sleeping woman next to him. “That was Zenobia.” 

“Ah, shit.” Dionysus responded. He belched. With his eyes closed and a pillow over his head to block out the steadily approaching hangover, he reached for the goblet of wine next to his bed and knocked over a platter of grapes. He had to step carefully over last night’s debauchery to make it to the balcony. Sprawled legs, togas with no owners, and bare asses covered the shimmering marble floor. 

“Shit!” Dionysus yelled as he kicked an empty wine bottle with his big toe. The bottle clanged around the floor until it bounced off Ares’ head, who was still wearing his bronze helmet. The sound was deafening, and it drew groans from around the palace. Ares was not one you wanted to agitate, especially after a long night of drinking. The last time someone woke him up from a drunken stupor, he beheaded them and left their head on a spike for all of Greece to see. Ares shot up, looking for the culprit. Dionysus silently nodded his head in the direction of Poseidon, who was still snoring with a maiden on either side of him. Ares muttered something to himself and fell back asleep. 

Dionysus steadied himself on the ornate balcony made of priceless ivory, and deeply inhaled the salty sea air that was rushing up the jagged sides of Mt. Olympus. His palace was originally near the peak of Olympus, almost touching the heavens. After several run-ins with Zeus due to his excessive partying, he was demoted to a much smaller abode towards the base of the mountain. Zeus could have kicked him off Olympus altogether, relegating him to a mere mortal. He vomited once over the balcony. Even the gods are susceptible to the hangover, he thought while pondering the current state of the kingdom in the sky. The prestige of it all, the magic and glamor of the unknown washed away the second Zeus allowed advertisements and big business to sneak their way in. Olympus had been crumbling for years, in more ways than one. Zeus had ignored various repairs, instead he fed his own ego and carnal desires. While palaces crumbled, he threw thunderbolts at those he felt slighted by and bedded the mortal women of his choosing. 

Instead of seeing the craggy mountainside from his balcony, with wispy strands of clouds crawling upwards, it was now peppered with billboards for lawyers and radio stations. WXOR, one read, the ONLY station for classic rock in Ancient Greece! Dynamite was brought in to level out certain sections, followed by the paved parking lots to accommodate the Wal-Mart’s and Subway’s of the world. How the mighty have fallen he thought to himself. Dionysus told his comatose house guests that he had important matters to tend to, but once they stumbled out Dionysus collapsed onto his silk sheets and goose feather pillow he bought from Target. While he stared at the ceiling and prayed to Hypnos for a peaceful sleep, he pondered the state of Olympus. Only a week ago, Dionysus got carded while trying to buy some wine at Olympus Liquors from some young bonehead who barely fit into his toga. 

“You’re carding me?” he shouted. “I am the fucking god of wine!” 

“Sure you are. And I’m Hades. You gotta show that ID like everyone else, pal,” the soon-to-be-very-sorry cashier quipped. By the end of the day he was sacrificed on an altar. 

People prayed to Dionysus far and wide. Some asked for their vineyards to be blessed, aristocrats prayed that their party was well stocked enough to last through the weekend. Newly hired event coordinator, Chad Williams, was in charge of this year’s Dionysia. The annual festival that honored the great Dionysus was accompanied by tragedies and comedies of the best playwrights in the area, and copious amounts of drinking, eating, and communal love-making. Last year’s festival was an absolute disaster. One keg was purchased for the entire festival, and it was Poseidon’s Double Chocolate Stout, a poor choice for a scorching hot day. Only one bag of ice was purchased, there weren’t enough masks for everyone at the orgy, and the buffet was poorly planned. Buffalo wings and chili is hardly the desired menu for an orgy. Instead of partygoers dining on a light fare of grapes and cheese, indigestion issues grew rampant, ending the orgy prematurely. There was one unfortunate incident where someone forgot to clean the buffalo sauce from their fingers.

After last year’s debacle, when people were questioning the future of the festival in general, Dionysus was not going to let his good name get soiled again. He had his eyes on Chad for quite some time, an avid partier whose primary goal in life was “chicks” and to “never let the party end, bro.” These were direct quotes from his interview. Dionysus conducted the interview himself wearing a fake mustache, he didn’t want the candidates to recognize him and become anxious. Zeus had to give his stamp of approval to any and all potential hires, and despite the unusual and un-Greek name of Chad, he signed off. Chad was probably not at the top of his class, but the party gene ran strong with him, it was in every fiber of his being. Dionysus almost hired him before he spoke a word. Chad entered the interview with a backwards baseball hat, flip-flops, checkered shorts, and a Corona T-shirt. Some terms were unfamiliar to Dionysus, such as “boot and rally” and “rager,” but he could tell Chad was perfect for the job. 

