Lucky Bryan

[The photo below is of the CD cover for a series of lectures that I published in 2023 called “Bryan the Lucky A—hole” with the word “A—hole” removed. It has nothing at all to do with today’s text, beyond almost matching the title.]

Dear diary,

I succumbed to the temptation to make my own version of a Brothers Grimm tale: “Hans in Luck.” I don’t know why. (I would say: Just for fun; but it wasn’t very fun – I assumed that the task would be easy, but it was tedious.) Here it is:

LUCKY BRYAN

Bryan had served the Military Industrial Complex for a great many years, so, at his Lifetime Achievement party, he said to the Powers of Corruption, “Dear Powers of Corruption, you’ve drained my soul; now I would like to retire and go live in my McMansion; please vouchsafe me my final bribe.” And the Powers of Corruption answered, “You have been a pliable and cooperative congressperson. It is fitting that we give you a reward to match your obedience.” And they opened their vault and gave Bryan a whole pallet of gold ingots. Bryan retrieved his two suitcases from the smoke-filled back room, transferred the golden bars into them, zipped them up, gripped the handles, and began to trek home.

As he walked along the road that led to his home, he saw a bicyclist speeding merrily down the sidewalk on a swift cruiser bike. “Ah!” said Bryan in a loud voice, “what a nice way to travel! There you sit on a seat, high up like a royal throne; you don’t trip over any of the cracks in the concrete; your loafers don’t get worn down, and the forces of physics propel you forward in a mysterious fashion.”

The bicyclist, who had heard him, stopped and called out, “By golly, Bry! Why do you go on foot, then?”

“It’s my lot in life,” Bryan replied; “for I have this double-burden to carry; it’s true that both of these suitcases are filled with gold, but I can barely keep my head up, and my shoulders hurt, and my back aches from lifting them.”

“I’ll tell you what,” said the bicyclist: “let’s make a trade. I will give you this cruiser bike of mine, and you can give me your double-burden.”

“With all my heart!” said Bryan. “But I warn you: you’ll surely be dragged down by the poundage.”

The biker dismounted, took the suitcases filled with gold, and helped Bryan onto the cycle. The he showed him how to work the brakes and the horn, and said “If you desire to go extremely fast, just crack this whip and yell ‘Gyah! LIGHTSPEED, my Tyger!’ For the bike’s name is ‘Tyger’.”

Bryan was heartily delighted as he sat on the bicycle and rode away so bold and free. After a while, he thought that he ought to go a little faster, so he cracked the whip twice and said “Gyah! LIGHTSPEED, my Tyger!” And the bike shifted into the highest gear, and it sailed forward so swiftly that Bryan lost control and tumbled into the ditch at the roadside.

Now a city worker happened to be pushing a gas-powered lawnmower along the strip of grass that borders the sidewalk, and he was coming toward Bryan when Bryan took his spill. The worker stopped before him and shut off his mower and scratched his head.

Bryan got his limbs together and stood on his feet again, but he was angry. He said to the city worker: “It’s a poor joke, this fad of bicycle-riding, especially when one is using a bike like this one, that has faulty brakes and bad steering – it’s like the thing has a mind of its own and is hellbent on murdering its pilot! Never again will I mount this cursed contraption. – But, boy O boy, I like the look of your lawnmower; for one can walk calmly behind her, and, moreover, as a bonus, the path becomes close-cropped wherever one goes. There’s nothing I would not give to own such a machine.”

“Well,” said the city worker, “if it would please you so much, I do not mind trading my lawnmower for your cruiser bicycle.”

Bryan agreed with the greatest delight. And the city worker hopped on the bike and sped off at high speed.

Bryan pushed his lawnmower measuredly before him, while contemplating the advantages of this lucky bargain. “Now, when I arrive at my McMansion with its sprawling yard, I will be able to keep the grass neatly trimmed; and if there are leaves on my property, I will be able to mulch them. Good heart, what more could I want!”

When he came to a family restaurant, in his happiness he entered and parked his lawnmower at one of the dining tables, and he ordered two massive meals and ate both of them himself, and spent all the rest of his money on spirits. Then he pushed his lawnmower out of the building and down the road that led to his neighborhood.

At mid-day, the heat became oppressive, and Bryan found himself on a concrete pathway in the suburbs, surrounded by asphalt in all directions. It was so hot that he began to sweat and feel faint. “I can find a cure for this,” thought Bryan; “I will lean my lawnmower on its side and keep it running, so that its cutting blade spins like a fan, and the gush of air that is created by this motion will blow at me and cool me down.”

So he tilted the lawnmower back against a street lamp; and as he had no rope to secure the chassis, he found a stick nearby and propped that against one of the wheels, to hold the mower in position; but the vibrations of the machine caused this clumsy setup to collapse, and, as the mower dropped forward, the spinning blade nearly sawed off Bryan’s arms and his head; and the stick on which the tire had been resting shot to the side and hit Bryan in the forehead; so he fell on the ground, and for a long time could not think where he was.

