The Monopolist And Profit Maximization Economics Essay

The Monopolist And Profit Maximization Economics Essay Monopoly is a single seller and many buyers. There is no difference between firm and industry and monopoly form as imperfect market. Besides that, monopoly is the sole provider of goods and services. 2.1 Characteristics of Monopoly There are some characteristics of monopoly market. One seller and large number of buyers The one of monopoly characteristic is one seller and large number of buyers is large and the size of each firm is very small. The number of buyers also large and this firm cannot influence the market price. So basically, individual firm does not bother about the reactions of the firm. Besides that, adjusts its sale to earn maximum profits and the price given under perfect competition. The demand of individual buyers relative to the total demand. And so small that cannot influence the price of the product by his individual action. Product has no lose substitutes The second characteristics is, product differentiation, there is product are close substitutes but not perfect substitutes. Its means, products are alike but not equal. For an example, Colgate toothpaste is slightly different from Darlie toothpaste. Otherwise, similarly dettol soap is different from life buoy soap. But if the buyers can find any substitutes for toothpaste and soap means, may be the differences is real or imaginary but its create attachments. Consumers prefer one product to another, under monopolistic competition. Monopoly cannot exist if there is a competition or any substitute product because consumers or buyers could not find any replacement for the product. Restriction on the entry of new firm. The third characteristics of the monopoly are, firm under monopolistic are easy to entry and leave the industry. Barriers are not entry is natural or legal restriction that restricts the entry of new firms into the industry. Hence, a firm has legal control over other firms. There is restricting competition in the market. Advertising In monopoly market, advertising is depends to the product sold. If the product is good and services means, the monopoly needs make advertisement to inform consumers on the goods. So that, its try to establish goods of its own products. By the advertising, consumers can know their selling costs. However, if the products are not luxury goods such as water service, electricity service, and local telephone service, then the seller no need to create any advertisement. This is because a lot of the buyers know that where are the places and locations to get and purchase these few products. 2.1.1 Diagram The Monopolist and Profit Maximization In the diagram, the quantity of produced and price charged has own control for both of it. That also, entire demand curve for goods and services produced. So that, it will facing a downward slopping demand curve in the diagram. Equivalently, a monopoly never operates in the inelastic portion of its demand curve. Monopolist Profit Maximization http://i.investopedia.com/inv/articles/site/micro3.12.gif What happens if the monopolist later faces a demand curve such as D1? In that case, the monopolist cannot cover costs and will go out of business. 2.1.2 Demand, Marginal Revenue, and Elasticity http://cyro.cs-territories.com/asa2_economics/unit4/images/monopolisticcompetitionlongrun1.png In the diagram, demand curve is elastic as there many firms. So that, there is lack of close substitutes. The profits shown as abnormal where the shaded area and competitor the short run. As shown in the graph above, a monopolist facing demand curve D0 will produce quantity Q0 and the price charged will be equal to P0. 2.1.3 Conclusion All in all, monopoly have four characteristics of structure. Besides that, monopoly is the sole provider of goods and services. The monopoly market is still solely by mutually beneficial exchange of firm exist and many. 3.0 Difference between Perfect competition, monopolistic competition, oligopoly, and monopoly Perfect competition, monopolistic competition, oligopoly and monopoly have their own respectively features. Their characteristic of their four markets is not same. In monopoly, the market structure in which there is only one producer and seller for a product. Oligopoly is only few firms that make up an industry and select group of firms has control over the price. Monopoly and oligopoly has high barriers to entry. Then, monopoly structure is opposite for perfect competition. Perfect competition are has many buyers and sellers, many products that are similar in nature and there are many substitutes. 3.1 Differentiate between perfect competition, monopolistic competition, oligopoly and monopoly 3.1.1 Perfect competition Perfect competition is a market is a possible market where competition is at its greatest in possible level. The products are homogeneous and seller can easily enter and exit from their market. Number of seller and buyers Perfect competition is very large numbers of firms in the market. Perfect competition also existence of large number of buyers and sellers. There is no dominating firm and all firms are usually small and are price takers, because the individual sales volume is relatively small compared to market volume. The price does not change and there is no discernible change in the quantity exchanged in the market. Unrestricted to entry and exist The second characteristics of perfect competition is there are unrestricted on the entry and exist of both buyers and sellers. A firm can easily enter into perfect competition market and leave the market at any time, if that firm cannot continue the firm. The absence of such barriers does not affect the prices, and there is always a substitute for suppliers, who enters and leaves if, wants. If any losses occur the firm will exist the industry without any reason. This is important to understand the free entry and free exist is possible in the long-time firm. Homogeneous product There another condition of perfect competition is homogeneous product that is a product offer for sale by seller. It must be goods offers for sale and perfect substitutes of one another seller. One firm cannot differentiate the same products sold in the industry because buyers can identify the difference in terms of colors, quality and packing. There is mean, even though the products are same in nature but there is difference in terms of quality. Seller cannot raise the price above the prevailing price or lower the price. Homogeneity of product has an important implication for the market if products of different seller. Besides that, buyers not care who they buy from, as long as the price is same. Maximum profits In the perfect competition, profit maximization determine by the quantity of product they sell. The marginal cost by the product of a single unit of the product is equal to the marginal revenue. Total revenue and total cost approach are the profit maximization. When the cost is lowest, and then only can be maximum profit. 