{squashing johnny tomato} sara gerou

{squashing johnny tomato}
sara gerou

The point here is not that I think I’m smarter than your average civilian; it’s that I am smarter. I’m probably smarter than you. In fact, if I took a few minutes to really mull it over, I’ll bet I’d be able to count on one hand the number of people I’ve known as smart as me. Lots of people think I’m cocky when I get to talking about my intelligence, but fuck ‘em, because if you’re right about something, you’re right about something.

True story.

My mother, God rest her soul, must have told me this one about a hundred times, but I’d remember it clear as day to the day I die even if she hadn’t. This was the day that I realized I was wise beyond my years. That’s how she put it, wise beyond my years. It was my first day of elementary school. You know when you just know something? Even if you’re only just a kid when you realize it? Some things you just know to be the truth. Take Santa Claus for example. Hell, it only took me until I was four to put that puzzle together. Come on, flying reindeer? A fat man around the entire world in one night? Do you realize how much coal that man would have to lug around? You need a flying moose for heavy lifting like that. Give me a break. Challenge me. I’ve been waiting my whole goddamn life to be challenged, really challenged.

So there I was, first day of elementary school. Most kids are scared shitless that day. You know hardly anyone; most of the other kids are older than you and the chances are not in your favor that you’re going to get through the day without pissing your pants. I was in Mrs. Moody’s class. I’ve never met a group of people (other than grade school teachers) who had names that suited them so perfectly: Mrs. Moody, Mrs. Mudd, Mrs. Watowich. You get the picture. I wish I’d had a teacher, just once, named Mrs. Sunshine.

So there I am, my first day of grade school. The building smelled like garbage, dirty dish water and old peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I found my home room, no problem. Mrs. Moody introduced herself and said we’d be working with counting, we’d be learning about “currency.” Of course, I was probably the only kid in there that knew what “currency” was. I can’t stress enough how advanced I really was.

“Ms. Moody,” I said. Mind you, I call every woman I encounter Ms., no matter their marital status. I hate to think of any woman as off the market completely. “Ms. Moody, I’ve already learned this.”

“Have you?” she asked. Her glasses were thick and her prematurely gray hair was tied back tight against her head.

“Yes, as a matter of fact my mother has already tutored me on the subject.” That was the truth. My mother never saw the point of treating me like I wasn’t a grown up. She never talked down to me and if there was something I didn’t know, well she made sure I learned it right there on the spot. Counting change by that point was old news.

“Well then, you’ll make a fine little helper, won’t you?” she said. And she didn’t say it in the high pitched sound of optimism. She said it in doubt. The last time any bitch in her right mind would ever doubt me.

“Yes,” I told her. “Yes, I would make a fine little helper.” Because I would make a fantastic helper.

“What’s your name, son?” she asked. I’ve always despised it when people call me names that don’t apply to me. I would have taken the time to explain this to Mrs. Moody at this point had she not been asking me what my name was.

“Johnny,” I told her.

“Well, Johnny, let me ask you,” she said, pulling out giant cardboard replicas of coins. “Can you tell me how much money I’m holding right now?” A pop quiz, you say? Well, I accept.

“Twenty-eight cents, Ms. Moody,” I said, unflinching.

And that was that. She split the class up into two groups. She was in charge of one and me in charge of the other. Yep, that’s right. I practically taught those kids to read. In fact, I should have been on a teacher’s salary at the age of six.

Wise beyond my years. True story. I know it’s hard for you to believe, but I swear on my sweet mother’s grave, that’s how it happened.

So you see, I don’t see how anyone could ever question my intelligence. A child genius grows into an adult genius.

I’m probably getting ahead of myself here. That’s just how my mind works. I’m already way beyond where regular folk are. Hell, I used to fail math class growing up because all I’d ever write down were the answers. I wouldn’t need to write down any of the work it took to get from the beginning to the end. Teachers thought I was cheating, so they failed me. So, you see, my mind is just so fantastical and people just don’t understand what it’s like to be plagued with such intelligence. It’s almost a handicap.

