The Heist
It was the first time that Punxsutawney Phil had not seen his shadow in what must’ve been at least nine years, and that called for one thing; an early spring. And maybe it was just the impending global warming crisis coming to a head, but we actually did have gorgeous weather. Sixty-five and sunny on a Sunday in mid-March, with better weather to come. Who’d have thought, that furry son-of-a-bitch called it.
This felt like a miracle, even if the winter was admittedly pretty mild by any conventional metric used to measure the harshness of said winter. Something about it being gray and rainy for days on end. I feel like I wouldn’t mind it if it actually snowed, but it never did; just this endless dreary drizzle that makes people drive like shit.
Don’t get me wrong, people still drive like shit irrespective of the weather (or the time of year for that matter), but there’s really something about that first drop of rain on the windshield that makes people lose their goddamn minds.
“Oh, let’s all drive 20 miles an hour under the speed limit so as not to hydroplane but I’m not gonna put on the headlights of my gunmetal grey 2004 Ford Taurus because it’s daytime”.
And this isn’t to denigrate people for driving 2004 Ford Tauruses, more to just comment on how people think. Or don’t think. But none of that mattered anymore, because Phil said we were going to have clear skies and balmy days ahead and he was right. It was going to be beautiful out. And it was. So, naturally, we were all quarantined for two months.
See, the funny thing about life is that despite whatever happens from moment to moment it continues to chug along, completely and utterly indifferent to your feelings or whatever it is that you’ve got going on currently. And it’s because of this that most people aren’t phased by any of the fucked up things that go on in the world at any given time.
Ebola outbreak? Well, I just won’t be going to Africa anytime soon.
Syrian refugees? I’d donate 25 cents just to shut off the Sarah McLachlan commercial.
The entire continent of Australia is on fire? Hey, good news, chlamydia rates amongst the koala population are now far lower than they were about a month ago. Bad news — it’s because most of the koalas were wiped out. But still, silver-lining?
Things happen and life really doesn’t change that much, at least not the day to day. Until COVID. And even then, things were pretty much the same as they’d always been, until one day they weren’t, which is where our story begins.
I met Joey Curtola during orientation week of the first year of medical school. What most people don’t understand about med school is that it’s the worst fucking thing you’ll ever do in your life. And yeah it’s like no shit, med school is tough; I’m fine with that, because that’s true. But it’s not even about all the work.
There’s nothing else that a med student wants to do but study, and to be helpful someday, and these neurotics will be the first to tell you so. Most of us have spent the vast majority of our existence in the library, like a ghost with unfinished business, cursed to wander the aisles between the bookshelves for all time.
It’s an impossible task to cram an entire body system into two weeks and expect to have any sort of handle on it, but before you can even come up for air it’s on to the next one, repeat ad nauseam for the next two years.
No, see, the work, shitty as it is, isn’t the problem, it’s everything else that goes along with it.
All the things you miss out on.
And the distractions.
And the obligations.
The mandatory lecture on “How To Be Empathetic”, or “The Male Genitalia” practicum. You know how in medieval times no-one had ever seen an elephant, they’d only heard about what an elephant looked like from wearied travelers? That’s about as close as how the fucking model looked to an actual set of male genitalia.
And after all of this bullshit, medicine is one of the only fields where you have to prove over and over again that you belong, and even then it’s not enough. Med school takes and takes and takes from you. And at some point, your faith will be tested, like a preacher in a whorehouse. That’s what they don’t tell you before you sign your life away. People don’t see that from the outside looking in.
I’d liken it to joining the Marine Corps. Promises of a prestigious career in the service of your fellow man, and all the respect that goes along with it. And then you show up to basic and they just bust your balls, and degrade you, give you equipment that doesn’t work and make you drill and abuse you until the point where you’re so fried that when they finally drop you on the beach you’re so fucking pissed off that you just waste everything you see.
I’m being facetious somewhat; we’re not asked to get shot at, or die on foreign soil so our government can wage it’s war of the month, or to kill anyone.
When we kill someone, it’s usually a case of negligence, incompetence or a sheer act of God. Sometimes it’s a bit of all three, and it’s almost always accidental. And sure we feel bad about it, because we got into this business to help people. Easier said than done, I suppose.
All of this to say that med school accelerates a lot of things. Friendships age in dog years when you’re in the shit together. Me and Joey got on great. He didn’t say much, which was fine by me because I didn’t say much either.
