A re-write of a short story first written in 2005, originally titled “Mr. Payphone’s Quest.” As the use and prevalence of payphones has greatly diminished the past 2 decades, it is now about one of the last payphones left in America and how it came to life to go on one of the greatest quests in the history of the entire solar system
The Last Payphone’s Surreal Quest
By BW Derge
Part One: Frank the Mad Scientist
In the lonely year of 2004, there was but one thing standing in the way of order and chaos. What that thing was, well, no one really knows. I think it was a magic dust bunny but that’s because I gave up looking, to be honest. There was one person who did find it, but he was a scientist. So picture a crazy man with a white lab coat, wild gray hair, and glasses. He liked to be called Frank, and he was the only one back then who witnessed this… thing, possibly a dust bunny. But once Frank witnessed whatever it was… he suddenly understood all the holy secrets of the universe.
What if there is no truth? How the mind perceives what is true is ultimately subjective. But in the highest form of truth, as your trustful narrator, I can relay that Frank believed he could now talk to all forms of matter – even inanimate objects, like even washcloths. In fact, after gaining this odd power that turned him into some Dr. Doolittle for objects, the scientist Frank and a certain washcloth became best friends.
About 20 years later, the mad scientist was in his lab coat on a greyhound bus heading back to Nebraska from Las Vegas, where his friend the washcloth waited patiently for their bestie to return. On the road, Frank was sitting next to talkative woman named Betty, who was probably in her late thirties. “Hello!”
“Hi,” replied Frank.
“Did you have any luck gambling?”
“I don’t gamble.”
“What brought you to Las Vegas then?” she wondered. “A costume party?”
“This is not a costume,” he grumbled. “How else would people know I am a man of science?”
“Hmm, isn’t there a less extreme way to look like a mad scientist?”
Frank only growled in response and then Betty gave up on trying to have a conversation with the grumpy man. She suddenly wished she had picked a different seat on the bus for the long trek to Nebraska. A few hours in, she glanced over at what the scientist was scribbling away in a notebook next to him. He was drawing pictures of clothes hangers…
It was around midnight when the vehicle reached its destination. Getting off the bus, Betty sighed angrily and tapped the odd man on the shoulder. “Hey, do you have a quarter? I need to use a payphone.”
He nodded and handed her a quarter, then slipped into a captivating trance. An expression of shock stole his face. The words repeated in his head: “I need to use a payphone…” Before he knew it, he was back in his kitchen having a heated conversation with his favorite washcloth.
“It doesn’t make sense, Lars! Why would she need a payphone after what happened last year? When I witnessed the almighty truth?!”
“Maybe she is unaware of the event,” Lars suggested.
“But how? A pay phone is no different from you or me. Even my toothbrush knows about the truth!”
“Yeah!” his toothbrush chimed in from the nearby bathroom.
“Well allow me to offer some options as to how to move forward, hm? You could just not let it bother you and come play some Monopoly with me and Jerry. Or you can get obsessed over this like you usually do and go find one of the last true payphones around, I think it’s around Seattle. Hundreds of miles away.”
Frank contemplated his companion’s advice. “Who’s Jerry?”
“He’s one of the stairs on the way down to the basement,” answered the kitchen sink. “Huge fan of board games, that one.”
“Is he cool?” asked the scientist.
“He’s good at Monopoly, so yeah, dude,” assured Lars.
“Well as much as I want to solve this mystery over the payphone, this Jerry sounds like some stiff competition…”
“What’s it going to be?” the toothbrush wondered with a tense tone.
“I guess I’ll play a game of Monopoly and then head to Washington to find this legendary endangered payphone.”
Lars smiled in the only way a washcloth can. “Good choice.”
Several months later, Frank at last arrived in the mythic land of Washington state of the Americas. “We found it,” he whispered to Lars.
The payphone was inside the gates of an outdoor community pool that was closed for the winter. As Frank contemplated on how to get inside the chain link fence, he walked over to get closer to the phone. “Excuse me, good sir,” he spoke. “Are you alive?”
