Hobbies

Some people feel I should get a hobby. Pretty much because all I do is work, sleep, then work some more. So a hobby really wouldn’t be such a bad idea I guess. The problem is what exactly qualifies as a good hobby for me? There’s a hobby shop over at this mall I go to. It’s got the big shiny H-O-B-B-I-E-S written in big bright lights, and it looks like it’s managed by a man who’s played with toy trains till he was about 45, which by itself is a very scary thought.

I probably think this way cos as we grow up we notice certain changes. Kiddies play with kiddie toys, then they grow up a bit and their best friends tend to be mousse and pimple remover. After that (if you’re from Durban or Pietermaritzburg at any rate) comes the phase where you get a cheap car and soup it up with dark windows and loud speakers so you can annoy the neighbours with R&B music, then comes adult/parent hood with pretty much lasts until you die. 40 years of babysitting is a fscking long time. The toy train stage usually fits in between the kiddie stage and the pimple remover phases of life. It usually ends at that point I guess since it’s less easy impressing the girl of your dreams with a model train in your pocket. The humor of the situation is lost on teenage girls in my opinion. But life goes on, and so ends our flirtation with trains.

 

So when a 45 year old man still keeps a train set, fear is bound to set in. I picture a dark, moonless night. A stocky balding figure slowly stalks though a garden of very dry, very long grass in his warm furry overcoat. He reaches out one hairy palm and grabs the handle of his front door (it’s round, copper and a little worn out but overall in very good condition) and jiggles a key in the keyhole with another. The door opens with a softish creak and light from the lamp on the veranda creeps in the door, illuminating a dank passageway with old peeling wallpaper and crooked picture frames that haven’t been straightened in years. He shuts the door and everything is dark again. Slowly he takes a few steps to the right, his hand reaching against the wall, searching for the switch.

Flick. And the living room lights up. It’s dusty. Very dusty. No one’s sat on the sofas in years but the upholstery’s eaten away in several places. A mouse hole lies on the far side of the room and dead insect carcases are strewn in various places across the floor. There’s a fireplace on the far side of the room too with a mirror right above. The man looks up and sees his reflection. And stacked on the floor behind him: dolls. Hundreds of headless dolls. Big and small, old and new, dolls with frilly dresses and action figures with severed limbs. But the man’s not interested in the dolls for now. He walks to the centre of the room and squats cross legged in the middle of a very large miniature town, complete with city hall, a park, even a little school. There’s a few kids in the playground. Barbie and Ken are in the sandbox, and action man is making out with Tinky Winky behind the biology building. The Power Rangers are too cool to play with the other kids so they sit by themselves, happily smoking a joint with Tickle Me Elmo. The man sits and positions each toy perfectly, and then with an evil grin and a wickedly enjoyable shiver, he stretches a trembling hand across to the train station and flips a switch.

 

A loud hoot sounds from the kitchen and a few ornaments rattle in the room next door. The sound gets louder and a trinket falls off the display case in the hallway. It’s passing the dining room now, the hooting is getting louder and a drop of sweat hangs from the man’s nose in anticipation. This is the good part. He’s been waiting for this all day. It’s nearly time. “Yay, it’s time to go back to class” mouths the man, and slowly moves the inbred twins Barbie and Ken back to the school building. “Oops”, Barbie just dropped a book and Ken, being the strapping young man he is bends over to pick it up for her.

BAM!!!!!!!!!!! there goes Ken’s head flying across city hall right into mouse hole! “Hehehehe, train’s early today you pretty boy bastard” mutters the old man, and Ken gets tossed into the pile of headless dolls. “oh Ken my love, how will I ever live without you? NOOOOOO!!!!!!” cries Barbie and runs onto the tracks, determined to end her misery. Action Man springs out from behind a bush, a Tinky Winky smell on his breath. He dives to push Barbie off the track but just one second too late. “ARRRGGGGHHHHHHHH”. He looks down at the stubs that once were his legs. “Hehehehe”, and a tingly feeling sends shivers up the old man’s spine. Tinky Winky goes ape on Barbie. “YOU HOE!!! MY MAN BE DEAD COS OF YOU!!!!”. Seeing the trouble brewing, the stoned Power Rangers run across the tracks to help busty Barbie but in their dazed state meet a grizzly fate as the speeding train rips them all to shreds. Barbie escapes the vengeful grip of Tinky Winky and runs down the street hoping against hope for something, anything to save her. In the distance she hears a faint hooting. The train is in the kitchen again. It’ll be back soon. Drool drips down the the side of the old man’s mouth. It’s almost time, just a little bit longer, just a little bit!!!! Tinky Winky grabs Action Man’s rifle lying near the spot he was crushed and aims the cross hairs between Barbie’s bright blue eyes. The old man’s eyes widen, he’s breathing hard, his heart pounding. “BAM BAM” and Barbie falls to the floor, her golden flowing hair gracefully hitting the ground as the life slowly drains from her plastic body. There’s a twinkle in the old man’s eye. It’s not exactly like he planned, but it works all the same. He picks up Barbie, snaps off her head and banishes her to the doll heap. And mindlessly, Tinky Winky walks back to city hall, alone, without his action man lover to warm the long, lonely winter nights. The train is getting nearer. Tinky Winky sees the tracks and just stands on them quietly. It’ll be over soon. He looks up. Not long now. And an instant later, he joins his beloved action man, torn and broken. The old man giggles on the floor, the giggles becoming a cold menacing laugh, the laugh turning to an icy scream.

 

It’s been a good night. A very good night. Time for some tuna and then off to bed thinks the old man. He’s drenched in sweat now, dizzy from all the excitement. He manages to grab a snack and drag himself upstairs, then head off to sleep. It’s late, and it’s been a very long day.

 

Creak. Creak. He opens his eyes with a start. Anger flowing through this veins he throws off the covers and storms downstairs giving the clock just one fleeting glance. 3AM. He heads to the living room flips the switch and looks at the miniature city. There, at the Power Ranger playhouse is Tickle Me Elmo, alive, staring at the old man with those cutesy eyes and over-wide grin. “TONIGHT ELMO!!!! YOU GOT AWAY LAST NIGHT BUT TONIGHT YOU’RE MINE!! YOU’RE DEAD YOU HEAR ME???!!!??? DEAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”.

Fuming, the old man heads back off to bed. He needs to be well rested. It’s gonna be a big night tomorrow!

 

So anyways, that’s why I didn’t go into the hobby shop. And I think my reasons both speak for themselves and are also very justified. It’s unlikely my hobby, assuming I ever get one, will involve trains, planes or other automobiles. Stamp collecting bring to mind other interesting thoughts which I’ll be happy to share should anyone be interested, but that’s just boring I think so I doubt I’ll be headed that route either.

So as hobbies go I’m still pretty stuck. But I’ll keep looking. Any and all suggestions appreciated.