Alone and Lonely

Millhouse sat alone in his office. On his desk was a picture of Lisa. And another. And another. His walls were covered with her face. Sculptures of Lisa he had made by hand, carefully following 3-D models he had generated on his computer using photos of her from all sides and all angles, sat on his bookshelf. The biggest one he kept at home. He had edited all the songs the Springfield Nine had made, so that her saxophone solos, her bass in the tracks she played the bass guitar, and the rare track she sang stood were louder than all the others. He had a poster of her jazz ensemble on his door, with Brian's face cut out and replaced with his.

"Ahh, Lisa. One day you'll see me. One day, we'll make our love known to the world."

His desk phone lit up with a call. He pressed the button for line one.

"Van Houten, you haven't done your inspection of Sector 7-G for this week. I need those performance evaluations on my desk by the five."

"Yes, Mr. Lenny."

Millhouse took his notepad and his performance evaluation charts and went off to inspect Sector 7-G, which was responsible for more fatal mishaps and near-apocalypses than all the others in the factory combined. Now that most of it was mechanized there were much fewer mistakes, but the possibility of Homer sleeping through a core overheating or accidentally causing a near meltdown by spilling liquefied cheese on a control panel still remained.

The robots were all in order, sorting spent fuel rods and manning the controls of the cooling system. He moved on to check on Homer's control station.

He pressed the door controls. The door slid open with a hiss. Homer was on the phone, talking loudly.

"Hey-hey with the personal phone calls at work, Simpson!"

"But Mr. Millhouse, I just got a call from Marge! Lisa's getting married!"

"Lisa…my one true love."

Millhouse recalled how Lisa grudgingly let him sit next to her at a high school football game. It led to their 'going out' for three weeks. One Friday night after the homecoming game, Millhouse drove them out to the Contraception Overlook (formerly Lovers' Lane) and asked her to marry him.

"Its not you, Millhouse. I just don't think I'll marry anyone."

He broke down crying.

Millhouse shook his head, the memories retreating.

"I think I'll right up your performance now," he growled.

Back at his office, his phone was alight with calls. He pressed the button for line 1.

"Yo, Millhouse. Where are those performance yield charts?"

"I'll have them in tomorrow Mr. Carl."

Line 2

"Yes, Terri?"

"Your father's on Line 3, Mr. Van Houten."

"Tell him I just left on a two-month business trip, and that even if I was in, I wouldn't have any money anyways."

"Yes Mr. Van Houten."

Line 4

"Sherri?"

"Your mother's on Line 5, Mr. Van Houten."

"Tell her I'm out to lunch and that I don't have my cell phone with me."

"Yes Mr. Van Houten."

He turned off his cell phone, knowing that she would call just to make sure.

Maybe I'll go get lunch… Last time I ate a meal I didn't make myself with stuff I bought at the Kwik-E-Mart was last month at Bart's wedding. Lisa didn't dance with me. She hardly noticed me, she spent all time ogling that stupid freaky college guy. I went to college, but no, that wasn't enough for her. She likes lonely, intellectual/romanticist/philosopher types who live alone in spooky Victorian houses. Weirdo. Look at me, I'm twenty-five, with degrees in nuclear engineering and management from the best online universities in the state, I have an apartment and a car, and she just forgets about me like last week's leftovers.
He sighed. He took out his sack lunch: a thermos of cold coffee and a peanut butter sandwich. He poured the coffee into the canteen lid, and took a sip. The cold, black, acrid coffee made him shiver. The bite-mark on his neck prickled. He brushed it. The t two pairs round scars on his neck formed a rough rectangle. He shuddered, remembering how he had been attacked by a dark creature in the bathrooms at Springfield Elementary School many years before, how he had been taken to the hospital, and how his file was confused with another patient's, leading the papers saying that he had died. It was two months before the mishap was corrected and he was sent home, and was no longer called 'Mr. Milton Van Hutton'.
He frowned and took a bite of his sandwich. Tastes like bitter defeat. Cold, cruel, bland mediocrity. He threw the sandwich down on the desk and stood. Up. That's it! I've had it! I'm going out to have a decent meal! Screw my monthly budget! He pressed the button for the front desk.
"Sherri, Terri, hold all my calls, I'm going out to lunch."
"Yes, Mr. Van Houten."
"Ah, jeez!" he moaned. His elbow had knocked over his cup of coffee, and it had spilled onto his grey trousers.
"My only hole-less pair of dress slacks! Oh, hell! I'll buy another!"
He dabbed his front with a kerchief, getting a little of the coffee up, and headed out to enjoy his lunch.

His lunch went horribly. The restaurant was crowded, and the hostess said that the waiting time would be at least thirty minutes, but that it would most certainly be longer for him, as he was dining alone. After forty-five minutes he went up to the hostess, only to find that someone had claimed his table. Another five minutes, and he finally got a table, right next to the rest room. As it so happened, one of the toilets backed-up, and that entire section of the restaurant smelt horribly. After waiting half an hour, he was finally waited on, and twenty minutes later, the bored, underwhelmed teenage waiter came back and he finally got his order in. After nearly an hour, he got his meal, but it was not as he ordered it, and was only lukewarm. He waited for the waiter to come back, and, after arguing with him for an inordinate time that it was not as he had ordered it, the waiter rolled his eyes and took it back. A half hour later, it came back, still wrong, though at least it was fairly warm. So warm, in fact, Millhouse burned his hand on the dish. After hailing the waiter for five minutes, he got his attention, and, several minutes and one argument later, the dish was sent back. It came back after another half hour, as Millhouse had ordered it. By that time, Millhouse was far too aggravated to enjoy it. After finishing it as quickly as he could, he got the bill, and found that he was charged with three separate entrées. He got in an argument with his waiter, and was so loud and aggressive that the manager came over, and he ended up getting thrown out of the restaurant and told that they would bill him, and that failure to pay would result in their pressing charges for theft of service and loss of business.