The payphone gasped. “Now I am! What the fuck?”
At this instance, the most mysterious thing to ever plague my mind (possibly but probably not a haunted dust bunny) returned before the mad scientist. “Frank!” it shouted. Lars and his companion filled equally with fear as they gazed upon the phenomenon, which continued, “Francis! I gave you the cosmic gift of infinite comprehension and you use this power to talk to washcloths and bring payphones to life?!”
Standing there ashamed, the scientist waited a moment before meekly squeaking out, “…Yes?”
“Good job!” it burst out. “Your work in this universe is done.” Then Lars and Frank joined the mysterious force on a journey to the fourteenth universe. (And yes, it’s true! The fourteenth universe has service up to ten times faster than the thirteenth universe.)
Part Two: The Beloved Acorn
As they left, the payphone inexplicably sprouted long tubelike limbs, with yellow gloves and big goofy yellow shoes. For months, it stood there frozen by the horrors of abrupt consciousness suddenly thrust upon its brand new mind. When the pool finally opened at the beginning of summer, the first person through the gate was a depressed politician who had a hot head and needed to plunge it into some water.
After almost drowning himself by accident, the visitor pulled his body to a standing position, seemingly unconcerned with the water dripping down onto his fancy suit and tie. The payphone rang and it took its first steps to walk over to the politician, who answered the phone. “Hello?”
“This is your base,” said the voice on the other line.
“Who?”
“The prime minister of Antarctica has been captured. This is your base. Our time to strike is now. The Icelandic resistance is on the move.”
The man sighed. “You know, I’m kind of busy at the moment. But, uh, I’ll send someone in my place. But why take the prime minister and not the king? People have more sentimental attachment to the monarchy rather than political figures.”
“This is your base,” the voice repeated. “Send someone soon.”
The call ended and the politician hung up the receiver. “You think you can handle this for me? I’ve got a girl at the brothel waiting for me and I’ve paid for weeks in advance.”
“You want me to go to Iceland and save the prime minister?”
The visiting man with a wet suit jacket nodded and trotted off. “Yes, the general will debrief you when you get there.”
Without question or hesitation, Mr. Payphone began his journey to Europe (because of course he knew the way), but little did he know that the pool’s diving board, which had been unbolted and placed in storage for the winter, was also alive. Quietly in love with a particular acorn that had fallen last summer, the diving board had been waiting months to meet his favorite nut again. But coming out of hibernation, the diving board saw the walking payphone step on this beloved acorn.
Now hating the payphone for crushing his nut and with it, all of the diving board’s dreams, the detached diving board grew some legs and arms too. Having overheard the conversation with the politician, the diving board would meet his new nemesis in Iceland and strike then….
Mr. Payphone walked for several days and nights before, in the northern wilderness of Canada, he met his first friends. There was a corn on the cob named Dave, a Mexican pickle called Daisy, and a grizzly bear that smoked a tobacco pipe named Panda. Sitting around a fire amongst some firs one night beneath the stars, making hot dogs, the gang of misfits sat.
“So where are you going?” Dave wondered.
“Iceland,” the payphone declared.
The pickle was in a traumatized trance while smoke from the bear’s pipe sifted into the smoke bellowing from their campfire.
“Iceland, huh?” Dave remarked. “That’s pretty far.”
“That’s nice,” whispered the pickle, who was folding her hot dog into the shape of a human.
“Why are you doing that?” asked the grizzly named Panda.
“It’s the way it should be,” Daisy replied. “Why do human insist on shaping their hot dogs into the shape of pickles?”
“Fair enough.”
“Hey that makes sense,” exclaimed Dave. “Can you teach me how to do that?”
“Seriously?” Mr. Payphone asked the cob.
“Of course,” he replied. “I’m basically the same shape as a pickle when I’ve been husked.”