3.1.2 Monopolistic competition The concept monopolistic competition is more realistic than perfect competition. Monopolistic competition market each firm has its own price policy. The most things from another thing feature of monopolistic competition are the products of various firms are not identified. But they are close substitutes for each others. In the case, monopolistic and perfect competition is characteristic by the existence of sellers. The firms do not produce perfect substitutes. Otherwise, each firm has a small percentage of the total monopolistic market and thus has limited control over market price. Product differentiates. Under monopolistic competition, product differentiation may entail physical or qualities differences in the products by their selves. There output product are differentiated between which are relatively close substitutes for each other. So that, that product prices cannot be very much different from each other. Product differentiated by location, services, designs, and brand names. The firms in monopolistic competition will differentiated their products and make them more appealing to the customers in order to maximize their profits. 3.1.3 Oligopoly In an  oligopoly, there are only a few firms that make up an industry. This select group of firms has control over the price and, like a monopoly; an oligopoly has high barriers to entry. Main characteristic of oligopoly is interdependence of firms in the industry. Sum more, in the oligopoly market, all firms can earn abnormal profits in the long run because, the entry of new firms are difficult. Oligopoly is not like monopolistic market, because if firms change the prices or output, it has noticed effects on the sales and profits of its competitors. Small number of large firm Approaches from small number of large firm are each which is relatively large compared to the overall size of market. Under oligopoly, few firms control the overall industry and there is no specific number of firms that must control the market. Homogeneous of differentiated product Under oligopoly, when a product sold that can be either a homogeneous or a differentiated product. For example, petroleum, steel and etc. and also, oligopoly focus on goods sold. Basically, people have different wants needs and thus enjoy variety. Such as, automobiles and computers. Barriers no entry Barriers no entry is similar to monopoly market. The oligopoly firms will restrict new entry into the market. In this industry, a few huge firms own most of the available iron ore, a necessary raw material for steel production. Once the new firms are out of the market, there large firms reduce the production will increase the price. In these cases, barriers to entry are low, and it also as small investment may be required to enter the market structure. 3.1.4 Monopoly Monopoly can be considered opposite of perfect competition. It is a market form in which there are only sellers. Even though, there are many factors to rise up monopoly market. There is only one supplier; and the demand curve that individual firms face is the market demand curve. A monopoly firm is deemed to have considerable control over the price of its product. In the case a monopoly can also arise if a company owns the entire supply of a necessary material needed to produce a product. 3.1.5 Conclusion Characteristic Perfect Competition Monopolistic Competition Oligopoly Monopoly Number of firms Very Many Many Few One Type of Product Homogeneous Differentiated Homogeneous / Differentiated Only product of its kind (no close substitute) Ease of entry Very easy Relatively easy Not Easy Impossible Price Setting power Nil (Price taker) Somewhat Limited Absolute (Price Maker) Non Price Competition None Considerable Considerable for a differentiated oligopoly Somewhat Productive efficiency Highly efficient Less Efficient Less Efficient Inefficient Long run profits 0 0 Positive High Examples Doesnt Exist; agriculture close Fast Food, retails stores, cosmetics Cars, Steel, soft drinks, cereals Small town newspaper, rural gas station 4.0 Conclusion and recommendations In the whole assignments, I learned about microeconomics subject ant it is a very important subject to whom taking business course. The subject teaches every student about business skills and helps to learn about business knowledge of economics. In first question, I know the characteristics of monopoly. I also learn the differentiated of monopoly in the markets. The second question is about the differentiate between perfect competition, monopolistic competition, monopoly and oligopoly markets. From this question, I learned about the four characteristics of the markets such as the four markets are not same all the times. In spite of this assignment, I thank to my lecturer and coordinator for guide us to do this introduction to business. I appreciate from this assignment that I can know well about the business chapters. Appendix

Edwin Muirs Poem The Horses Essay -- Horses Edwin Muir Essays

Edwin Muir's Poem "The Horses" "The Horses" is a poem by Edwin Muir. It tells the story of a world ravaged by nuclear war, where the few survivors live hopelessly in a desolate reality. Their outlook is changed by the arrival of the horses, a relic of the past which lets them rediscover humanity's bond with nature. "The Horses", as well as being a very beautiful and moving poem, has an important message to convey. The poet uses various methods to illustrate this. Throughout the poem, there are many biblical references. The nuclear war is described as a "seven days war", which is an allusion to Genesis, the creation and destruction of the world in seven days. This idea is furthered by the use of the phrases "our fathers' land" and "our fathers' time". The word 'covenant' has connotations of the 'Arc of Covenant', the Israelites sacred vow to God. And later in the poem, the horses are described as appearing from their own 'Eden', another biblical reference. This illustrates the importance of the poem's subject matter, by introducing a parallel to the Bible. It bears a resemblance to when God flooded the world, to wipe out all sin and allow the few on Noah's Ark to rebuild a new, better world. This poem also shows the totality of nuclear war. Although there are survivors, the ammount of death and destruction is immense. It takes so little time to destroy the world, in a way a punishment for mankind's vanity and arrogance. Technology, for so long thought to be a d...

Repetition and Metaphor in the Short Story, Eleven by Sandra Cisneros E

Use of Repetition and Metaphor in Sandra Cisneros' Short Story, Eleven In the short story "Eleven" by Sandra Cisneros, a young girl named Rachel is characterized. Through a specific incident, Cisneros shows how Rachel does not act as old as eleven ideally should. Through repetition and metaphor, Cisneros alludes to Rachel?s personality and childish views. This story basically tells of a girl?s pride being hurt. It was Rachel?s birthday and her teacher embarrassed her by stating a raggedy old sweater was hers. The metaphors Rachel uses to describe this article of clothing and her age throughout the story are indicators that she is still a child and that she lives a simple life. For example, Rachel said ?Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside ...

