LJ Idol Week 2: Uphill, Both Ways, Barefoot
"You said you had something for me?" I ask. Flash nods with his mouth full and pats his messenger bag but doesn't open it. Doesn't want to get mayo or ketchup on the merchandise. We shall have an enjoyable meal first, he says, business second.
Many people think that Flash got his name because he works with pictures. Ridiculous. He isn't anywhere near old enough to have earned that. Back in the day, cameras were heavy and bulky and took two people. One would position the camera on the tripod while his assistant would operate the flash, thus providing enough light for the camera to work.
That was back in a time when news papers would hire reporters, photographers, and flashmen to operate in groups of three to cover the sensational trial presided over by Harry Morgan. Back when Harry Morgan was middle aged and children safely played barefoot in the street, reluctantly sharing their playground with the occasional automobile.
Today's cameras are the size of a credit card and can be successfully operated by an epileptic weasel. A reporter doesn't need a photographer and a photographer doesn't need a flashman; Funky or otherwise. Flash certainly did not get his name this way.
Some people speculate that Flash got his nickname from being a member of a gang. The story goes that this gang initiates people by having them drive the streets at night with their headlights off. When a passerby flashes their lights at them, they then follow that person home. What happens next varies in the telling, sometimes they are beaten, sometimes they are stolen from, sometimes they are raped, kidnapped or even murdered.
We live in a harsh town in a harsh time. But, none of those supposed "Flash Attacks" have ever happened. I know this, because Snopes tells me so.
Both of these supposed sources for Flash's handle are rooted in history. They might have been appropriate for someone who could brag that as a kid they walked to work a 20 hour shift at the mill. Making money for their family whey they themselves went barefoot, trudging through the snow to get to work. Traveling uphill, both ways.
Flash cannot make that claim. He wore off-brand Nikes as a child, which I suppose is the modern day equivalent of being barefoot. And, his working at the mill was really more of going to community college, taking just enough classes to qualify for student loans he has no intention of ever paying off.
Flash is a modern man, and his name has a modern meaning.
Once Jimmy has brought me my fourth beer for the night, and Flash's sixth Dew, the table is cleared of food and filled with Flash's Netbook. He shows me the pictures he has. Pictures which clearly show Debbie's husband, Carl, in the arms of another woman. Flash took care of the pictures. The files no longer show which camera was used or the last time they were altered. He cleaned them off.
It took time to get pictures of Carl. Time to get pictures of another woman. Time to get pictures of a location. And, time for Flash to put the three sets of pictures together to make one convincing piece of evidence. He hands me a flash drive with the pictures on it. "You have my payment?" he asks.
Flash isn't named after his occupation, his past, or his personality. He is named in a way that only a truly modern person could understand. His fee for this job is 100 gigs of unused memory. I hand him a stack of flash drives, never before touched by virtual hands. Nothing hidden in the corners where Windows likes to push the things that people delete. Nothing traceable.
Flash has his payment. Now, it is time for me to get mine.
This is my entry for Week 2 of LiveJournal Idol, Season 6. To read the other entries in the contest, click here.
Many people think that Flash got his name because he works with pictures. Ridiculous. He isn't anywhere near old enough to have earned that. Back in the day, cameras were heavy and bulky and took two people. One would position the camera on the tripod while his assistant would operate the flash, thus providing enough light for the camera to work.
That was back in a time when news papers would hire reporters, photographers, and flashmen to operate in groups of three to cover the sensational trial presided over by Harry Morgan. Back when Harry Morgan was middle aged and children safely played barefoot in the street, reluctantly sharing their playground with the occasional automobile.
Today's cameras are the size of a credit card and can be successfully operated by an epileptic weasel. A reporter doesn't need a photographer and a photographer doesn't need a flashman; Funky or otherwise. Flash certainly did not get his name this way.
Some people speculate that Flash got his nickname from being a member of a gang. The story goes that this gang initiates people by having them drive the streets at night with their headlights off. When a passerby flashes their lights at them, they then follow that person home. What happens next varies in the telling, sometimes they are beaten, sometimes they are stolen from, sometimes they are raped, kidnapped or even murdered.
We live in a harsh town in a harsh time. But, none of those supposed "Flash Attacks" have ever happened. I know this, because Snopes tells me so.
Both of these supposed sources for Flash's handle are rooted in history. They might have been appropriate for someone who could brag that as a kid they walked to work a 20 hour shift at the mill. Making money for their family whey they themselves went barefoot, trudging through the snow to get to work. Traveling uphill, both ways.
Flash cannot make that claim. He wore off-brand Nikes as a child, which I suppose is the modern day equivalent of being barefoot. And, his working at the mill was really more of going to community college, taking just enough classes to qualify for student loans he has no intention of ever paying off.
Flash is a modern man, and his name has a modern meaning.
Once Jimmy has brought me my fourth beer for the night, and Flash's sixth Dew, the table is cleared of food and filled with Flash's Netbook. He shows me the pictures he has. Pictures which clearly show Debbie's husband, Carl, in the arms of another woman. Flash took care of the pictures. The files no longer show which camera was used or the last time they were altered. He cleaned them off.
It took time to get pictures of Carl. Time to get pictures of another woman. Time to get pictures of a location. And, time for Flash to put the three sets of pictures together to make one convincing piece of evidence. He hands me a flash drive with the pictures on it. "You have my payment?" he asks.
Flash isn't named after his occupation, his past, or his personality. He is named in a way that only a truly modern person could understand. His fee for this job is 100 gigs of unused memory. I hand him a stack of flash drives, never before touched by virtual hands. Nothing hidden in the corners where Windows likes to push the things that people delete. Nothing traceable.
Flash has his payment. Now, it is time for me to get mine.
This is my entry for Week 2 of LiveJournal Idol, Season 6. To read the other entries in the contest, click here.