“I’ve got no skin in this game to be honest,” Panda chimed in while puffing on its tobacco. “You all are delicious.”
“Hey, does your phone work?” Dave asked after a minute went by. “I need to call my brother in New York.”
“A piece of corn in New York?” The pickle sounded shocked.
“He wants to be a writer,” said the kernels.
The payphone lifted up its receiver and offered it over. “Here you go. It should be good. What’s the number.”
Dave placed phone up to his ear and relayed the number for Mr. Payphone to dial, “ 212-555-8967.”
The hand stopped dialing, the payphone yanked back its nose and held back tears, startling his new companions. “My 7 button… it doesn’t work!”
The others around the fire broke into shock, erupting into little gasps, and then Panda said, “Group hug, guys.”
Several days later, Mr. Payphone and his friends parted ways at the Arctic Ocean, wishing the walking phone safe travels. Back in the Kingdom of Antarctica, the economic depression and political turmoil had left the realm in a state of social unrest. Up North in Iceland, there was a talking self-conscious diving board patiently waiting for the Payphone to arrive so he could satiate his thirst for revenge. The voice that had originally started this quest, the voice that had called the politician, that was just an interdimensional being from the future and after making that critical phone call, returned to the plane of existence from which it originated.
Part Three: Attack of the Microwavable Soldiers
The diving board had taken control of the Icelandic resistance and coerced it into diverting their original plans to overtake the Antarctic monarchy. The soldiers in Iceland were genetically altered to make them microwavable, grow tendencies toward evil behavior, and give them the power of swimming pretty fast in any temperature of water. He was training them to attack payphones and they went on a rampage throughout Europe destroying all payphones. Once Mr. Payphone arrived, they would be ready to strike.
At the moment, he was on a boat departing Greenland. Halfway there in the middle of the icy ocean, the payphone was attacked by a mob of these super soldiers trying to complete a surprise attack. Once the battle commenced, though, it was clear they didn’t stand a chance against this payphone. It was not like the others. The fight was more of a ruthless gory slaughter than dramatic or epic, but Mr. Pay Phone felt next to no remorse for disposing of their lives and tossing their bodies into the ocean.
The phone drank a bottle of Vodka as the sun set and the bodies floated off to be swallowed by the sea. An older woman’s voice then appeared. “You’re good,” it said.
The payphone walked over to the edge of the small fishing vessel and saw a large rocket ship with a rusty beard floating in the water. “I never had to fight like that before,” Mr. Payphone said. “I suppose it was good.”
The rocket introduced herself. “Name’s Sally. What's your handle?”
“Well according to the narrator of this godawful story, who assumed my gender way back when, my name is Mr. Pay Phone, so I suppose that will do.”
“What brings you way out to this corner of the ocean, Mr. Phone?”
"I'm heading to Iceland to save the prime minister of Antarctica... or possibly assist those who captured him. Not entirely certain on my mission yet. What about you?"
“I’m homeless, abandoned since the collapse of the USSR…”
“Why are you out here? It seems so lonely…”
“The Orcas are cool,” Sally responded. “I also used to be filled with Nukes… long story.” There was an awkward pause filled with the sounds of waves rocking both the ship and the rocket. “Welp, I’m going to go back to sleep now. I was having an awesome dream about performing ballet. The Nutcracker, no less.”
The payphone waved farewell. “Goodbye, Sally.”
Out of nowhere, a stapler riding a jet-ski holding a bazooka burst onto the scene. With one pull of a trigger, an explosive struck the homeless Russian rocket. It became but a thousand burning shards of rusted metal in an instance. The aftershock of the blast swept the payphone to his feet. Before going unconscious, he heard the stapler cackling an evil laugh as it sped away.
“I don’t know. So what brings you to Iceland?”
“I’m either here to rescue the Prime Minister of Antarctica or assist the resistance that captured him. I’m not really sure at this point, to be honest.”
“Ah well, then you need to get to the new leader’s evil layer. He should be able to sort this whole this out. Although his layer is somewhat of a… dive.” Randy started giggling.
