#my dad is big into golf and loves his sit-on lawnmower

[palmviolet]

true detective rewatch thoughts s1ep7: after you've gone (in which we get ecocritical, aka the symbolism of lawnmowing)

— this episode is all about showing and seeing. "i won't avert my eyes," rust tells marty, pretty much a thesis statement for the series' final act. what characters see is key for progressing the case and unlocking the secrets of the yellow king and his cult — when marty continues to call rust crazy, rust says, “there’s something you’re gonna have to look at, no other way around it”, and the viewing of the fontenot tape immediately changes marty's stance on helping him out. similarly, miss delores talks with reverence about carcosa only when rust shows her his drawings of the devil traps.

— but just as central to this episode are instances of not seeing. marty reveals he quit the police because he didn't want ever "to look at anything like that anymore" (referring to the baby in the microwave); maggie visits rust, asking him to tell her that marty will be safe in an instance of wilful ignorance, and he returns “it never sat right with me, and it doesn’t now, you asking me to lie to you about him”; papania and gilbough, lost in the bayou, ask errol childress for directions and, just like rust seventeen years earlier, fail to notice that he's the man they're looking for.

— this latter instance links back to the role of the louisiana environment in the series, as i talked about in my thoughts on ep2. childress is sitting on a lawnmower, tidying up a cemetery (whose graves are above ground, as is traditional in the region because of flooding). the act of manicuring an area marked by death, an area susceptible to natural forces far beyond the scope of a tidy lawn, works at odds with nature. it is connected to the golf club scenes between marty and geraci, wherein the perfect greens contrast sharply to the usual fare of oil refineries and swamps. golf is metonymic for business exchange, dubious political deals, and the veneer of polite society that conceals corruption from view, makes it look pretty — just the way the golf greens are falsely watered and treated, destroying an ecosystem in the process. childress, mowing the grass, is an agent of this veiled destruction, working on behalf of the institution (the 'parish').

— this is, of course, inescapably reminiscent of marty and rust's altercation regarding the mowing of the harts' lawn. the lawn is not only the site of institutional corruption but also masculine pride and ownership. marty views his place on the earth not as stewardship but as dominion (to borrow from christian theology, heavily present throughout the series) and, just like his wife, his lawn is his own to tend to and control. rust intrudes on his mastery of his environment — but in cutting the lawn, he's also contributing to that environment's oppression, manicuring corruption from sight just as he lies to maggie about marty's infidelity. this is representative of his involvement, however ambivalent, in the institutional cover-up of the murders.

— this is why it's significant that marty's second meeting with geraci is on a boat in the bayou. they're out of geraci's jurisdiction literally, yes, with him being the sheriff of iberia parish, but they're also out of the realm of regulated, manicured politeness, the veneer stripped away. we get long, sweeping shots of the watery landscape at the end of this episode and at the beginning of the finale — remember rust's assertion that the whole place would be underwater in ten years, nature reclaiming its oppressed territory — and it's here that geraci is forced to confront with his own two eyes evidence of his own corruption in the form of the fontenot tape. marty and rust can only work effectively free of the unrelenting forces of the coverup — both the police institution and the neatly trimmed lawn.

[magic5ball]

Nature Trail to Hell Arc IV: Megamart of Darkness (9)

Chapter 9: Dropping the A-Bomb

           I just stood there, having no idea what to say or do. It was like looking in a mirror at the grim, jaded hump of crap you know you’re going to be in ten years if the scholarship doesn’t work out. It was a sight that would bring most grown men to their knees, so considering I was a little kid at the time, it was a wonder I was even standing at all.

Yet somehow, I managed to spit words.

“T-the water.” I trembled, “g-give it back.”

He looked at the glowing plastic bottle in his hand. “Sorry kid, no can do. This here’s company property now. But if you want, I’m more than willing to sit down for an adult conversation.”

The way he said those last two words made my blood freeze, no small task when the ‘sun’ was shining so bright overhead. 

He gestured over to an area at the foot of the inflatable volcano, where two plastic chairs and a table rested. On top of the table were several Red Solo cups and a bottle of Crystal Springs Bottled Water.

“Like I said, its’ been awhile since I’ve had company. Besides the Wegmart Company, that is! Ha!”