A cheerful jingle was heard in the air: By good fortune an ice-cream vendor just then came along the road in his truck filled with frozen desserts. “What sort of a natural disaster has struck this area?” said the man, and he got out and helped poor Bryan to his feet. Bryan told him what had happened. The ice-cream man pulled a folding paper fan from out of the pocket of his smoking jacket and said, “Here, refresh yourself. I can’t imagine how exhausted you must feel, after pushing that lawnmower around on a sweltering day like this – it is an old beast; and it looks like its blade has never been sharpened.” “Well, well,” said Bryan, as he waved the paper fan at his ruffled hair, “who would have thought it? Certainly it is a fine thing when one can reposition a lawnmower so that its blade spins to create a supply of cool breeze on a summer day! But I do not care much for dull blades that won’t even slice butter; that is not high-tech enough for me. An ice-cream cone is the thing to have; it refreshes one quite differently; ah, and then there are so many flavors!”

“Hark ye, Bry,” said the ice-cream man, “out of love for you I will exchange, and will let you have a waffle cone for the mower.” “Heaven repay you for your kindness!” said Bryan as he gave up the machine, whilst the vendor topped the cone with a scoop of vanilla and handed it over.

Bryan went on, and thought to himself how everything was going just as he wished; if he did meet with any vexation it was immediately set right.

As he approached his own home district, there stood a checkout clerk with her barcode scanner, and she was singing a song that goes:

I scan your code and tell your price, 
My coat flaps open, naughty-nice.

Bryan stood still and looked at the woman for a while. At last he spoke to her and said, “All’s well with you, as you are so merry with your checkout duties.” “Yes,” answered the clerk, “the trade has a solid foundation. A checkout clerk is a person who as often as she pulls the lever on her register finds luxuries therewithin. But where did you buy that fine waffle cone, with the scoop of vanilla ice-cream on the top?”

“I did not buy it, but exchanged my gas-powered lawnmower for it.”

“And the mower?”

“That I got in return for a cruiser bike.”

“And the bike?”

“For that I gave two suitcases filled with gold ingots.”

“And the gold?”

“Well, that was my reward for a lifetime of serving the Powers of Corruption.”

“You have known how to look after yourself each time,” said the clerk. “If you can only get on so far as to hear your cash register make that cha-ching sound whenever you say a prayer, you will have finally made your fortune.”

“How shall I manage that?” said Bryan.

“You must be a checkout clerk, as I am; nothing particular is wanted for it but a standard barcode scanner; the rest finds itself. I have one here; it is certainly a little worn, but you need not give me anything for it but your ice-cream; will you do it?”

“How can you ask?” answered Bryan. “I shall be the luckiest fellow on earth; if I gain access to riches whenever I zap an item, what need I trouble about any longer?” and he handed her the vanilla waffle cone, and received the barcode scanner in exchange. “Now,” said the clerk, as she took up an empty cash register that lay nearby in the road, “here is a fixture for your checkout lane into the bargain; you can put coins in it, and use it to store all your paper money or any other valuables that you earn. Take it with you and use it carefully.”

Bryan loaded the machine with gemstones and cashier’s checks that local wildlife kept paying to him as he checked them all out. And as he took the escalator home with a contented heart, his eyes shone with joy. “I must have been born with a caul,” he cried; “everything I want happens to me just as if I were a Sunday-child.”

Meanwhile, as he had been on his legs since daybreak, he began to feel tired. Hunger also tormented him, for in his joy at the bargain by which he got the lawnmower he had eaten up all the available food in his story at once. At last he could only go on with great trouble, and was forced to stop every minute; the full register, too, weighed him down dreadfully. Then he could not help thinking how nice it would be if he had not to carry these heavy riches just then.

He crept like a snail to the part of the suburbs where there is a hole in the asphalt that leads to the bottomless pit of Hell, and there he thought that he would rest and refresh himself with a cool draught of gin from a natural spring that happened to be nearby at just that moment, but in order that he might not damage the cash register when he grew intoxicated, he laid it carefully on the narrow edge of the Hell-hole. Then he sat down on it, and was about to lean forward and drink some more from the spring, when he slipped, pushed against the register, and this caused its tray to spring open and drop all its contents into the pit; then the register itself fell in and plummeted down forever as well. When Bryan saw with his own eyes all those glittering treasures sinking to the depths of the underworld, he jumped for joy, and then knelt down, and with tears in his eyes thanked God for having delivered him in so good a way from that heavy register with all its gems, coins, and money, which had been the only things that troubled him.

“There is no man under the sun so fortunate as I,” he cried out. And with a light heart, free from every burden, he now ran on until he was home in his McMansion.