“Why is that funny?”
“Because the new evil leader is a diving board. I suppose I could have mentioned that before making the joke…”
“Oh,” said Mr. Payphone. “That is funny. So how do we get there?”
The noun exclaimed, “We can ride the internet! All we need is a phoneline and if your nose works then we should be good to go!”
“Yes!” The phone lifted up his receiver. “What’s the phone number?”
“777-7777!”
Mr. Payphone would’ve frowned if he could. “Sorry, my seven button doesn’t work. Is there no other way?”
The noun performed an action before saying, “Well we can ride the dark web, but that’s much more risky…”
“What’s that number?”
“9.”
“Just 9?”
“Yep. Sketchy, I know. Well, let’s get going!” Randy shouted with excitement.
And they were off, zooming along the dark corners of the internet. It was like a purple cloud with viruses and pop-up ads trying to snatch their souls. Randy was eaten by a site selling hitman services. But eventually, the nebula vanished and the payphone was now in the snow, once again alone, standing before a large steel entrance to an underground bunker. “Poor Randy...”
It was daylight when Mr. Payphone awoke. A sealion was swimming by the boat, which was slowly sailing toward the shores of Iceland, now in sight. He thought of Sally and felt sorrow and anger with raw passion for the first time in his existence. Eventually, his rubber yellow shoes stepped onto the cold sands of his destination. He was greeted by a person, place, or thing. It asked, “You got a name?”
“Phone,” he answered. “Mr. Pay Phone. You?”
“I am Randy.”
“And… what are you, Randy?”
“I don’t know,” it truthfully replied. “I guess you could call me a noun. My buddy Bill calls me a skipping noun.”
“Why?”
Part Four: Wrap it Up Already
The diving board was exiting his layer’s cafeteria when the cashier stopped him. “Did you pay for that refill you just got? You just refilled that soda, sir.”
“Well, what exactly defines a refill? It was more than half full, I was just topping it off as I left. Does that really count as a refill?” the evil leader wondered.
“Listen, it doesn’t matter how empty your cup was. If it wasn’t full and you filled it up, then it counts as a re-fill. You want me to run this kitchen or not, chief?”
“I understand,” replied the diving board. “But I just think the cup should be at least half empty before it constitutes a refill.”
“Then everyone would fill their cup up when it was half-full. Are you a pessimist, sir?”
He handed the woman some coins. “You’re right. I apologize.”
At the layer’s front desk, the intercom beeped. “Someone’s outside. I wonder what they want,” one of the diving board’s microwavable minions stated. He pushed the intercom. “Hello, this is your local resistance’s evil layer. Can I help you?”
“Hello. Um, I’m here to either rescue the Prime Minister of Antarctica or assist with the diving board’s resistance.”
“Are you a pay phone?” the layer’s worker asked.
“Why would you ask that?” Mr. Payphone wondered.
“Are you an animate payphone with feelings and thoughts like a person?”
“You’re asking if I am an actual payphone but with like legs and arms and voice and consciousness? Is that what you are asking me?”
“Yes.”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes I am. Mr. Pay Phone is the name. Do you think you could let me in?”
“Certainly,” answered Jeremy. “My name is Jeremy by the way.”
“Nice to meet you Jeremy,” the phone said as the steel doors to the layer opened before him.
Jeremy lifted his finger off the intercom and pushed down on a different intercom. The diving board was walking down a hallway sipping a soda when a voice said over speaker, “Sir, uh, sir, the walking payphone is here to see you.”
The evil leader laughed deeply. “Bring him to me.”
“Uh, you have to push the button, sir.” Jeremy spoke over the intercom again. “Over on the wall… Or I can’t hear you.”
The diving board’s thin legs waddled him over to a little button with a speaker. “Bring him to me!”
Minutes later, Mr. Payphone was asking, “You have the Prime Minister?”
