Money Hungry

Money Hungry

Charlie Flunk was a victim of his name. As a child, his grades in school were barely mediocre. During recess he was the last boy chosen for every team sport, if he were chosen at all. He was bullied at school so often that he frequently feigned sickness in order to stay home. As a teenager he had a horrible acne condition and his overall appearance was sloppy and unkempt. He had no friends. He was never invited to parties. Girls avoided him. Boys made fun of him. He didn’t attend his high school prom. Everyone who knew Charlie considered him the town loser.

In his loneliness, Charlie became depressed. To alleviate his depression, he found comfort in food. He ate whenever he felt low, binged on candy and became seriously overweight. His attempts to fight his obesity were thwarted by his lack of will power. He took diet pills, but his appetite for food was too strong. He once contemplated suicide, but did not even have the courage to make a serious attempt at it.

 As a result of discrimination over his size, not to mention his lack of scholarly achievements, Charlie Flunk was unable to find any meaningful job that could afford him a sense of accomplishment, let alone advancement. He drifted from menial job to menial job in a never-ending downward spiral of disappointment, earning scarcely enough money to rent the one small room in the town’s only boarding house.

As Charlie returned home one Friday evening from his part-time job stacking boxes at a local warehouse, he was greeted by his landlady, Mrs. Ilse Radford. Mrs. Radford had been sitting in the front parlor waiting to confront Charlie the moment he opened the front door. She didn’t even give him the opportunity to remove his jacket before confronting him.

“You gonna have rent on time this month, Charlie?” she said.

Mrs. Radford wasn’t a bad person, but her maternal instincts never developed. She had a business to run and bills to pay. Her husband had left her some years back, and her only means of income was from the boarding house where Charlie lived for the past six months.

“Give me just a few more days and I’ll have it for you, Mrs. Radford, I’m a little short this week, but I promise I’ll pay you,” he responded.

“Tell you what, Charlie old boy. I’ll let you have until next week,” she said. “Otherwise, you’ll have to find someplace else to live, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Charlie answered, sheepishly.

Charlie plodded up the stairs to his room, hung up his jacket and lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. After ten minutes of emptiness and dismay, he went to his dresser drawer and took out the cigar box that contained his valuables: a pair of pearl cuff links left to him by his father, a gold tie clip, silver key chain, tape measure,  a few postage stamps, $37.83 in cash and his bank book with a total of $280. He put his hand in his pocket and found another $62.45; not enough money to pay his rent.  He wouldn’t receive his meager paycheck for another two weeks, so how would he be able to come up with the $500 he needed to pay Mrs. Radford in one week?  

 Well, I have a week to figure it out, he thought, and decided to treat himself to dinner at Pete’s Café, a short walk from the boarding house. As Charlie strolled over to Pete’s, he couldn’t help notice people staring at “the town fat man”. He continued on his way with his head down, staring at the sidewalk, in shame.

At Pete’s Café, Charlie sat at the far end of the counter, trying to avoid being noticed. He ordered a grilled cheese sandwich, a cup of coffee and a slice of peach pie for dessert. The check came to $9.95 and he left a tip of $1.50. He knew he needed money but somehow did not feel bad treating himself to a meal.

As Charlie rose from the red plastic covered counter stool, he heard a dreadful sound coming from behind.  It was the sound of fabric tearing, r-i-i-i—p-p-p. Oh no, he thought, my pants tore. Sure enough, the seam on the back of Charlie’s pants was completely slit, tearing some of the fabric along with it.  He immediately became aware of several chuckles coming from some of the other patrons and, his face turning crimson with embarrassment, wrapped his jacket around his waist to cover his exposed boxer shorts, quickly shuffled out of Pete’s Café and walked home as quickly as possible to avoid any further scene.

The following morning, Charlie put on a pair of old jeans (the only ones he had) and walked five blocks to the Goodwill store to buy a pair of pants to replace his ripped pair.

“I need a pair of pants,” he said to the clerk.

“I know you,” said Cindy Cheek, the clerk. “We were in grammar school together. The Big and Tall section is in Aisle Ten, over there,” she continued, pointing toward the back of the store. Charlie muttered, “Thanks,” as he followed Cindy’s directions, while she turned away with her hand over her mouth, giggling just like she did when she was a young, nasty school girl in Charlie’s grammar school class. “Wait till I tell everyone who I saw buying fat pants at the Goodwill,” Cindy cackled under her breath, while returning to fold clothes into neat piles...for minimum wage.