My feeble ten year old mind struggled to grapple with the fact that someday I would find jokes like that funny. One of the most horrible experiences of my life.

But what could I do? Thanks to stories from my gangster days, I knew darn well what this A-Bomb was capable of, and I wasn’t really in a position to take chances. So I followed him to the tables, trying not to think about how Bokrug should have been here by now, despite his lumbering movements.

Naturally, I didn’t make a peep. If there’s one thing I learned from comic books, its’ best not to set these friendly-lookin’ types off.

When we did get to that table, first thing the guy did was offer me some of that crisp, refreshing, bottled water. Though the heat from the lava made it really tempting, I knew I’d never be able to live with myself if I did.

“Suit yourself, kiddo.” He said, pouring a cup of his own. “We aren’t that different, you know. In fact, you’re a lot like me when I was little…”

On the outside, I stared like the teacher was about to bring the whipping stick. On the inside, I wanted to scream, because long talks with my Dad had taught me where this was going.

                                                      .   .   .

“When I was your age, I also went to a Summer Camp, it was called Camp Salmon or something like that. Anyway, the counselors running the camp were mean. Like, really, really mean, so the second I could I dashed right on out of there and into the woods. Sound familiar?”

Naturally, I didn’t say a word. Throat was too parched, anyway. A-Bomb laughed.

“Oh who am I kidding?! Of course it does! I know because Wegmart has surveillance cameras everywhere!”

He pressed something under the table, and from the ground emerged a device made from a bunch of big screen T.V.s hastily duct taped together, several flashing images of my adventures over the summer. The rest showed the frozen foods aisle, where my feathered allies were getting ‘ahem’, ‘cleaned up’ in the most gruesome way possible.

“Like you, Watterson Tostig, I went into the underworld and escaped. I too, was inducted into a gang of dinosaurs. I, too, became God of Roadside America. But at the end of the day, guys like us have to settle down and face reality. Wegmart saved me, kid, and if you’re willing, it’ll save you too.”

All that time, I didn’t turn away from the screen. I couldn’t.

“I thought I could spend the rest of my life hiding in the produce aisle. But I was foolish back then, a rogue vagrant eating grapefruit peels. Until THEY rescued we. The founders of Wegmart took my withered ghost and showed me the way to love, happiness, and most importantly, low, low prices!”

Yeah, yeah. The low, low price of a human soul!

“I was weak at first, but the kind folks at Wegmart saw my talents as a brown bagger and before I knew it, I had my own private toothpick in the faculty room! After that, they put me into production.”

Here’s the thing about young me being stoic: even at the best of times, he was kinda bad at it. Sometimes I even wonder if he had some kind of attention deficit. Not saying little me cocked an eyebrow at the mention of ‘production’, but he looked at me like I did before he went on yammering again. 

“Oh yeah! You’re not in the know of company business. Right!  See, our store used to have a 3D printer they would use to take the employee of the month and just clone him until they had an entire staff of the perfect worker! And yours truly has held the position for ten years!”

Ever since I was young enough to confuse Wegmart with Disneyland, I’d always noticed how all the brown baggers looked the same. Suddenly, everything made terrible, terrible sense. But worse was the realization that, just like those cereal box sweepstakes, the empty, dotted line cutout of a man could have easily been me!

“Shame they recalled the printer. Something about lead based ink. Or the clones having higher than normal rates of cancer. Really, I just signed the paperwork. But enough of the sad stuff, Watters! Let’s talk future! Because I’ve seen you in action and man, you’re just the kind of spunk to breathe life into this company!”

Least, I think that’s what he said. Bokrug’s running tardy was really nerving me up.

“So join me, Watterson! And let us rule the Wegmart like manager and employee!”

“No.” I whispered.

“Eh?” A-Bomb cocked an eyebrow, like he’d never heard the word in years.

And with that, I could stay silent no longer. The anger, the one that’d been boiling so steadily I me like the giant volcano we sat at the foot of, went full Krakatoa!

“Are you deaf, poophead?! I said NO!. And you know why? Because all you did was make a giant self-pity sob story for yourself, because you think that if you can drag me down with you into this Megamart of Darkness, you’ll feel better about stealing water from a bunch of geese! I’m pretty sure you could have gotten some from Rite Aid if you were willing to play fair!”