He had a long-term girlfriend, who was like high-fiber cereal with a side of multi-vitamin in the morning, which is to say that she may not have been exactly what you wanted, but she was probably what you needed. Gianna. A bit simple, but sweet in her own way. She used to be around on weekends. I remember the first time I went over to his house with them for Sunday dinner. We opened the front door and it was like a bomb went off.
“Oh! Look at this guy.”
“Gaetano, my baby is home! You’re not eating enough at that school. And Gianna look at you, my god. Just stunning. And who’s this?”
And there’d be lots of hugging and kissing and back slapping and more hugging.
“Ma this is my friend, I told you he was coming for dinner remember?”
“Of course! Of course! Come in let me get you a plate.”
And we’d be thrust inside and sat down, our plates piled high. There was lots of talk about this one’s baby, and that one is marrying this one, and ‘can you believe what she said to me’ and I sat there quietly, taking it all in. The food was incredible. Joey had this weird thing where he’d twirl the pasta around the fork in the spoon towards him. I’d never seen anything like it. Frankly, it was unsettling. Like robots with tits, or Steve Buscemi’s face. His father would chime in,
“Jesus Christ Joey, spin that fuckin’ thing the right way would ya?”
“It doesn’t matter which way you twirl it, Pop.”
Things would escalate from there and there’d be more shouting. I’d crack myself up imagining his dad lunging over the table to beat the ever-loving shit out of him for his utensiline mortal sin. After a while things would settle and the focus of attention would shift to Gianna.
“Gaetano, you hold on to this one. She’s like the daughter I never had. Gianna, I cannot wait for you to join this family.” his mother would say, and she and Gianna would laugh, and hug, and talk about this inevitable union. On and on this went for hours.
About a month later Joey and Gianna broke up over something inane. I can’t remember what. And soon after that me and Joey found ourselves at dinner again.
“I never liked that girl, Gaetano, thank God you didn’t end up with her.” his mother said.
“She was a cunt.” his father said as his mother made the sign of the cross.
I turned around in my seat to look down the hall into the living room, where a stack of bridal veils lay strewn across the couch. Turning back around, I nestled into my fourth helping of pasta. I made sure to twirl the fork away from me.
“Why don’t you find yourself a nice girl Gaetano, someone from a good family?”
“You caused much pain bringing her into this house.” his father said, pointing his finger in Joey’s face.
I feel like there would have been a time in Joey’s life when he would’ve fought back, or told them to drop it at the very least, but who has the effort for such things? That’s what school does. It takes it out of you. It makes you jaded.
I once heard someone say that 1 in 3 Americans weighs as much as the other 2. What a smug bastard. Smugness aside, they were probably right though. Still, it’s hard to care about helping people when they don’t care about helping themselves. See, once this whole COVID thing came to light, people started freaking out. Instead of shaking hands, they started doing what the masses dubbed the “Wuhan bump”, which seemed problematic to me for a number of reasons.
Cases skyrocketed in a matter of days. Then the panic-buying set in.
People would buy so much useless shit, and they’d stockpile it as if they weren’t gonna be leaving their house for the next two years. 500 rolls of toilet paper. For what? And this was just one end of the spectrum. The other camp was staunchly resistant to isolating themselves.
“I’ll be damned if I’m losing my spring break over this. It’s not even that bad. It only affects old people and the immunocompromised!”
Oh yeah? Spell immunocompromised. Surprisingly, the anti-vax crowd has been pretty quiet throughout this entire thing. Last I heard they were in the testing phase of a clinical trial for hemp seed oil and may poles.
The state mandated that everything be shut down, and that we weren’t to go out after dark, and we were to socially distance ourselves in attempts to flatten the curve.
“So all classes were cancelled, you’re saying.”
Well, not really. Because we weren’t sure. In times of stress, we often look to our leaders for guidance, and, well, fucking leadership. So me and Joey are home, quarantined, wondering about the state of our education as it stands. Not to be a selfish prick, but this fucking virus couldn’t have picked a more inconvenient time for me. A month away from the end of second year, boards looming, the cocksuckin’ thing.
Not that we could do much to help, even if we wanted to; we were both acutely aware of not only how knowledgable we are about being unknowledgeable about this pandemic, but also of the unique position we’re in in that, as second year medical students, we may be the least helpful group of people in the entire medical field. A wasted mask on a well of useless factoids. Anyway, we’re sitting around wondering how or if we’ll be able to finish this year on time. He’s scrolling through his phone.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“What?”