Charlie searched earnestly to find a pair of pants that might fit him but found only two pairs. One had a broken zipper. The other pair of pants were a dull brown with a yellow stripe, apparently the pants from a two-piece suit from which the jacket went missing. They were marked $4. With not much of a choice, he tried them on. Looking at himself in the mirror (which he hated doing because of his obesity), the pants were only slightly larger than his 50-inch waist, which was fine with him; he could cinch them with a belt. The length was perfect; there was no need to spend any money on tailoring.  As he adjusted the pants on his hips, he inadvertently put his hand into the right pocket and felt what seemed to be piece of paper. He pulled the paper out of the pocket clutching a brand new ten-dollar bill. My goodness, Charlie thought, the person who donated these pants must have left this money in the pocket without checking. Well, it’s mine now, he mused. It’ll pay for the pants and I’ll have an extra six bucks. The Goodwill store cashier placed Charlie’s new pants in a generic plastic bag and handed him the $6 change. Charlie whistled a happy tune all the way home.

Back in his room, Charlie wondered if the previous owner had left more money in the pants pocket. He removed the pants from the bag and stuck his hand in each of four pockets. Alas, he found no more money. Oh, well, the thought, I didn’t really expect to find any. He took off his old jeans and put on his new pants, this time with a belt to see how much cinch he needed. Once again, he casually put his hand in the pocket to strike a pose in front of the mirror. Lo and behold, he felt a piece of paper in the pocket again. It was another ten-dollar bill. Amazed and baffled, he lay the $10 on his bed and put his hand in the pocket once more and came out with another $10 bill. Over and over, he retrieved $10 bills during the next five minutes until he had placed more than $1,500 on his bed. Holy Moley, he thought, as he stared at 150 ten-dollar bills strewn about on his bed. He put his hand in his pocket once more, pulled out another $10 bill and threw it on the bed. Then once again with the same result.

There seems to be no end to this cornucopia, he thought. Charlie removed the pants and decided to put them away for now, fearing that he might tear the pocket if he continued for too long. Standing in his boxer shorts holding the pants, Charlie attempted to retrieve some money once again. He put his hand in the pocket and, to his chagrin, found that the pocket was empty. Oh, no, he thought, I’ve ruined it. Again and again he tried to find the bounty but to no avail. Let me put them back on, he thought.  Once he was wearing the pants, he reached into the pocket and smiled. He pulled out a new ten-dollar bill! Aha, he concluded. I can only get the money when I’m wearing the pants. Charlie folded his new pants neatly and stowed them in his bottom dresser drawer. He put his old jeans back on, counted out $500 from the stash of $10 bills that lay on his bed and went downstairs to Mrs. Radford’s room.

“What’s all this?” Mrs. Radford asked.

“Here’s my room rent for the next month,” Charlie said, with a Cheshire cat-like grin. “I, uh, just came into some money,” he added.

“Oh, how so?” Mrs. Radford asked.

“Well, I, uh, um, came into a sort of inheritance,” Charlie replied hesitatingly. “I, uh, gotta go now,” he added as he turned and hustled, as best he could, given his size, up the stairs and back into his room. An astounded and suspicious Mrs. Radford watched Charlie run upstairs. She immediately closed her door and telephoned her friend, Ida. Ida Prattler was a teller at the local bank and took specific notice about each of the townspeople’s deposits and withdrawals. She enjoyed sharing that information with her close friends, Ilse Radford being one of them.

“Ida,” Mrs. Radford said, “I’m not a gossip, but you know that Charlie Flunk who rents a room in my boarding house?”

“You mean the fat one?” Ida responded.

“Yes, him,” Ilse said. “He claims to have come into an inheritance. Have you heard anything about that?”

“Well, no, I haven’t,” Ida said with consternation. “How come I don’t know that, working at the bank and all?” she added.

“Yesterday he didn’t have enough for his room rent, and today he handed me $500 in cash. All in ten-dollar bills. He hasn’t robbed the bank, has he?” Ilse asked.

“Not that I know of,” Ida said. “But I’ll ask around and keep my eyes open. I’ll keep you posted.”

Charlie opened his bottom dresser drawer, took out his new pants and put them back on. He barely noticed that the waist was not as loose as before. For the next hour Charlie continued retrieving ten-dollar bills from his pocket. The skin on his hand was sore and beginning to chafe when he ceased reaching for money. He had amassed a total of $15,000 which now lay strewn all over his bed. As he played with the bills, laughing and tossing them around, he noticed that his pants felt uncomfortably tight around his waist and, for some strange reason, realized that they must have shrunk. He even had a bit of difficulty undoing the top button while trying to removed them. Then it dawned on him. Each time he removed money from the pocket, the waist got smaller. No problem, Charlie reasoned. He’d take them to the tailor right away and have them let out.

He stowed his money in a shoe box and hid it in the back of his closet, planning to deposit most of in the bank on Monday, save a couple of hundred for pocket money.