But people didn’t used to talk about intelligence, not like they do today. It wasn’t always a life or death matter. Back before Darwin Law was passed, people could just go about their lives with not a care in the world. Life was life and death would eventually be death. Now, life is precious and death could come tomorrow. I guess the government finally found a way to make people thankful for their lives. You truly do have to live each day as if it were your last.

I’ve taken advantage of the fact that I don’t know when the end is coming. I see it as more of an opportunity than anything. I’m more honest with people because of it. If some jerk from work wants to have lunch with me (and believe me, most of them do, most of the time), I just tell them that my life is too short to waste my time sharing small talk and a sandwich with their sorry asses. Of course I sugar coat it, but the meaning holds true.

Because really, who has time to waste with people that don’t matter? I sure don’t. Darwin Law has freed me in a way. Most people don’t understand that about the law. Let me explain it to you the way I see it.

Before Darwin Law, idiots were fucking left and right. Left and right, I tell you. And what was happening as a result? The birth of more idiots. To be raised by idiots. And taught that it’s okay to fuck another idiot and produce a litter of idiots. With the permission from the government to have a child based on a standardized test, the only idiots having babies now are the fruit cakes who guessed their way through the test. And who knows, if you can fake your way through a standardized test, maybe you’re a genius anyway.

I’ve never taken the Offspring Test because I never wanted kids anyway. I could have though. I could impregnate a woman many times over if I wanted to. She’d have to be a smart bitch though. And I mean smart. I see no reason in going through all that trouble just to give birth to an ordinary kid. Ordinary won’t cut it in this world anymore.

The second part to Darwin Law (and this is the part that has truly shaped me into the man I’ve become) addresses the existing human’s right to live. If you’re an idiot, the government has decided (and I’ve never been happier to be a citizen) that you just don’t deserve to be alive. You’re a waste of space. With resources becoming so limited these days and overpopulation literally a growing problem, it only makes sense.

I’m still getting ahead of myself. Next time I do that, just snap at me, let me know. I can’t help it really.

I haven’t even taken the time to let you know where I am. I’m at the fucking Tomato Inn, just outside of town. Everything is red. Carpet, walls, sheets, shower curtain, the handle on the toilet.

Everything.

All red.

And it makes me want to change my last name to Tomato. Johnny Tomato. Has a nice ring to it. That’s it, this point forward; I’m introducing myself as Johnny Tomato. Who would fuck with a guy with a name like that?

My name’s Johnny, Johnny Tomato. It’s nice to make your acquaintance.

The red television is on.

Three contestants appear on a stage. They’re ordinary people. It’s an ordinary game show stage. The host stands out in front of three podiums with an oversized microphone that’s probably not even connected to anything. That’s what you would call a prop.

“Welcome to Selection where real people, just like you out there, compete. It’s not a competition against each other. It’s you in a competition against yourself. And everyone has a chance to win! So what do you say, ladies and gentlemen, let’s get this game started!”

The sound of a crowd cheering fills my red room, but I doubt they film this in front of a live audience.

What the host isn’t telling you during this introduction is that besides the fact that each contestant has a chance to win, they all have a chance to lose. That’s the way it’s been going lately. There hasn’t been one winner in about a week solid. And that’s fine by me. You can tell these people are idiots.

“This is Doreen. Doreen comes to us today from Tulsa, Oklahoma! How are you feeling today, Doreen?” The host is in a tuxedo with a ruffled shirt.

“I’m… I’m…” Doreen’s response is typical.

The other thing the host leaves out is the grand prize. Supposedly they do this because children often watch the show and don’t understand what’s going on.

First prize is you get to go home.

There is no second prize.

“So what do you say, folks, should we spin the bottle to see who gets to go first?” At this point, they literally get out a bottle and spin it on a table to see who gets to go first. I’m not sure if the general public would want to go first, but I know I would. Why delay the variability the rest of my life? But most people faint when the bottle is pointing towards them.