He shows me. It’s a picture of every prominent member of our administration board in a parking lot, flinging dirt from shovels. Social distancing be damned, they’re breaking new ground on a new campus they won’t be able to open for new students that can’t enroll in the new year because of the pandemic, all thanks to the new coronavirus. Meanwhile, we’re out here like a released blown up balloon, just air-sharting it’s way all over the fucking place waiting for news about our future. Admin really left us hanging; glad to see that the “nothing to see here, everything is fine, business as usual” echo chamber circle jerk is alive and well. These people are so out of their depth they make the Mariana Trench look like an inflatable kiddie pool.
“I’m gonna have a drink.” Joey says.
I joined him. Because when you’re quarantined, what else are you gonna do? Besides, there’s only so many Law & Order: SVU reruns you can force yourself to sit through.
A lot of people like alcohol for it’s sedating effect. Don’t get me wrong, I like it for that too. But what I think I like even more about it is the disinhibition. That freedom to say things you wouldn’t normally say but that you still feel. As I mused on this and was about to tell Joey that I loved him, and that I should tell him that more often and that he’s a good friend and why don’t we say this more often something caught my ear, driving any other thought from my disinhibited mind.
“…arlie McGaney, aged 29, recently purchased 20 thousand dollars worth of hand sanitizer, lysol wipes, toilet paper and…”
Click. Joey had already changed the channel.
“Wait wait wait go back.”
He flipped the station back. And there he was. In all his glory. Charlie McGaney. Charlie fuckin’ McGaney.
I couldn’t believe it. Charlie McGaney was a guy that I went to high school with. He was one of the burnouts, and not someone with whom I regularly associated.
When you went back to your hometown for Thanksgiving and were forced to go to the one local bar on Thanksgiving Eve, he was the kind of guy you’d find sitting there who’d never left, waxing philosophic about how ‘God is dead’ and that ‘according to Kierkegaard nothing matters so fuck it why should he bother getting a career when his job as a “petroleum transfer engineer” paid just fine and afforded him a lot of flexibility’, which was just another way of saying that he pumped gas so that he didn’t have to take responsibility for much.
And this isn’t to denigrate people who pump gas. Lord knows New Jerseyans need such services, delicate flowers we most certainly are. This is just to say that there’s a time and a place when it’s acceptable for a man to pump gas for a living, and nearing 30 isn’t it.
Then you’d be forced to remind him that what he’s blathering on about is more akin to Nihilism and that Kierkegaard was actually really into God.
Still, there he was. On my TV screen. On the evening news. Having bought 20 thousand dollars worth of supplies that he was keeping in his garage to up-charge people during the pandemic who missed out on the panic-buying sweepstakes. Where the hell he got 20 thousand dollars with which to purchase said supplies was a question for another day. I filled Joey in on Charlie McGaney.
“That motherfucker.”
That motherfucker indeed. Who was he to be hoarding much needed supplies, preying on these good people’s fears and insecurities in these trying times? He had to pay.
And as me and Joey sat there discussing what a piece of shit Charlie McGaney was, we collectively arrived at the same conclusion; we should rob this fucking guy.
Because we could give away the supplies to help the people that needed them.
And if this wasn’t the reason that we went into medicine in the first place, then what was? And by God we were gonna help people.
Joey drove a huge pickup truck that had one of those covers on it that made it look like an SUV. I don’t know what they’re called. Regardless, we agreed that we should take his ride as it had far more space with which to hold the take. We sat in relative silence on the ride over; when we arrived at the street he lived on I told him to slow down. We both looked out the windows, trying to see which house could possibly be McGaney’s.
“That’s it isn’t it?” Joey asked.
He had pulled over, across from one of the many houses that lined the street.
“That’s definitely it, he had that awning thing next to the bushes by the garage. When they did the wide shot to show all of his merch, look!”
Sure enough, Joey was right. This had to be it. The only question was, now what? We sat and pondered for a moment what our next move was. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked. It was all perfectly suburban, the gaps in the street lights casting shadows across the front lawns, everyone tucked away in their idyllic homes. Just then, a spate of inspiration struck.
“Follow me.”
I got out of the car, Joey in tow. We walked up to Charlie’s house, up the steps and onto the porch. I opened the screen door, knocking smartly on the front. Here goes nothing. After a moment, the door opened a crack, and out stared Charlie McGaney; he looked exactly like I remembered, bleary eyes and scraggly half-beard all.
“Can I help you?” Charlie asked.
“Mr. McGaney? My name is, uh, Elliot Stabler, with the CDC. My associate Joey Motorola,”
Joey nods his head as I motion to him.
“We’re here to talk to you about your recent purchase of medical supplies, may we come in?”
“What’s this about?”
This should be painless, I thought.
“We’ve been sent by the state to inquire about the possibility of purchasing said medical equipment. We saw you on the news.” Joey said.