“Sorry, Charlie,” said Moe, the tailor. “There’s no extra material to let out these pants.” After measuring the waist, Moe said, “The waist on these pants is 44 inches. “You should lose some weight if you want to wear them again,” he added advisedly.

Dejected, Charlie took the pants and returned home. Try as he might, he could not fit back into the pants. There was no way Charlie could retrieve any money from the pockets of his pants unless he wore them. His waist was still 50 inches so he had to lose both weight and inches from his waist in order to wear them again and profit from his newly found good fortune.

Charlie had never dieted. He wasn’t even sure how much he weighed. He went to the local CVS and purchased a scale and a package of diet pills.   Back in his room he stepped on the scale. Charlie flinched when he saw the needle reach as high as 320 pounds. The tape measure from his cigar box told him that he had a 50” waist. Time to get this diet started, Charlie said to himself, as he downed two diet pills. I’m gonna be hungry, but the money will be worth it.

On Monday morning, Charlie took $14,000 out of his shoe box to deposit in his bank account before heading to work.

“Hi Charlie,” Ida Prattler said. “Come into an inheritance?” she added sardonically while she stamped his passbook.

“Who told you that?” Charlie asked with concern.

“Oh, no one. Just figured,” Ida said.

“As a matter of fact, yes, I did inherit some money.” Charlie said with a new air of confidence. “Bye now,” he added with the same Cheshire cat smile he had offered to Mrs. Radford. His next stop was at Kilroy’s, the town’s only supermarket, where he purchased two apples for lunch and a bunch of carrots that he’d have for supper. He finally found the will power to lose weight. His hunger for money eclipsed his hunger for food.

For the next six weeks Charlie continued his diet consisting solely of fruits, vegetables and an occasional hard-boiled egg. His weight dropped from 320 pounds down to 295. His waist decreased by five inches, only one inch more than the pants that were still in his bottom dresser drawer.

Charlie attempted to put the pants back on after having suffered the hunger pangs for the past month and a half. To his delight, even in spite of the one-inch difference between his waist size and the pants, he was able to zip them up and close the top button with a minimum of difficulty.  While standing in front of the mirror, feeling as proud as a peacock and looking much slimmer than he had been in years, Charlie reached into his pocket and ecstatically removed a brand new ten-dollar bill. Feeling euphoric, he continued removing $10 bills as quickly as he could for the next hour, accumulating $16,000 while, at the same time, experiencing the slight discomfort of his pants shrinking during the process. He tightened his stomach and held it in for as long as he could, but lasted only ten more minutes, acquiring another $2,500 before the top button popped off the pants.

I’ve just got to lose a lot more weight this time, Charlie thought. He sewed the button back on his pants and measured the waistline at 38 inches. He folded the pants neatly and stowed them away again in his bottom dresser drawer, determined more than ever to lose more weight as quickly as possible.

Word soon spread all around town that Charlie Flunk had come into money. People that he hadn’t seen or spoken to for years began to greet him in the street, often commenting on how good he looked. Cindy Cheek passed by him in the street one day and smiled at him saying, “Hi Charlie, remember me? You look great.”

Meanwhile, Charlie’s bank account had now risen to more than $30,000. He was unrelenting in his quest to lose weight and become thinner and richer. He would eat no more than 500 calories a day for as long as it took to reduce his waist by another seven inches.

Virtually starving himself by eating only two apples, one hard-boiled egg and three carrots a day for the next several weeks, Charlie continued to fight off the hunger as he lost weight but, along with it, grew weaker. After three weeks, not yet reaching his ultimate goal, Charlie felt faint and collapsed in the street on his way to work. By the time someone noticed him and called the EMTs, Charlie’s heart had failed. He was taken to the hospital but when they arrived at the Emergency Room, Charlie was already dead.

Mrs. Radford entered Charlie’s room in order to clean out his belongings and see what she could salvage for herself. She pocketed the $1,500 that she found in the shoe box in Charlie’s closet and the small amount of cash from the cigar box in his dresser. She discarded most everything else except for some of his clothes that she felt altruistically inclined to donate to the Goodwill store. Unfortunately for Ilse Radford the money she noticed in his bank account would be turned over to the state. Sorting through his clothing, she noticed a pair of brown pants with a yellow stripe.

“Wow,” she remarked, “These must have been Charlie’s fat pants. The waist on them is huge. Must be at least fifty inches.”

Ilse Radford bagged the rest of Charlie’s clothes and brought them to the Goodwill store, asking for a receipt in her name. She returned home and put a “Room For Rent” sign on her front door, after which she telephoned her friend, Ida Prattler.

“Hi Ida,” she said. “Did you hear what happened to Charlie Flunk?”

The End