The show has four parts. General knowledge trivia is up first. If you pass that, you go on to problem solving. It’s not necessarily math. It’s more of a test of your common sense. After that, there’s a physical obstacle course that you’re timed on. They make that one easier than they should. Have I mentioned that I’m also an accomplished athlete? When and if you make it through that, they ask you one question.

Why do you deserve to live?

I’ve seen people choke up and start crying at this point. And they don’t go home. Selection isn’t a joke. They don’t fuck about. You’re there competing for your life. Everyone can be a winner.

“Doreen, this question is for you.” The host’s voice is jazzy. I’m sure that’s a requirement. “Are you ready Doreen?”

“I… I…” If Doreen doesn’t pull her shit together, she’s going to be out of this game before it even begins. I’ve heard that they make every contestant wear diapers on stage.

“Doreen, in degrees Fahrenheit, what number represents freezing?”

If Doreen misses this one, I’m going to fucking explode.

It’s a funny thing to think about. Trying to get out alive. Eventually in life, nobody gets out alive, but for 30 minutes, minus the time for commercials, your life is put on the line and it’s up to you. You’re the only one to blame if you can’t pull through for yourself. And that’s the way it should be. That’s the way the earth has naturally existed for billions of years. Humans have simply gotten lazy about it. For a while there, we left no man behind. Everyone was given more than a fair chance. Everyone was given the opportunity to live a lazy life.

And that disgusts me.

Honestly, there’s nothing more genius than Selection. It’s my favorite show. There’s no reason to keep an overstock of ordinary people.

“Doreen, you have twenty seconds remaining. I will repeat the question for you, for first prize. In degrees Fahrenheit, what number represents freezing?”

Doreen is frozen, which is too fucking ironic.

“Doreen, for first prize,” the host repeats. A loud clapping comes from somewhere off stage and Doreen is jolted awake.

“Thirty-two, thirty-two degrees F-F-Fahrenheit.”

Crowd cheers. I wonder if they hear the crowd cheering too. Probably not. It’s probably quiet as a church and security guards surround.

“That’s correct, Doreen! Congratulations!”

In grade school they tell you that story about the psychology test where they trick people into thinking they’re an executioner. They show a person an electric chair (or whatever) and then take them to a completely separate room with one switch. That switch controls the electric chair. The person is told that they have to throw that switch with someone in that chair. You never have to see that person or smell the burning flesh, but you have to live the rest of your life knowing that you are the reason that person is dead. What would you do?

I wonder if the host ever feels regret. Because when you see three people a day, 365 days a year, and most of them die, that should affect a person. It’s not a job for an ordinary person.

I would be the fucking perfect candidate for that job. That host and I would probably be best friends. But if he’s anything like me, he’d understand that having a best friend is a waste of life. So we’d exist symmetrically, side by side.

I brush my teeth with a red toothbrush with red bristles. The toothpaste is cinnamon. When I return to the television, Doreen is on a roll. She’s answered all of her trivia questions correctly. I’m starting to like this Doreen. If she makes it through, I’d consider looking her up to see if she’s interested in procreation. But she’d have to leave Tulsa. That’s no place to raise children.

“Congratulations, Doreen, you’ve made it to the second round! You’re one step closer to first prize!”

“Th-thank you,” is all Doreen can muster.

“Doreen!” the host says all too loudly with dramatic laser noises in the background. Maybe we wouldn’t be that great of friends anyway, the host and me. He’s a little tacky in his presentation. “You’re sitting at your computer and the program you’re working in suddenly crashes. As a first course of action, do you a) call customer service, b) reboot, or c) throw the computer against the wall?”

Pathetic.

“Well, this happened to me just the other day,” Doreen says. They probably know that. They’ve probably been watching her.

Just like I’m sure they’ve been watching me.

