George does laundry

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Especially on laundry day.
If there weren’t any open washing machines, he’d dump someone’s finished load out on the floor and toss in his own.
How dare they make him wait? It’s called a timer.
Even though the washing machines said liquid only, he’d fill the little detergent drawer with powder.
And he’d overload the machine, cramming as much as he could in there.
No available dryers? Another finished load tossed on the floor.
The worst of it was him standing there naked, waiting for his clothes to dry.

McGeorge

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
Fear consumed him, and when faced with a decision, any decision, his inner dialogue drowned out any course of action.
George stood there, eyes wide open, but seeing nothing. Hearing none of the angry voices around him, the hands grabbing his arms and trying to shake him out of his paralysis.
Endless ”What if?” rolled around in his mind, and the crowd around him grew angrier and angrier, cursing and swearing.
The girl at the register looked past George. “Next please? Welcome to McDonalds, may I take your order?”

George and the eclipse

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
The captain was always looking for things for George to do, other than pirate stuff.
When the captain learned of an upcoming solar eclipse, he sailed into the total eclipse path.
“George, I know what you can do,” he said. “We don’t have time to sail to Walmart to get those special eclipse filter glasses. Can you scrounge the cargo hold and make some for us?”
George tried. And, well…
After the eclipse, the crew were covering their eyes and screaming.
“I’m sorry,” said George. “I’ll make more eyepatches.”

George thanks God

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
After a long and difficult week, George muttered “Thank God it’s Friday.”
The clouds parted, a light shone down, and a voice boomed “YOU’RE WELCOME!”
The light faded, and it began to rain.
George was left confused, frightened, and wet.
“What the fuck just happened?” said George, shaking and holding on to the railing to keep from fainting.
George looked around, but there was nobody there to ask: “Did you see that? Did you hear that?”
It was just George on the deck, standing there, soaked to the bone.

Weekly Challenge #996 – PICK TWO: What’s that beeping?, Signpost, Sample, In the movies, Ordered

The next topic is Pack

RICHARD

— Snooze —
What’s that beeping?
Mostly still asleep, brain barely functioning, it slowly dawns on you: The alarm is going off.
Clumsily, you fumble for the hateful thing at the side of the bed, hitting the snooze button, before crashing back into the pillows for the next ten minutes.
It’s not like this in the movies.
No -one ever hits snooze in films.
They either hurl the offending article across the room, or wake pleasantly refreshed; no yawning, hair and makeup pristine, sheets artfully draped across them, hiding anything remotely offensive.
The alarm sounds again.
I hit snooze.
Ten more minutes, please.

LISA

What’s that Beeping?
It hasn’t been a first date like in the movies. He’d come round to mine but my smoke alarm needed new batteries and was beeping. He went to get some and didn’t come back… not meant to be. I necked the wine and spent the evening scrolling facebook. Then I saw, in a local community group, a picture of a car wrapped around a signpost. One person seriously injured & taken to the General. It was him! I went straight to the hospital, pretended to be family and here I am listening to the beeping of his life support machine.

LIZZIE

That way. No, this way. And they continued to argue even though the signpost was right there. A policeman approached and asked where they were going. They stuttered. The policeman frowned. Bicycles, they said. The policeman pointed to the rent sign and waved them away. But… What if…, one of them started. The policeman rolled his eyes and jokingly asked where they hid the body. How did he know?! No more asking for directions. There was only one possible way. The End. Funny how an open-ended story can be as annoying as people who don’t know where they are going.

SERENDIPIDY

You passed the signpost a good half hour ago, the one that said three miles to go.
Surely, it can’t be much further?
You peer into the darkness… It’s the middle of nowhere, you’ve no signal and the satnav is blank.
Perhaps you took a wrong turning somewhere along the way?
Suddenly, the car engine stutters and dies. You roll slowly to a halt.
The silence presses in.
You’re alone.
Guess you should just sit tight until the morning and make the best of it.
Except it’s never quite that simple in the movies.
Are you afraid?
You should be!

TOM

It was a good Gig

Gary was a Federal Information Designer. His job was boring, but his hidden quest was bright and shine-y. He wanted highway signs to be bright and shine-y. His office was piled high with Sample Signposts. Lots of vermilion and forms straight out of the Memphis movement. For a dyed in the wool bureaucrat, he sure had a deep exult for glitter, I mean rainbow glitter. It of a tip there. The sample signpost that got him promoted had 47’s face in the middle. And it was gold plates. With orange lettering. It was impossible to understand, just like the man.