“Rite Aid doesn’t sell-“

“My point is, you’re just jealous of me because I’m not a cog in the machine like you! And that ‘we’re so alike’ bullcrap wouldn’t work on a five year old! So no, I won’t join you, because I might have sold my soul to a Tako Shak, but even I have stinking standards, you self-pitying TURD!”

A-Bomb stared at me, mouth agape for a few seconds. “T-the T-word?...”

“You heard me right, TURD!, so you better let me go unless you want more of the same! I’ll even tell my Mom, and you really don’t want to see her when she’s angry!”

“No, no, I get it…” he pushed a button under the table.

Another hole opened in the ground, and from it emerged what I can only describe as a nuclear missile made entirely of fuzzy orange Shampows.

“Your friends and family are holding you back, little bro! So how about I sweeten the deal: you join me, and I don’t rain Shampow down on your entire neighborhood!”

I tried to move, only to find myself stuck to my seat. Literally. The son of a snitch must have superglued the thing beforehand!

“So, do we have a deal?”

I didn’t say a word.

“Do. We. Have. A. Deal?”

Now I might have been a bit of a turd back in the day, but darn it, I couldn’t let an entire neighborhood get wiped from existence! Especially when the neighbor hadn’t even returned out lawnmower yet!

“Okay! Okay! I’ll join you! I’ll be your whipping boy. I’ll even stock Barbie dolls if I have to! Just don’t press hat button!”

And you know what the prick did? He kept putting his finger closer and closer to the launch button!

“But I thought you said you wouldn’t do it if I joined!”

“Foolish Watt! Your petty loyalties to the neighborhood make you weak! We must purge this from your mind so you can know true Wegmart! Just like my manager did to my neighborhood!”

But you know what the worst part was? He said this using the most condescending, prickish voice I could imagine.

Still, one thing needed clearing up.

“Hey A-Bomb? What was your neighborhood?”

Guy didn’t say a word, but the way he shut up after that spoke plenty.

“… They called it New Jersey.” He whispered.

I rolled my eyes, knowing full well it might be the last time I ever express sarcasm. Of course!

Time slowed to a crawl as I waited on the imminent destruction of everything I ever gave a crap about. Oh, I tried to see things from the half full perspective, but not even the knowledge my douchebag brother was probably going to get caught dab smack in the middle of the detonation zone passed out on the couch watching teen drama reruns could compensate for everything. At least A-Bomb was taking his sweet time pressing, probably so he could rub it in more.

In fact, he was taking a lot of sweet time. (Granted five minutes is pretty long for a ten year old, but still!) Then I noticed he was pressing the detonation button multiple times, each time faster and more flustered. I looked up, wondering if the Lord himself had intervened on behalf of little old me, even after everything. 

In fact, my salvation had come in the form of a certain goose, who grinned triumphantly, a plug and wire in his beak, machine gun cradled in his wings.

“Bokrug!”

The noble bird spit out the plug, beaming with triumph despite being so plucked of feathers he was practically naked. A-Bomb was, on the other hand, for the first time since I saw him feeling something other than calm, collected, or several other words you find in yoga advertisements. His face turned so red I figured he’d explode any minute, just like his namesake.

“YOU!” he leapt up from his seat, facing down the glorious gander. ”I had ONE chance to find happiness! ONE chance to have somebody to share this miserable job! Years of planning, plotting, scheming, and with one bite you ruined it!” He unsheathed those golf clubs from his back. “Do you know what its’ like to run a store with only clones of yourself?! With everyone knowing exactly what you do?! Its’ so, so BOORIIINNGGG!”

“Then perhaps you should have found a happiness that did not require the suffering of another.” He bared his beak, bits of Wegmart technology still stuck in them. “Or technology easily damaged by the humblest of beaks.” like he was emphasizing the point, he cocked the machine gun, maing probably the world’s most satisfying click. 

“Who do you think you are, my Mom?!” He spun his golf clubs around, making a combination of kung-fu poses and noises that could only be described as either really stupid or really racist. Possibly both.

“Bokrug-kun! You have brought great dishonor upon my house. Prepare to die!” he cried in the phoniest Japanese accent I ever heard.

“I’m Egyptian, you a$$hole!”

With a guttural roar, the waterfowl from hell charged in kind, raining bullets like hellfire.

It was the awesomest f*cking thing I ever saw.