“I reached out to the Governor’s office already but I haven’t heard back, I assumed they weren’t interested.”
“Recent things have come to light and the Governor has expanded our budget.” Joey said.
“Are you familiar with the Mandate On Reacquiring Obligatory Necessities Act, Mr. McGaney?” I asked.
Here’s hoping the idiot still can’t read. He shakes his head.
“It’s new legislation that allows us to reach out to private enterprises to request their services in a pay-for-fee structure.”
“Oh, well, in that case come on in.” Charlie said, opening his door to us. We followed him through the hearth and into the foyer. Charlie set off down the hallway and through the kitchen, heading for what I could only assume was the garage.
“I’ve been having a bit of trouble moving a lot of what I bought, to be honest with you.” Charlie said.
“Why did you buy all of these supplies?” Joey asked.
He opened the door to his garage; inside were palettes stacked to the ceiling.
“I was able to read the signs, man. This virus is bullshit. It was put out there by the Deep State to enact martial law and maintain their global interests…”
I stopped listening. Christ, I can actually feel my brain getting smoother.
I looked around for anything that could cause a distraction, even though I didn’t know what to do with it yet once I found it. We had arrived at the workbench. Charlie moved his weed scale and opened up the ledger that was lying underneath it. This enterprising mouth-breather. As Charlie launched into all of the supplies he had and what the various price points were I made to get Joey’s attention behind his back, motioning wildly to him to create any sort of diversion. Joey held up his hands.
“Anything.” I mouthed.
He looked around, deciding on a particularly high stack of palettes. He pushed it over, their contents going everywhere.
“Dude watch it man!” Charlie exclaimed.
“I’m such a fuckin’ klutz. You see the size of these, two left feet man I swear. My mother always said I’d never be a dancer but I always wanted to…”
I took my chance. Ducking behind another stack, I made my way to the garage door. Searching, I found the lock. With a heave, I turned it so that we could open the garage from the outside. I emerged; Charlie was ranting again as Joey attempted to re-stack all of the hand sanitizer. I motioned to Joey ‘let’s get out of here’.
“…and those who would trade Liberty or Death for Safety deserve neither. Patrick Henry.” Charlie finished. See, I told you.
“Well Mr. McGaney, thank you for your time. If we get approval we’ll be in touch about purchasing these supplies.”
He thanked us as he showed us out. Me and Joey made our way back to the truck.
“I unlocked the garage, let’s wait a minute and we can open it up.”
After what felt like an eternity but in reality was probably only a few minutes, I motioned to Joey to start up the engine. The lights off, he slowly backed into Charlie’s driveway, easing up to the garage. We got out and looked around, making sure no one had seen us. I bent down and grasped the garage door handle. This was it. I tugged, and up it came with me. I couldn’t believe that this was going to work.
We set off at a furious pace, loading as much as could fit into Joey’s truck. Once it was full and could accept no further offering, we closed up. We had done it.
There was much cheering and hollering as we drove off with our score. Joey banged the roof with his fist.
“You crazy son-of-a-bitch we did it!”
I sat back in the passengers seat, content with the good work that we had just done, and thinking about how much aid we would be able to soon render. That would show Charlie McGaney, that piece of shit. As I basked in the glow of pulling one over that scumbag the lights sprang to life behind us, red and blue like fireworks in the rearview mirror.
“Oh fuck.” Joey said.
He pulled over.
“License and registration please,” the trooper drawled in that unloved-as-a-child-so-I’m-gonna-take-it-out-on-the-rest-of-the-world twang.
His eyes moseyed on over to the rear of the cab, his flashlight following suit.
“It’s past curfew, are you boys aware of that?”
Me and Joey shared a look.
“No sir, we were not aware of that.”
“That’s an awful lot of medical supplies you got back there.”
“Oh that’s not ours sir.” Joey said.
I sunk down into my chair as the trooper lowered his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. Douchebag.
“Step out of the vehicle for me, please, sir.”
“Oh, no, we’re going to give it away. To help people during the pandemic.”
It had been a good run. I thought this as the trooper spoke into the radio on his shoulder, requesting backup. A sense of calm washed over me, fucked though we undoubtedly were. Despite all of this, despite COVID, things would eventually return to the way they were. Life would continue on, indifferent to me, or to Joey, or to Charlie McGaney, or to the coronavirus, or anything else going on at any given moment. And there was a certain beauty in that. It is, as they say, what it is, and there ain’t nothin’ we can do to change that.
It’s all a Big Cosmic Nothing; we’re just along for the ride.