Black Rook in Rainy Weather Essay

I an infrequently lost for words. I like to think of myself as quite an eloquent and articulate speaker and writer, but there are times when I feel neither. It is ironic that the very subject of this poem, a lack of words, or rather a lack of inspiration, is exactly what is holding me back from writing the things I would like to write. Although I know how this poem makes me feel and I know the emotions it conveys, I cannot bring myself to write about them or to speak about them, I simply cannot find the words. Each time I read the poem a rush of thoughts dash through my mind, so quickly that I cannot recollect them in time to consider them in the detail they deserve. This poem deserves consideration, thought, analysis, it deserves appreciation and admiration, because it describes exactly how even the most expressive and eloquent writers are sometimes at a loss for words. Although the poem is a metaphor and is about many things that lie deep beneath the surface of the words, it is beautifully written even in the most literal terms. Plath uses adjectives to describe every object, every movement of the poem, ‘stiff twig’, ‘spotted leaves’. She uses many other poetic devices, such as alliteration in the lines ‘rare, random’, ‘walk wary’, ‘so shine as to seize my senses’ and personification in the lines ‘mute sky’ , ‘minor light may still lean incandescent’. The poet also uses short phrases broken by commas to increase the tempo of the poem and to give it a rushed feeling. However, these poetic devices are not simply used to embellish a purely literal piece of writing. They are used to demonstrate the beauty of the mundane, the magnificence of the ordinary. The poet says ‘I do not expect a miracle or an accident’ which suggests that she is content with the mundane and can see it’s splendour. But as the poem progresses we see that she could not survive on the ordinary, but needed to express herself in her poetry and needed inspiration to do so. Though Plath tries to persuade herself she survive on the ordinary and the imple, it is obvious that desire for inspiration, ‘the angel’, are the only things that can make these mundane situations bearable. She contradicts herself when she states that ‘miracles occur. ’ She contradicts her previous idea that there is beauty in the ordinary and instead describes moments without inspiration being similar to ‘trekking stubborn through this season of fatigue’ . This suggests that during these periods of time she is not living, but barely surviving. Her entire life depends on the moments of inspiration, ‘for that rare, random descent. ’ She is a poet, and her survival depends on her writing. She can only express herself through her writing, and without it, without her inspiration, she feels nothing. This nothingness, this lack of inspiration is to her far worse than the feelings of depression she felt constantly throughout her life. Her ‘fear of total neutrality’ consumes her and scares her. This ‘fear of neutrality’ refers not only to writing, but also to life in general. If one feels nothing, if life is constantly similar to ‘trekking stubborn through this season of fatigue’ then there is no reason to live in the first place. Life is a constant wait for inspiration, for meaning, for purpose, and often this purpose does not appear. Plath realises, unlike many others, that without purpose, without inspiration, there is no beauty in the mundane. Without ‘that rare, random descent’ of an ‘angel’ there is little reason for life at all.

Semester Updates

All assignments must be handed in during scheduled classes. DO NOT EMAIL ASSIGNMENTS. ***Please remember: there is a one-week maximum for submission***. After one week, submissions will no longer be accepted. Late assignments without appropriate documentation will receive a grade but no comments. Students are responsible for keeping a Xerox copy of all take-home assignments. If you need an extension for extenuating circumstances, please discuss this with the professor before the due date, and an email that covers what has been agreed upon will be expected before an extension is granted.Evaluation Term Work The term work will constitute 75% of the final grade. A minimum of 50% of graded term work must be completed in class. Students will read 8-10 selections and write a minimum of 2500 words during the term, including at least two 500-word analytical essays written in class; a 1000-word analytical essay; and a research assignment. Students will develop arguments based upon a critical appreciation of the themes and literary techniques presented in the readings. They will also support their views with textual references.No more than 10% of the final grade will be allotted to quizzes and/or group work. Final Examination The final exam will constitute 25% of the course grade. It will be a common exam in the form of a textual analysis. Students must pass the term work and the final exam to pass the course. Grading System In addition to the usual passing grades of A+ to D, there are two grades that denote unsuccessful attempts at EACH 50: F (O to 49%) Failure (term work has not been completed) ATT The student has satisfactory attendance and has completed the term work, but has not met the learning outcomes.Any students receiving ATT in EACH 150 will continue their studies in EACH 150 in subsequent semesters until they have met the earning outcomes. 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Here are some key policies: Academic Honesty (Section 9 and Appendix E – Academic Policy) â€Å"Engaging in any form of academic dishonesty to obtain any type of academic advantage or credit is an offence under this policy an d will not be tolerated by the College.The penalty for a first academic honesty offence is a grade â€Å"O† on the work in which the offence occurred, and will result in a comment being placed on the transcript by the Academic Honesty Committee. The penalty for he second academic honesty offence is an â€Å"F† in the subject where the offence occurred, a second comment on the transcript and suspension from the College for a time period determined by the Academic Honesty Committee, normally for a minimum of three (3) semesters. † For more information on Academic Honesty go to: http://library. Congealers. Ca. Eight to appeal academic decisions of the College. The procedures for informal and formal appeals are outlined in Academic Policy. 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Copyright – See the Student Handbook There are limitations to reproducing materials from texts and other copyrighted materials.Essential copyright information is available in the Student Handbook and at http://library. Congealers. Ca. Student Rights and Responsibilities – See the Student Handbook Discrimination and Harassment – See the Student H andbook All students and employees have the right to study and work in an environment that is free from discrimination and/or harassment. Language or activities that defeat this objective violate the College Policy on Discrimination/Harassment and shall not be tolerated.Information and assistance are available from the Resolution, Equity and Diversity Centre. Accommodation for Students with Disabilities The college will provide reasonable accommodation for students with disabilities in order to promote academic success. If you require accommodation, contact the Counseling and Disabilities Services Office at ext. 2900 to initiate the process for documenting, assessing and implementing your individual accommodation needs. Approved by: Andrew Schmitt, Chair School of English and Liberal Studies