This year’s Dionysia needed to be epic. It needed to be a party so unhinged and feral that historians would write about it for centuries to come. Last year, people were leaving before it was dark and a surprising amount of them were sober. It was up to Chad. And it was up to Dionysus to help Chad. Dionysus was putting all his eggs into Chad’s basket, so to speak. Chad Williams, the frat boy, the golden boy, the hero that would revolutionize the way that all Greeks would party for eons to come. 

Posing as the mustached man who interviewed him, Dionysus hounded him daily to make sure arrangements for the party were being made. The day before Dionysia arrived, Chad waltzed into Olympus Liquors when we woke up, which was shortly after the break of noon. Technically he woke up around eleven, but that time was spent watching the highlights of last night’s chariot races on ESPN while he took hit after hit from his bong. After eating a Cheeto he found in his flowing blonde locks, Chad ripped his bong again and passed out sitting up on his couch. Dionysus, watching from his perch, could only sigh. The image of Zeus appeared in his head, saying, I told you so. Another reprimand could find Dionysus kicked off Olympus for good. If Chad failed, Dionysus could see himself drinking by the train tracks with the rest of the vagabonds. 

All gods on Mount Olympus are provided a username and password to DeiTyV, the twenty-four broadcast of anything a god would like to view at any point on the globe. With a wave of his hand, he adjusted the volume on Chad’s television to full blast. 

“Whoa, excessive decibels, man.” Chad slurred as he shut the TV off.

The party is tomorrow, get your ass off the couch, Dionysus muttered to himself. But after several bong-induced naps, and more than one case of divine intervention, Chad made it to the liquor store. Of course, he stopped at 7-11 on the way for a couple microwaved burritos and a slushie. Chad took a massive bite while paying at the counter and a molten wave of cheese oozed out, dripping onto his exposed big toe and flip-flops. 

“Totally hot queso, my dude! Party foul!” he exclaimed at the counter. We’re all screwed, Dionysus thought. When Chad got to Olympus Liquors, he had to intervene once more as Chad had accidentally ordered several kegs of non-alcoholic beer. Without Chad’s knowledge, Dionysus guided him throughout town, watching over him. Chad forgot to confirm the date with the DJ, and the DJ magically rang him up. 

“Hello Mr. Williams, just confirming that you would still like to retain our services for Dionysia?”

“Totally bro. You guys rock.”

Dionysus ensured that the correct amount of masks were purchased for the orgy, and that a slip-and-slide and bouncy house were reserved at the party supply store. After hours of picking up balloons, trays of food, confetti, and wine, Chad was more than ready to pack up his bong, eat some Frosted Flakes, and watch cartoons. Without Dionysus, Chad would not have secured the proper permits through the police, or porta-potties, or live music. 

Watching DeiTyV, he called Chad right before he spilled bong water onto his carpet that was already caked with a thin layer of weed dust and light beer. 

“Go for Chad, master of parties and crushing brews.”

“Right. Anyways, this is Mr. Dion.” He cringed at the name he came up with, realizing he didn’t strain any brain cells creating it.

“Who?”

“Mr. Dion. I hired you.”

An uncomfortable lump of silence hung on the line with the muffled sounds of Tom chasing Jerry in the background. 

A belch followed by a “Huh?” was the response.

“Mr. Dion. I hired you. For Dionysia.”

“For what?”

“The party, Mr. Williams. The festival. The biggest one in Ancient Greece.”

“Hear me out, bro. If we are like, living in the present, and like, we don’t know what’s gonna happen in the future, why do we refer to our present time as Ancient Greece? Shouldn’t we just refer to our time as like, I don’t know, Present Greece? How do we know we’re Ancient? Do you pick up what I’m putting down?”

Dionysus, who was stunned by the clarity and the level of thought put behind that statement, could only stutter on the other end of the line. 

“Where do we stand on the party, Mr. Williams? Everything good to go?”