What happens is you receive a letter in the mail, like jury duty. You are “summoned” to attend. You are not cordially invited. It’s fantastic.

I’ve been jumping ahead again. Or maybe I’ve fallen behind.

I received my letter to attend Selection exactly six weeks ago. That’s how long they give you. They figure six weeks is long enough to get your assets in order if and when you don’t go home again. And during those six weeks, I’m almost certain you are under constant surveillance. If for no other reason than they want to make sure you don’t skip town.

I’d never do such a thing as that. No, sir. Johnny Tomato isn’t afraid to look death in the eye and laugh.

At the beginning of week five, you receive another envelope with a plane ticket. And you’d better be on that plane. Failure to show up for Selection results in an immediate disqualification. In other words, you are awarded second prize without having to show up. A lot of people probably count their losses and choose this option.

But not me.

“Well, th-throwing the computer against the wall is obviously not the right answer, though I know that’s what I want to do m-most of the time,” said Doreen. On game shows they tell the contestants to think through their logic out loud. While they’re wearing diapers.

“Doreen, what is your answer?” said the host. He has a no-fuck-about attitude and I like it.

“My answer is a) call customer service,” said Doreen, more confidently than she’d say anything in 6 minutes.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Doreen”

Oh noises in the audience. A sad whistle noise sounds.

Doreen has lost.

Her life.

Game over.

Apparently she was a dumb bitch after all.

“Doreen, remember, never assume that not rebooting your computer will solve your problem,” said the host. I’m feeling inexplicably aroused.

“But… but…”

It almost seems unfair. It almost seems like it was a trick questions because they knew Doreen had recently been through this experience. But it was fair. I’m sure what happened is she called customer service, was put on hold for forty-two minutes, only to be told that she should reboot. Think, Doreen, think.

And that’s why I feel confident that I’m going to get through this one. I’m trivia savvy, I have all the common sense in the world and I’m an exceptional athlete. Did I mention that I played football in college? I never dressed for a game, but just to be on the team means that you’re in the top, I’d say the top two percent of the country, physically.

This is the best part of the show. A man dressed up in a yellowy feathery bird costume comes out on stage and places a Dunce cap on the loser’s head and escorts them offstage, flapping his wings all the while. I don’t know why, but it’s brilliant.

Good bye, Doreen.

Selection airs one day after they film it. Doreen died yesterday.

The studio is off somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Nobody knows where it is until they’re there. And even then, nobody really knows where there is.

I’m there now. And even I don’t know exactly where I am.

Well, I’m not there. I’m in a shitty hotel next door to there. They brought me in last night and I will appear on Selection today. Maybe before the show starts I’ll get a minute or two to talk to the host. See if it’s a gig he can line me up for next. I’ll bet it’s going to be hard for them to find a replacement. And I’d be a perfect candidate.

Let’s skip to the end.

The only part of the show I’m a little nervous about is the last questions. I’m not scared, don’t get me wrong. I’m totally going to dominate this show. But maybe I could run by you first what it is I plan to say when they ask me that last question. Maybe you could let me know if you think it’s stupid. Let me know if you think you’d let me live.

Okay, here goes.

Why do I deserve to live? Well, that’s a tough question, but I knew it was coming. There are so many reasons that I deserve to live, but I know you’re looking for me to be concise. I know we’re on the air and time is money, right? I think I’ve shown here in the past 9 minutes that I’m here for a reason and that I deserve to continue my life on this planet. I’m smarter than any other contestant here today, hands down. I’m smarter than most everyone I know. You know, I could count on one hand the number of people I’ve ever met who I think to be as smart as me. My mother knew I was smart. Wise beyond my year, she used to say. But that’s all beside the point, though you may want to take it into consideration. Intelligence deserves to live on. The world is better place because I’m in it. That’s my answer.

That’s my answer.

There’s a red knock at my red door.

“You ready to go, sir?” a man in a red suit asks me.

“My name’s Johnny, Johnny Tomato. Let’s do this.”