Practical Demonkeeping Chapter 8-9

8 ROBERT Robert loaded the last of the laundry baskets full of dishes into the bed of the pickup. The sight of a truckload of clean dishes did not raise his spirits nearly as much as he thought it would. He was still depressed. He was still heartbroken. And he was still hung over. For a moment he thought that washing the dishes might have been a mistake. Having created a single bright spot, no matter how small, seemed to make the rest of his life look even more dismal by contrast. Maybe he should have just gone with the downward flow, like the pilot who pushes down the stick to pull out of an uncontrolled spin. Secretly, Robert believed that if things got so bad that he couldn't see his way out, something would come along and not only save him from disaster but improve his life overall. It was a skewed brand of faith that he had developed through years of watching television – where no problem was so great that it could not be surmounted by the last commercial break – and through two events in his own life. As a boy in Ohio he had taken his first summer job at the local county fair, picking up trash on the midways. The job had been great fun for the first two weeks. He and the other boys on the cleanup crew spent their days wandering the midways using long sticks, with nails extending from one end, to spear paper cups and hot dog wrappers as if they were hunting lions on the Serengeti. They were paid in cash at the end of each day. The next day they spent their pay on games of chance and repeated rides on the Zipper, which was the beginning of Robert's lifelong habit of exchanging money for dizziness and nausea. The day after the fair ended, Robert and the boys were told to report to the livestock area of the fairgrounds. They arrived before dawn, wondering what they would do now that the colorful carny trailers and rides were gone and the midways were as barren as airport runways. The man from the county met them outside the big exhibition barns with a dump truck, a pile of pitchforks, and some wheelbarrows. â€Å"Clean out those pens, boys. Load the manure on the truck,† he had said. Then he went away, leaving the boys unsupervised. Robert had loaded only three forkfuls when he and the boys ran out of the barn gasping for breath, the odor of ammonia burning in their noses and lungs. Again and again they tried to clean the stables only to be overcome by the stench. As they stood outside the barn, swearing and complaining, Robert noticed something sticking up out of the morning fog on the adjacent show ground. It looked like the head of a dragon. It was beginning to get light, and the boys could hear banging and clanging and strange animal noises coming from the show ground. They stared into the fog, trying to make out the shapes moving there, glad for the distraction from their miserable task. When the sun broke over the trees to the east of the fairgrounds, a scraggly man in blue work clothes walked out of the mist toward the barn. â€Å"Hey, you kids,† he shouted, and they all prepared to be admonished for standing around instead of working. â€Å"You want to work for the circus?† The boys dropped their pitchforks as if they were red-hot rods of steel and ran to the man. The dragon had been a camel. The strange noises were the trumpeting of elephants. Under the mist a crew of men were unrolling the big top of the Clyde Beatty Circus. Robert and the boys worked all morning beside the circus people, lacing together the bright-yellow canvas panels of the tent and fitting together giant sections of aluminum poles that would support the big top. It was hot, sweaty, heavy work, and it was wonderful and exciting. When the poles lay out across the canvas, cables were hitched to a team of elephants and the poles were hoisted skyward. Robert thought his heart would burst with excitement. The canvas was connected by cables to a winch. The boys watched in awe as the big top rose up the poles like a great yellow dream. It was only one day. But it was glorious, and Robert thought of it often – of the roustabouts who sipped from their hip flasks and called each other by the names of their home states or towns. â€Å"Kansas, bring that strut over here. New York, we need a sledge over here.† Robert thought of the thick-thighed women who walked the wire and flew on the trapeze. Their heavy makeup was grotesque up close but beautiful at a distance when they were flying through the air above the crowd. That day was an adventure and a dream. It was one of the finest in Robert's life. But what had impressed him was that it had come right when things seemed the most bleak, when everything had gone, literally, to shit. The next time Robert's life took a nosedive he was in Santa Barbara, and his salvation arrived in the form of a woman. He had come to California with everything he owned packed into a Volkswagen Beetle, determined to pursue a dream that he thought would begin at the California border with music by the Beach Boys and a long, white beach full of shapely blondes dying for the company of a young photographer from Ohio. What he found was alienation and poverty. Robert had chosen the prestigious photography school in Santa Barbara because it was reputed to be the best. As photographer for the high school yearbook he had gained a reputation as one of the best photographers in town, but in Santa Barbara he was just another teenager among hundreds of students who were, if anything, more skilled than he. He took a job in a grocery store, stocking shelves from midnight to eight in the morning. He had to work full-time to pay his exorbitant tuition and rent, and soon he fell behind in his assignments. After two months he had to leave school to avoid flunking out. He found himself in a strange town with no friends and barely enough money to survive. He started drinking beer every morning with the night crew in the parking lot. He drove home in a stupor and slept through the day until his next shift. With the added expense of alcohol, Robert had to hock his cameras to pay rent, and with them went his last hope for a future beyond stocking shelves. One morning after his shift the manager called him into the office. â€Å"Do you know anything about this?† The manager pointed to four jars of peanut butter that lay open on his desk. â€Å"These were returned by customers yesterday.† On the smooth surface of the peanut butter in each jar was etched, â€Å"Help, I'm trapped in Supermarket Hell!† Robert stocked the glass aisle. There was no denying it. He had written the messages one night during his shift after drinking several bottles of cough medicine he had stolen from the shelves. â€Å"Pick up your check on Friday,† the manager said. He shuffled away, broke, unemployed, two thousand miles from home, a failure at nineteen. As he left the store, one of the cashiers, a pretty redhead about his age, who was coming in to open the store, stopped him. â€Å"Your name is Robert, isn't it?