When he finally returned to work, it was almost five. Millhouse rushed to his office, only to be met with Lenny and Carl.

"Where have you been? There was a crisis in sector 3-H and two men had to be hospitalised!"

"One of the intake valves on the cooling system clogged and we nearly had another meltdown! Where the hell were ya?"

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Lenardson, Mr. Carlson-I-"

"Answer the question, Van Houten, where were you all this time!"

"You, see, I went to lunch an'-"

"You spent five hours eating lunch!"

"Homer never spends more than two hours on a meal, and at least he has the decency to eat them at his station!"

"We got a call from the EPA and you hadn't given us those safety reports yet!"

"But I…!"

"And ya didn't do your worker inspection yet! Thanks to you, Jameson has been rotting in his office for three days now!"

"But, you don't understand, I was, I-"

"Oh, 'I, I, I'. This is all about you, isn't it, Van Houten?"

"Yes, but no, uh, er, um-"

"Millhouse Van Houten, you're fired!"

"…fired?"

"You can pack up your stuff and leave. Get out by closing time."

"We get to keep anything you don't have outta here by five."

"But its almost five now!"

"Better hurry!"

Millhouse grabbed all that he could. He was just about to pick up his stereo, and had barely begun to wonder if he'd have time to take two trips, when Lenny came in.

"Out! Now!"

"Can't I just-?"

"NOW!"

"…yessir."

He slouched out of his office. He reached his executive parking place, and found it empty. A note on the ground said that it had been towed.

"Son of a-!" he began. He turned and saw a car pulling into the parking place. He barely managed to hop out of its spot.

"Sorry, didn't see you there!" the driver apologized.

Thelonious! Another one of those who've one Lisa's heart! I hate them all!

"Hello, Thelonious."

"Hello Millhouse."

"Where were you all day?"

"Oh, I was in conference with Professor Frink and the EPA, discussing the possibility of federal funding of an new experimental cold fusion reactor. I was just on my way back when I received an e-mail from Mr. Lennardson, saying that I was now assistant vice-president of the plant. Wasn't that your job, old bean?"

"It…was."

"Oh dear. That's ever so unfortunate. Well, you're young, you've still got your looks and your health, you'll bounce back."

"Thanks," he growled. He didn't feel thankful. Looks and health! Like Hell do I. Look at you, your Italian leather shoes and your tailored three-piece suit…

"Well, must be off! I need to brief the others on what happened at the meeting, and see if Mr. Lennardson was really serious. Who knows, maybe he'll give you your job back?"

"Whatever, bye."

"Farewell, Millhouse."

I hate that guy…

Millhouse tried to hail a cab, but no one seemed to notice him. I'm invisible.

He reached the impound yard, but it was closed. He'd have to stop by first thing in the morning.

Seventeen blocks from the auto yard he came to his apartment. The elevator was broken, so he had to climb twelve flights of stairs to reach his thirteenth storey apartment. He opened the door. It was dark, the only light the flickering blue of a TV screen. A pizza box lay on the floor, next to several dozen empty beer cans. His roommate, Barry Miller, biological son of Barney Gumble, was passed out on the couch in his underwear. Millhouse looked around and picked up a broom. He prodded Barry in his flabby shoulder with the handle.

"C'mon, Barry. You're late for your shift."

"Huh? What? It's seven o'clock already?" he mumbled, slowly rising and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He took a swig of stale Duff from the can he had left half-finished from his 'breakfast' five hours earlier. He hopped up, and staggered off to the bedroom. He came back a few minutes later in his security guard outfit.

"Well, I'm off. I'll bring back some Thai food."

"Oh, no, don't. That stuff always gives me indigestion, Barry."

"But what other place is open? I had pizza for breakfast, and we had Shakespeare's chicken for dinner last night, Krusty Burgers the night before!"

"I dunno, just get whatever. Anything but Thai food."

"Sure thing. Oh, my half-sister Bernice and her brother Bernie are coming over tomorrow. And so's my dad, and his mom. Hope ya don't mind."

"No, not at all…"

"Okay. See ya later!" And with a belch, he was gone.

Millhouse did mind that company was coming over. He'd have to clean the house, which would only end up filthier than it was before, and buy the food with his own money, and cook it, and serve it. And now I'm unemployed. I need to find another job. Just temporary, until they come to their senses down there at the plant. That stupid Thelonious won't last two weeks. He was distracted from his musings by a cockroach that scuttled up his arm,

"AHH!" he screamed, shaking it off. He watched it, along with several others, scuttle around the floor, looking for a dark crevice to hide. I'm gonna have to get some roach traps and some spray, he thought.