“Totally, bro. Everything’s good to go.”

“I would just like to remind you that you need to be there at seven to unlock the gate and let the food vendors and the bands in.”

“I thought it started early? Wouldn’t seven at night be too late?”

“It certainly would be too late. I did not say seven at night.”

“Seven in the morning?” Chad responded incredulously. 

“Yes, Mr. Williams.”

“Alright,” Chad responded as he inhaled deeply, sounding unsure of himself.

I’m screwed, Dionysus thought again. 

Dionysus poured a large goblet of wine, and nearly drank it in one sip as he felt Zeus’ judging eyes burning a hole in his back from somewhere above. Pouring another glass, he walked to the balcony and sighed as the cool mountain breeze wafted over him. Against his better judgment, he sent out a text in his group chat with Poseidon, Ares, and Apollo, just to name a few. Unsure of his future on Mount Olympus, Dionysus wanted to raise his glass amongst gods. The first one to respond to the group text was Chronos, who replied, “I’ll try to be on time,” followed by several laughing face emojis. 

“Your jokes suck,” Dionysus typed back.

In the morning, Dionysus woke up in a way similar to many other mornings. Trying to figure out who was sleeping next to him, a splitting headache, and various empty bottles of wine and platters of meat and cheese scattered throughout the palace. Barely able to get his head lifted from the pillow, he scanned the room to see Poseidon and Apollo passed out face down on the cool, marble floor. The moment his head flopped back to the pillow, the angle of the sun in the sky made him sit up again as the women next to him shifted and groaned. The festival! 

His alarm clock read 9:13 AM. The phone on his nightstand read Missed Call, Zeus (13). Dionysus grabbed his blanket and shook it like a matador to find the remote, and he found it when it struck the wall across the room. With trembling hands he fumbled at the remote, dreading what was on the other end. Before he flipped to the channel that was programmed to Chad, he said a little prayer that he would already be at the festival grounds, hard at work telling the food vendors and the bands where to set up. It was wishful thinking, of course. Chad was holding his bong, drifting in and out of sleep watching an infomercial and occasionally saying, “I should totally buy one of those, man.”

Dionysus panned the camera around the house to locate his cell phone. It was under his coffee table, muted and ringing incessantly. Dionysus sprung for his chariot in a desperate attempt to save Chad’s life, and the festival. He sped down the spiraling mountain roads, at one point even tipping the chariot onto two wheels and knocking over a mailbox. The festival grounds were on the route to Chad’s bachelor pad, and the statue of Dionysus towered over the empty field. No vendors, no bands, no orgies. Chariots were backed up for miles as impatient crowds started to chant, “Let us in! Let us in!”

When he arrived at the small domicile with the beer can strewed lawn, Dionysus feared it was too late. As he parked his chariot, another one was pulling away with a sign that read Chloris’ Flowers. When Zeus determined that someone had to go, he liked to do it in style. An avid fan of cop shows and mafia movies, he preferred the methods of a sting operation or a setup. The god of gods, who could have just ordered the subject to the summit of Olympus where he could toss a lightning bolt up their ass and call it a day. Not his style. That was boring for him. He preferred to adorn the costume of some sort of delivery or service man and make a housecall. Dionysus feared that today’s choice was flower delivery. 

After sweating in his chariot and taking note of his surroundings, he decided to creep out from his chariot and take a closer look. Before he even reached the sliding glass door in the back of the house, Dionysus could smell the horrid stench of burnt flesh and hair. Chad was leaning back in his recliner, doing what he did best, zoning out in front of the tube with an ice cold domestic beer and a bong. The door was already open and he let himself in. Zeus gave him the ole’ lightning bolt treatment all right, his fingers and toes were still twitching from the electricity and the beer he had a death grip on was boiling and spilling onto his hand. Dammit, Chad. You were supposed to be the one. He approached him warily just in case any electricity was potent enough to radiate through the shag carpet. The beer fell to the ground and Chad’s head fell back and to the right. A singular pink piece of paper was taped to his forehead. Dionysus knew what it was before he even read it, but he read it anyway. EVICTION NOTICE: You have one week to vacate your palace and leave Mount Olympus. Signed only with a Z. 

He crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it against the wall. There were still some cold beers in the refrigerator, and it seemed as good a time as any to crack one open, watch cartoons, and let the morning sun shine on his face.