† â€Å"Yes,† he said. â€Å"You're the photographer, aren't you?† â€Å"I was.† Robert was in no mood to chat. â€Å"Well, I hope you don't mind,† she said, â€Å"but I saw your portfolio sitting in the break room one morning and I looked at it. You're very good.† â€Å"I don't do it anymore.† â€Å"Oh, that's too bad. I have a friend who's getting married on Saturday, and she needs a photographer.† â€Å"Look,† Robert said, â€Å"I appreciate the thought, but I just got fired and I'm going home to get hammered. Besides, I hocked my cameras.† The girl smiled, she had incredible blue eyes. â€Å"You were wasting your talent here. How much would it cost to get your cameras out of hock?† Her name was Jennifer. She paid to get his cameras out of hock and showered him with praise and encouragement. Robert began to make money picking up weddings and Bar Mitzvahs, but it wasn't enough to make rent. There were too many good photographers competing in Santa Barbara. He moved into her tiny studio apartment. After a few months of living together they were married and they moved north to Pine Cove, where Robert would find less competition for photography jobs. Once again, Robert had sunk to a lifetime low, and once again Dame Fate had provided him with a miraculous rescue. The sharp edges of Robert's world were rounded by Jennifer's love and dedication. Life had been good, until now. Robert's world was dropping out from under him like a trapdoor and he found himself in a disoriented free-fall. Trying to control things by design would only delay his inevitable rescue. The sooner he hit bottom, he reasoned, the sooner his life would improve. Each time this had happened before, things had gotten a little worse only to get a little better. One day the good times had to keep on rolling, and all of life's horseshit would turn to circuses. Robert had faith that it would happen. But to rise from the ashes you had to crash and burn first. With that in mind, he took his last ten dollars and headed down the street to the Head of the Slug Saloon. 9 THE HEAD OF THE SLUG Mavis Sand, the owner of the Head of the Slug Saloon, had lived so long with the Specter of Death hanging over her shoulders that she had started to think of him as one might regard a comfortable old sweater. She had made her peace with Death a long time ago, and Death, in return, had agreed to whittle away at Mavis rather than take her all at once. In her seventy years, Death had taken her right lung, her gall bladder, her appendix, and the lenses of both eyes, complete with cataracts. Death had her aortic heart valve, and Mavis had in its place a steel and plastic gizmo that opened and closed like the automatic doors at the Thrifty Mart. Death had most of Mavis's hair, and Mavis had a polyester wig that irritated her scalp. She had also lost most of her hearing, all of her teeth, and her complete collection of Liberty dimes. (Although she suspected a ne'er-do-well nephew rather than Death in the disappearance of the dimes.) Thirty years ago she had lost her uterus, but that was at a time when doctors were yanking them so frequently that it seemed as if they were competing for a prize, so she didn't blame Death for that. With the loss of her uterus Mavis grew a mustache that she shaved every morning before leaving to open the saloon. At the Slug she ambled around behind the bar on a pair of stainless steel ball and sockets, as Death had taken her hips, but not before she had offered them up to a legion of cowboys and construction workers. Over the years Death had taken so much of Mavis that when her time finally came to pass into the next world, she felt it would be like slipping slowly into a steaming-hot bath. She was afraid of nothing. When Robert walked into the Head of the Slug, Mavis was perched on her stool behind the bar smoking a Taryton extra-long, lording over the saloon like the quintessential queen of the lipstick lizards. After each few drags on her cigarette she applied a thick paste of fire-engine-red lipstick, actually getting a large percentage of it where it was supposed to go. Each time she butted a Taryton she sprayed her abysmal cleavage and behind her ears with a shot of Midnight Seduction from an atomizer she kept by her ashtray. On occasion, when she had rendered herself wobbly by too many shots of Bushmill's, she would shoot perfume directly into one of her hearing aids, causing a short circuit and making the act of ordering drinks a screaming ordeal. To avoid the problem, someone had once given her a pair of earrings fashioned from cardboard air fresheners shaped like Christmas trees, guaranteed to give Mavis that new car smell. But Mavis insisted that it was Midnight Seduction or nothing, s o the earrings hung on the wall in a place of honor next to the plaque listing the winners of the annual Head of the Slug eight-ball tournament and chili cook-off, known locally as â€Å"The Slugfest.† Robert stood by the bar trying to get his eyes to adjust to the smoky darkness of the Slug. â€Å"What can I get for you, sweet cheeks?† Mavis asked, batting her false eyelashes behind pop-bottle-thick, rhinestone-rimmed glasses. They put Robert in mind of spiders trying to escape a jar. He fingered the ten-dollar bill in his pocket and climbed onto the bar stool. â€Å"A draft, please.† â€Å"Hair of the dog?† â€Å"Does it show?† Robert asked in earnest. â€Å"Not much. I was just going to ask you to close your eyes before you bled to death.† Mavis giggled like a coquettish gargoyle, then burst into a coughing fit. She drew a mug of beer and set it in front of Robert, taking his ten and replacing it with nine ones. Robert took a long pull from the beer as he turned on the stool and looked around the bar. Mavis kept the bar dimly lit except for the lights over the pool tables, and Robert's eyes were still adjusting to the darkness. It occurred to him that he had never seen the floor of the saloon, which stuck to his shoes when he walked. Except for the occasional crunch underfoot identifying a piece of popcorn or a peanut shell, the floor of The Slug was a murky mystery. Whatever was down there should be left alone to evolve, white and eyeless, in peace. He promised himself to make it to the door before he passed out. He squinted into the lights over the pool tables. There was a heated eight-ball match going on at the back table. A half dozen locals had gathered at the end of the bar to watch. Society called them the hard-core unemployed; Mavis called them the daytime regulars. On the table Slick McCall was playing a dark young man Robert did not recognize. The man seemed familiar, though, and for some reason, Robert found that he did not like him. â€Å"Who's the stranger?† Robert asked Mavis over his shoulder. Something about the young man's aquiline good looks repelled Robert, like biting down on tin foil with a filling. â€Å"New meat for Slick,† Mavis said. â€Å"Came in about fifteen minutes ago and wanted to play for money. Shoots a pretty lame stick, if you ask me. Slick is keeping his cue behind the bar until the money gets big enough.† Robert watched the wiry Slick McCall move around the table, stopping to drill a solid ball into the side pocket with a bar cue. Slick left himself without a following shot. He stood and ran his fingers over his greased-back brown hair. He said, â€Å"Shit. Snookered myself.