“No.” The diving board walked from out the shadows of his main chambers. It was a cold empty space with a lava pit or something. “Why would I keep the worm when I’ve already caught the fish?”
“Excuse me? Am I the fish? What do you want with me?”
“Revenge! You destroyed the love of my life! My beloved, sweet acorn!”
The battle that ensued between that diving board and payphone cannot be put into words so I’m not going to try. It lasted two days, nonstop, lots of action. There was a final standoff before the two of them exchanged some pretty cool one-liners before our hero, the last pay phone in all of Europe, pushed the villainous leader of the Icelandic resistance, the ego-centric diving board, into his own pit of lava or whatever it was.
The Prime Minister had already returned home and restored order to the Kingdom of the south pole by the time the fight ended. A helicopter was waiting for the payphone when he emerged out of the bunker, victorious. A representative of the Monarchy presented the hero with a magic spoon. “This is a gift for saving our Kingdom.”
“Thank you,” said Mr. Payphone. “Although, if you think about it… the diving board technically stopped the Icelandic resistance’s attack and released your Prime Minister… but in a roundabout way, I guess he did this due to me stepping on a nut or something… so, thanks!”
“You’re most very welcome,” the Antarctic knight said.
“Hey, can I get a ride home?”
“No.” And then he got back into his aircraft and went back to the restored Kingdom.
The payphone walked back to the shore, which really wasn’t that far so riding the internet was probably unnecessary… He found his old boat and went back on the ocean tides and was greeted by Sally the rocket. “I came back together!” she exclaimed.
“Sally! That’s great,” our hero declared. “Any chance you can fly me back to Washinton State?”
“I don’t know if I can get you that far, but probably to at least Montana!”
“Montana?!” Mr. Payphone shrieked. “I’ll just walk. Sheesh.”
“Good luck on your journey, Mr. Payphone!”
He sailed safely across the ocean to Greenland despite the renegade stapler attempting to steal the magic spoon. Instead of decimating the stapler, the payphone instead decided to invite him into the boat’s cabin for a drink. The two objects discussed the futility of existence and the nature of the ever-expanding cosmos, becoming good friends. Mr. Payphone waved goodbye to the stapler, who sped away on his jet-ski.
In Canada, the Payphone reunited with the corn on the cob and the pickle, his old friends. “Where’s Panda?”
“He went to New York to help edit my brother’s novel,” Dave said cheerfully even though there was a hint of sadness in his voice. “He got a book deal, Mr. Phone, can you believe it? My brother’s going to be a famous writer… on the cob.”
“That’s fantastic, Dave.” The payphone shifted its focus on the pickle, who he knew fled her home long ago to escape the cartels that murdered her family. “How are you, Daisy?”
“I’m hanging in there,” she replied. “On some days, I feel as young as a cucumber again… but other days aren’t so great.”
Anyway, a couple of months of hiking later, the payphone returned to its home pool in Olympia, Washington. One of the lifeguards jumped up to greet him upon his return. “You’re back! Did you happen to bring the diving board with you?”
“No,” answered Mr. Payphone sadly. “But I did return with this gift from the Kingdom of Antarctica. The Magic Spoon.”
“Oh good.” The lifeguard took it. “This should cure that famine we’ve been having.”
Another lifeguard joined her coworker by his side. “Are you staying?” she asked.
Our hero sighed the only way a payphone can. “No, I’m afraid not. I must walk the Earth now as a drifter.”
“Well…” the male guard held back tears. “We’ll miss you.”
“And I,” said the walking payphone, “will miss you, too. Give me a call sometime. I can save you money on your collect calls.”
And then off he went, into the sunset. And for those wondering, he eventually made his way to the fourteenth galaxy and proceeded to dominate both Frank and the washcloth named Lars, in one epic game of Monopoly.
The End.
Written by BW Derge, All Rights Reserved 2024
© USA
This was a short story composed in 2005 originally, rewritten in 2024 called "The Last Payphone's Surreal Quest"
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