SoMa Literary Review - The Supervisor's Tail

The Supervisor's Tail

By Carol Jermain

Episode 1 - VooDoo Man

"You can’t play music in an office building!" The guitarist screamed from the stage in front of City Hall.

The crowd yelled and cheered, waving their "Kill the Yuppies" signs as the band broke into yet another anti establishment rant put to music.

From the sidelines, Chris couldn’t help but grin. These people would get him elected. Not the platinum-selling punk group members, who traded in their rich privileged lives for a few hours to portray themselves as outcasts. The fans. These would be his foot soldiers in the battle for the streets of SoMa.

He scanned the faces before him. Probably not a real artist or musician in the bunch. Mostly white twentysomethings from middle class homes whose only artistic skills involved rolling jay. It didn’t matter that few if any of these people even knew a displaced sculptor or painter. Like the band on stage that reaped millions from the media establishment, then railed against oppressive capitalism, these people believed themselves to be victims. It didn’t matter that they were still cashing mom and dad’s checks. It felt good to complain.

"Are you Chris Weakly?" He heard an odd accented voice coming from his left side and a slight tug on the sleeve of his untucked blue dress shirt.

"Hey, yeah, I am Chris." He turned to find staring him in the face was an obese, dirty middle-aged homeless man wrapped in a filthy blanket. The man’s pants were so covered in stench their true color had long been a mystery. And he was black, which Chris still had a problem with despite trying for years to get past his upbringing.

"Chris Weakly?" The accent was Jamaican, or Cajun. It was hard to tell which. "Running for supervisor?"

Chris stuck his hands in his pants pockets so he wouldn’t be forced to shake.

"Yes, that’s me."

Chris caught in his peripheral that the homeless man’s sudden appearance in the crowd was drawing stares. While being careful not to inhale, he reached out to touch the man’s shoulder. "I mean, what can I do for you my brother?"

"It’s those damn cars. They will be the death of the city. And the death of me!"

"That’s why I’m pledging to fix Muni." Chris paused, realizing he shouldn’t waste his public transportation talking points on a crazy skank. Compassion. Yes, this crowd eats that up. "What is your name, friend?"

"It don’t matter."

"It matters to me."

"Some people call me Frank, or Frankie, or just plain Dude. But most folks know me as the Voodoo Man."

"Why is that?"

"’Cuz I am casting spells on the things that ain’t right in this city. I’m starting with those damn cars! A person can’t hardly get across the street, ‘specially with my tandem rigs. I’m gonna lose the back cart one of these days to a freakin’ BM-dubya!"

"Chris!" It was Suzanne. Thank, god, Chris thought. He’d told these idiots the story of how every successful politician always has a rescue team close by. To chase away the weirdoes, or shout down anyone who disagrees with him. Even if they were just volunteers, how many times does something need to be explained?

"Voodoo Man, I must go. It was good to meet you. And don’t forget to vote!"

Chris calmly walked toward Suzanne, although in his mind he was running as fast as he could.

"Your timing would be perfect, if it weren’t for the fact that you are about a minute too late."

"Sorry about that," Suzanne frowned. "I got you a latte, like you asked for."

"Do you have the wet-naps I told you to always bring?"

"Yeah, sure. Uh, can you hold the coffees for a minute?"

"Susie, you don’t want my hands going anywhere near food after what they’ve just been near. Put the coffees on the pavement."

"Uh, sure." She got the disinfectant-soaked packets of handwipes from the inside pocket of her green Eddie Bauer fleece. "By the way, my name is Suzanne. Not Susie."

Chris ignored her. Instead he grabbed the wipe, tore open the pouch, and scrubbed his palm and fingers with the tenacity of a surgeon preparing for open heart.

Related Link: The Next Episode: The $600 Suit!