NORVAL JOE

“What’s that beeping?” Mandi asked as they climbed the ashlar steps to the open front door.

“It’s the panic alarm. Wait here,” Billbert said, levitated, and soundlessly entered the house.

Like a scene in the movies, a man in a mask held a gun on Billbert’s parents.

His mother made eye contact and quickly looked away. Fortified by her superpower of efficiency, Billbert knew what to do when she nodded.

He shot forward as both his parents dropped to the floor. Billbert grabbed the intruder, lifted him, and slammed him into the wall.

The gun flew from the thug’s hand.

NORVAL JOE

After weed had been decriminalized in the city, Bradley sold at the late night Pink Floyd show at the Science Center planetarium.
“We’re here to make sure everybody plays nice,” said the cops.
Bradley thanked them for their service, offered up free samples.
Bradley went back to selling, checking IDs and taking photos to cover his ass if someone was buying for a kid again.
Bradley was a businessman, not a crook.
“Come back when you’re 21,” he’d say.
Parents appreciated that. And then bought from him.
He even got an entrepreneur of the year award from the Rotary Club.

George the sculptor

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He spent an unusual amount of time exploring the arts and humanities instead of hunting for treasure.
Where other pirates would loot a museum, he’d walk the halls, listening to the tour guide, appreciating the art, and admiring the brush strokes and chisel angles.
He tried his hand at sculpture, creating a pirate figure out of butter.
It won second place at the State Fair.
Proud of his work, he brought it back to the ship.
His crewmates spread it over their bread.
George grumbled, and swabbed the deck.

George and the avocados

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
He fell for lots of scams.
One time, he took a pamphlet from a group at the airport, and he ended up on an avocado farm wearing an orange robe.
He enjoyed harvesting avocados, but missed being a pirate.
So when the farm was raided by pirates, he asked if he could join them.
It was his old crew.
“No,” they said. “We’ve been doing great without you.”
The last sack of avocados they hauled away was unusually heavy.
Safely aboard, George crawled out and smiled.
Home at last.

George the garage sale addict

GEORGE WAS A PIRATE, BUT HE WASN’T A VERY GOOD PIRATE.
INSTEAD OF RAIDING TOWNS AND SHIPS FOR USEFUL THINGS, LIKE FOOD AND AMMUNITION AND SUPPLIES, HE’D LOOT FLEAMARKETS AND GARAGE SALES, AND HAUL BACK A PILE OF JUNK.
“THERE’S NOTHING QUITE LIKE THE FEEL OF A CLASSIC WEIGHTED KEYBOARD WITH SPRINGS AND INDIVIDUAL KEYS,” SAID GEORGE, TAPPING THE KEYS AND HEARING THAT SATISFYING LOUD CLACK. “YOU DON’T GET THAT WITH THOSE THIN APPLE KEYBOARDS OR THOSE CHEAP PLASTIC ONES.”
“WHY ARE YOU SHOUTING EVERYTHING?” ASKED THE CAPTAIN.
GEORGE PUSHED THE SHIFT KEY A FEW TIMES. “I THINK IT’S STUCK.”

George the storyteller

George had two tickets to The Moth.
Nobody wanted the other ticket, so he went alone.
He thought he was signing a guestbook, but it was the speakers list.
When they called his name, George was confused, but they pushed him to the stage.
He adjusted the microphone, took a sip of water, and said:
“I am a pirate, but…”
He hesitated, sipped more water, and said “But I’m not a very good pirate.”
He told stories for hours, the timekeeper just as mesmerized as the crowd.
When George finished, no applause, not a sound.
Just the spotlight and silence.

George’s escape room

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate.
After he was fired from his job, he built a pirate-themed escape room.
Customers were thrown into a locked room and told that they were being held until someone paid the ransom.
“This is lame,” said a customer. “Where’s the puzzles? Let us out!”
Only when George got the money were they told they’d won, and were released.
Pretty soon, George’s escape room got a reputation as a scam.
But before the cops could arrest him, George escaped, and had gotten another pirate job, and was back at sea.