† Slick was on the hustle. The phone rang and Mavis picked it up. â€Å"Den of iniquity. Den mother speaking. No, he ain't here. Just a minute.† She covered the mouthpiece and turned to Robert. â€Å"You seen The Breeze?† â€Å"Who's calling?† Into the phone, â€Å"Who's calling?† Mavis listened for a moment, then covered the mouthpiece again. â€Å"It's his landlord.† â€Å"He's out of town,† Robert said. â€Å"He'll be back soon.† Mavis conveyed the message and hung up. The phone rang again immediately. Mavis answered, â€Å"Garden of Eden. Snake speaking.† There was a pause. â€Å"What am I, his answering service?† Pause. â€Å"He's out of town; he'll be back soon. Why don't you guys take a social risk and call him at home?† Pause. â€Å"Yeah, he's here.† Mavis shot a glance at Robert. â€Å"You want to talk to him? Okay.† She hung up. â€Å"That for The Breeze?† Robert asked. Mavis lit a Taryton. â€Å"He got popular all of a sudden?† â€Å"Who was it?† â€Å"Didn't ask. Sounded Mexican. Asked about you.† â€Å"Shit,† Robert said. Mavis set him up with another draft. He turned to watch the game. The stranger had won. He was collecting five dollars from Slick. â€Å"Guess you showed me, pard,† Slick said. â€Å"You gonna give a chance to win my money back?† â€Å"Double or nothing,† the stranger said. â€Å"Fine. I'll rack 'em.† Slick pushed the quarters into the coin slot on the side of the pool table. The balls dropped into the gutter and Slick began racking them. Slick was wearing a red-and-blue polka-dotted polyester shirt with long, pointed collars that had been fashionable around the time that disco died – about the same time that Slick had stopped brushing his teeth, Robert guessed. Slick wore a perpetual brown and broken grin, a grin that was burned into the memories of countless tourists who had strayed into the Slug to be fleeced at the end of Slick's intrepid cue. The stranger reared back and broke. His stick made the sickly vibrato sound of a miscue. The cue ball rocketed down the table, barely grazing the rack, then bounced off two corner rails and made a beeline toward the corner pocket where the stranger stood. â€Å"Sorry, brother,† Slick said, chalking his cue and preparing to shoot the scratch. When it reached the corner pocket, the cue ball stopped dead on the lip. Almost as an afterthought, one of the solid balls moved out of the pack and fell into the opposite corner with a plop. â€Å"Damn,† Slick said. â€Å"That was some pretty fancy English. I thought you'd scratched for sure.† â€Å"Was that a solid?† the stranger asked. Mavis leaned over the bar and whispered to Robert. â€Å"Did you see that ball stop? It should have been a scratch.† â€Å"Maybe there's a piece of chalk on the table that stopped it,† Robert speculated. The stranger made two more balls in an unremarkable fashion, then called a straight-in shot on the three ball. When he shot, the cue ball curved off his stick, describing a C-shaped curve, and sunk the six ball in the opposite corner. â€Å"I said the three ball!† the stranger shouted. â€Å"I know you did,† Slick said. â€Å"Looks like you were a little heavy on the English. My shot.† The stranger seemed to be angry at someone, but it wasn't Slick. â€Å"How can you confuse the six with the three, you idiot?† â€Å"You got me,† said Slick. â€Å"Don't be so hard on yourself, pard. You're up one game already.† Slick ran four balls, then missed a shot that was so obvious it made Robert wince. Slick's hustles were usually more subtle. â€Å"Five in the side!† the stranger shouted. â€Å"Got that? Five!† â€Å"I got it,† Slick said. â€Å"And all these folks got it along with half the people out in the street. You don't need to yell, pard. This is just a friendly game.† The stranger bent over the table and shot. The five ball careened off the cue ball, headed for the rail, then changed its path and curved into the side pocket. Robert was amazed, as were all the observers. It was an impossible shot, yet they all had seen it. â€Å"Damn,† Slick said to no one in particular, then to Mavis, â€Å"Mavis, when was the last time you leveled this table?† â€Å"Yesterday, Slick.† â€Å"Well, it sure as shit went catywumpus fast. Give me my cue, Mavis.† Mavis waddled to the end of the bar and pulled out a three-foot-long black leather case. She handled it carefully and presented it to Slick with reverence, a decrepit Lady of the Lake presenting a hardwood Excaliber to the rightful king. Slick flipped the case open and screwed the cue together, never taking his eyes off the stranger. At the sight of the cue the stranger smiled. Slick smiled back. The game was defined. Two hustlers recognized each other. A tacit agreement passed between them: Let's cut the bullshit and play. Robert had become so engrossed in watching the tension between the two men and trying to figure out why the stranger angered him so, that he failed to notice that someone had slipped onto the stool next to him. Then she spoke. â€Å"How are you, Robert?† Her voice was deep and throaty. She placed her hand on his arm and gave it a sympathetic squeeze. Robert turned and was taken aback by her appearance. She always affected him that way. She affected most men that way. She was wearing a black body stocking, belted at the waist with wide leather in which she had tucked a multitude of chiffon scarves that danced around her hips when she walked like diaphanous ghosts of Salome. Her wrists were adorned with layers of silver bangles; her nails were sculptured long and lacquered black. Her eyes were wide and green, set far apart over a small, straight nose and full lips, glossed blood red. Her hair hung to her waist, blue-black. An inverted silver pentagram dangled between her breasts on a silver chain. â€Å"I'm miserable,† Robert said. â€Å"Thanks for asking, Ms. Henderson.† â€Å"My friends call me Rachel.† â€Å"Okay. I'm miserable, Ms. Henderson.† Rachel was thirty-five but she could have passed for twenty if it weren't for the arrogant sensuality with which she moved and the mocking smile in her eyes that evinced experience, confidence, and guile beyond any twenty-year-old. Her body did not betray her age; it was her manner. She went through men like water. Robert had known her for years, but her presence never failed to awaken in him a feeling that his marital fidelity was nothing more than an absurd notion. In retrospect, perhaps it was. Still, she made him feel uneasy. â€Å"I'm not your enemy, Robert. No matter what you think. Jenny has been thinking about leaving you for a long time. We didn't have anything to do with it.† â€Å"How are things with the coven?† Robert asked sarcastically. â€Å"It's not a coven. The Pagan Vegetarians for Peace are dedicated to Earth consciousness, both spiritual and physical.† Robert drained his fifth beer and slammed the mug down on the bar. â€Å"The Pagan Vegetarians for Peace are a group of bitter, ball-biting, man haters, dedicated to breaking up marriages and turning men into toads.† â€Å"That's not true and you know it.† â€Å"What I know,† Robert said, â€Å"is that within a year of joining, every woman in your coven has divorced her husband. I was against Jenny getting into this mumbo jumbo from the beginning. I told her you would brainwash her and you have.† Rachel reared back on the bar stool like a hissing cat. â€Å"You believe what you want to believe, Robert. I show women the Goddess within. I put them in touch with their own personal power; what they do with it is their own business. We aren't against men. Men just can't stand to see a woman discover herself. Maybe if you'd exalted Jenny's growth instead of criticizing, she'd still be around.† Robert turned away from her and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the bar. He was overcome by a wave of self-loathing. She was right. He covered his face with his hands and leaned forward on the bar. â€Å"Look, I didn't come here to fight with you,† Rachel said. â€Å"I saw your truck outside and I thought you might be able to use a little money. I have some work for you. It might take your mind off the hurt.† â€Å"What?† Robert said through his hands. â€Å"We're sponsoring the annual tofu sculpture contest at the park this year. We need someone to take pictures for the poster and the press package. I know you're broke, Robert.† â€Å"No,† he said, without looking up. â€Å"Fine. Suit yourself.† Rachel slid off the stood and started to leave. Mavis sat another beer in front of Robert and counted his money on the bar. â€Å"Very smooth,† she said. â€Å"You've got four bucks left to your name.† Robert looked up. Rachel was almost to the door. â€Å"Rachel!† She turned and waited, an elegant hand on an exquisite hip. â€Å"I'm staying at The Breeze's trailer.† He told her the phone number. â€Å"Call me, okay?† Rachel smiled. â€Å"Okay, Robert, I'll call.† She turned to walk out. Robert called out to her again. â€Å"You haven't seen The Breeze, have you?† Rachel grimaced. â€Å"Robert, just being in the same room with The Breeze makes me want to take a bath in bleach.† â€Å"Come on, he's a fun guy.† â€Å"He's a fun-gus,† Rachel said. â€Å"But have you seen him?† â€Å"No.† â€Å"Thanks,† he said. â€Å"Call me.† â€Å"I will.† She turned and walked out. When she opened the door, light spilling in blinded Robert. When his vision returned, a little man in a red stocking cap was sitting next to him. He hadn't seen him come in. To Mavis the little man said, â€Å"Could I trouble you for a small quantity of salt?† â€Å"How about a margarita with extra salt, handsome?† Mavis batted her spider-lashes. â€Å"Yes, that will be good. Thank you.† Robert looked the little man over for a moment, then turned away to watch the pool game while he contemplated his destiny. Maybe this job for Rachel was his way out. Strange, though, things didn't seem to be bad enough yet. And the idea that Rachel could be his fairy godmother in disguise made him smile. No, the downward spiral to salvation was going quite nicely. The Breeze was missing. The rent was due. He had made enemies with a crazed Mexican drug dealer, and it was driving him nuts trying to figure out where he had seen the stranger at the pool table. The game was still going strong. Slick was running the balls with machinelike precision. When he did miss, the stranger cleared the table with a series of impossible, erratic, curving shots, while the crowd watched with their jaws hanging, and Slick broke into a nervous sweat. Slick McCall had been the undisputed king of eight ball at the Head of the Slug Saloon since before it had been called the Head of the Slug. The bar had been the Head of the Wolf for fifty years, until Mavis grew tired of the protests of drunken environmentalists, who insisted that timber wolves were an endangered species and that the saloon was somehow sanctioning their killing. One day she had taken the stuffed wolf head that hung over the bar to the Salvation Army and had a local artist render a giant slug head in fiberglass to replace it. Then she changed the sign and waited for some half-wit from the Save the Slugs Society to show up and protest. It never happened. In business, as in politics, the public is ever so tolerant of those who slime. Years ago, Slick and Mavis had come to a mutually beneficial business agreement. Mavis allowed Slick to make his living on her pool table, and in return, Slick agreed to pay her twenty percent of his winnings and to excuse himself from the Slug's annual eight-ball tournament. Robert had been coming into the Slug for seven years and in that time he had never seen Slick rattled over a pool game. Slick was rattled now. Occasionally some tourist who had won the Sheep's Penis Kansas Nine-Ball tournament would come into the Slug puffed up like the omnipotent god of the green felt, and Slick would return him to Earth, deflating his ego with gentle pokes from his custom-made, ivory-inlaid cue. But those fellows played within the known laws of physics. The dark stranger played as if Newton had been dropped on his head at birth. To his credit, Slick played his usual methodical game, but Robert could tell that he was afraid. When the stranger sank the eight ball in a hundred-dollar game, Slick's fear turned to anger and he threw his custom cue across the room like a crazed Zulu. â€Å"Goddammit, boy, I don't know how you're doing it, but no one can shoot like that.† Slick was screaming into the stranger's face, his fists were balled at his sides. â€Å"Back off,† the stranger said. All the boyishness drained from his face. He could have been a thousand years old, carved in stone. His eyes were locked on Slick's. â€Å"The game is over.† He might have been stating that â€Å"water is wet.† It was truth. It was deadly serious. Slick reached into the pocket of his jeans, fished out a handful of crumpled twenties, and threw them on the table. The stranger picked up the bills and walked out. Slick retrieved his stick and began taking it apart. The daytime regulars remained silent, allowing Slick to gather his dignity. â€Å"That was like a fucking bad dream,† he said to the onlookers. The comment hit Robert like a sock full of birdshot. He suddenly remembered where he had seen the stranger. The dream of the desert came back to him with crippling clarity. He turned back to his beer, stunned. â€Å"You want a margarita?† Mavis asked him. She was holding a baseball bat she had pulled from under the bar when things had heated up at the pool table. Robert looked to the stool next to him. The little man was gone. â€Å"He saw that guy make one shot and ran out of here like his ass was on fire,† Mavis said. Robert picked up the margarita and downed its frozen contents in one gulp, giving himself an instant headache. Outside on the street Travis and Catch headed toward the service station. â€Å"Well, maybe you should learn to shoot pool if you're going to get money this way.† â€Å"Maybe you could pay attention when I call a shot.† â€Å"I didn't hear you. I don't understand why we just don't steal our money.† â€Å"I don't like to steal.† â€Å"You stole from the pimp in L.A.† â€Å"That was okay.† â€Å"What's the difference?† â€Å"Stealing is immoral.† â€Å"And cheating at pool isn't?† â€Å"I didn't cheat. I just had an unfair advantage. He had a custom-made pool cue. I had you to push the balls in.† â€Å"I don't understand morality.† â€Å"That's not surprising.† â€Å"I don't think you understand it either.† â€Å"We have to pick up the car.† â€Å"Where are we going?† â€Å"To see an old friend.† â€Å"You say that everywhere we go.† â€Å"This is the last one.† â€Å"Sure.† â€Å"Be quiet. People are looking.† â€Å"You're trying to be tricky. What's morality?† â€Å"It's the difference between what is right and what you can rationalize.† â€Å"Must be a human thing.† â€Å"Exactly.†

My Grandmother’s Passing

Each one of us has experienced something In our lives that has left us devastated, for me It was my Grandmothers passing. She was the person who cared for me part- time as a young child and became my sole guardian when I was nine years old, after it was found I was being sexually abused by my uncle on my mothers' side of the family. She became a person who made me smile, and helped me through rough times as a teenager.She taught me how to read, right from wrong, and encouraged me to do great things despite my Dyslexia and Hearing Loss, so when I had learned he had less than a year to live I was heartbroken, angry, and determined to provide her with as much support as I possibly could. In November of 201 2 Grandma fell while getting ready for me to pick her up for doctor's appointment. It was the first sign something was wrong with her. I found her an hour after it happened. She was too weak to get up and was to disorient to recall who I was.She kept referring to me as Janice her lat e daughter who died when she was only six. It took until January for a diagnosis to be found. She had MEDS that had progressed to ML a type of leukemia, with her being In such a ad shape and weak the doctors said it would be inhumane for us to try Chemotherapy, and it was so far progressed it wouldn't extend her life by much, and what life she had should be cherished now Instead of sitting and feeling Ill by medication to only prolong her life by feeling Ill and miserable. I was terrified of losing my Grandma, what if could not make it on my own in the world?I felt I still needed her guidance and love; that I was unable live in a world that terrified me so much, it's hard to admit you're afraid of so much when you're twenty-six years old. The anger ate at me, and I often wondered how I could go about my day with out feeling anger for having her taken away from me, she was eighty-six years old, and surely she could live another 10 years. I was upset and found myself angry with my hal f-sister who had four beautiful children, who weren't even related by blood to my grandma, The woman who took such good care of me as a child was never shown just how much she meant to me.She knew nearly all my secrets and held on to them so tightly. Nevertheless, I felt angry, depressed, and was even more determined to make sure her that leading up to her death, I would dedicate all my time to making sure she new how much she meant to me. She spent her first few months after being diagnosed In a nursing home. She begged and pleaded with my dad to take her home; she missed her books and her 1 OFF wasn't eating, and unable to recognize, or think clearly some of the time. I think it was hard on my Dad to see his mom dying.It was hard on all of us, but to me she was my mother now too, and rescued me from an awful past. I made the decision to bring her home, back to her apartment where I was living alone surrounded by all re things. I pleaded with my dad for him to release her into my c are, and after several weeks of trying the day finally came. She was heading home; she was thrilled, and all the while I couldn't stop to think of what was to come. Taking care of someone who is terminal is a big choice and responsibility.I made the choice because she took care of me, and I felt she shouldn't spend her last months surrounded by strangers who neglected her. Often I would be at the nursing home, and find her sitting in soiled sheets, needing personal assistance with grooming, and thirsty with an empty cup sitting beside her bed. I came daily, several times a day, only to find the same things even when I talked to staff at the nursing home. She was never bothered with the neglect, even when she was lucid she would shrug her shoulders and simply state they were busy.When I asked if there way anything she liked it was simple things, someone to paint her nails bright red, her favorite color, maybe someone to sit and talk to her or simply watch golf, things that were famil iar to her. We ignored the elephant in the room, the thought her dying, I wouldn't allow myself to focus on it. I made sure that ever moment I spent with her I filled with memories, we talked about secrets, she hardly remembered me, but she still remembered all her secrets. I learned so much about her life as a wild child running off to marry a man in the US Military.How her family forbid it being they were immigrants right before WI. So much history was lost along with my grandmother's death. My grandma was of Germanic decent and spoke English, Japanese, American Sign Language, and German all fluently by the time of her death. Her death didn't come as a shock by any means; it did not sneak up on me. I knew that night she would be gone by morning, and so did she. It was Monday night September 17, 2012 that we were watching TV together in her room. She could no longer walk; she went from bibs to 91 lbs in 9 months.She looked over at me and said, â€Å"I'm going to die tonight. I can feel it, Janice. † I didn't try to comfort her, or tell her no she will be fine. I knew Just as well as she did that her body was too weak. She had chose to not have and life sustaining measures taken, I was not allowed to perform CPRM, she would not be on oxygen, and she would not have a gastric feeding be or nasal-gastric feeding tube. She did not have any food in probably two days, when you are dying your body shuts down slowly, and you require less, and don't feel hunger.I simply responded back with, â€Å"l know Grandma, do you want me to stay in your room tonight with you? † For which she simply stated it was time for me to go to bed. She died early the next morning in her sleep September 18, 2012 approximately 4:AMA. I had always teased her that if she was going to die she better do it with a smile on her face, and when I found her she seemed so peacefully asleep with a mark placed on her face. Her death affected me in so many ways.I won't ever forget what it wa s like to care for her and be her hospice nurse, friend, and family. I did it on my own. The worst fear. I learned I had strength and courage, that I could face things that ultimately scared me to my core. She had always wanted me to go to college and become a nurse, and reminded me that often when she recalled who I was. I know that I have the emotional strength to become a nurse, but I rather teach. We always had English in common; she would have me practice spelling, writing, punctuation, ND even grammar with her.She said if I could not hear the world completely, or ever learn to speak my mind through my slight autism, then I need to be able to write it, and write it well. My ability to convey myself in English both written, and orally where her main goal when raising me, and I hope that for some other person who has struggled so hard in the beginning of their life I can help them to convey their emotions and thoughts as well, because with out her teaching me to read, write, and understand love I wouldn't have become the selfless person I am today.