Category: My stories

I think back to my days at the TV station.
There were a lot of people who said “This is the way we always do things.”
The general manager had an elderly secretary.
She had a lot of things to do for him, and I ended up having to do them for her.
Mail merges, contract templates, and other things.
I scanned every address in, merged them to letters and envelopes.
I got sick of doing her job for her, so I quit.
Because that’s the way they always did things.
Drive the new guy mad, and drive him away

If you stand in front of a mirror and tell yourself that you’re a good person, that does not make you a good person.
Instead, go out and be a good person to be a good person.
Then, after you’re done being a good person, stand in front of that mirror and tell yourself that you’re a good person.
The best way to stop standing in front of that mirror is to not own a mirror big enough to stand in front of.
Or to go skiing and break your legs so you stop standing in front of that mirror.

Years ago, the preacher just had a small booth at the market.
Now, he’s set up in a big building.
Lines up his bottles of miracle cure on the table.
And the guards open the doors.
The people come from all around.
Each putting their donations in the bags before entering the hall.
They watch as he blesses the bottles, prays with them, and all shout AMEN.
Drinking it, rubbing it on their bodies.
Putting the bottles in recycling crates.
At the end of the day, he returns home.
Refills the bottles from his sink.
And goes to sleep, happy.

Dan just started his tenth season in the league.
Ten years is a long time.
Lots of players get injured or killed long before then.
Make it to ten years, and you get you an X on your right sleeve.
There’s a whole ceremony around it.
With the team outfitter sewing the X on your sleeve.
It goes over the V that you got for your fifth year in the league.
Nobody’s gone fifteen years in the league.
After your fourteenth years, you go in the Hall of Fame.
Literally.
Mummified, sealed in a coffin, under a shiny bronze plaque.

I bought a ticket for a movie this afternoon.
And I’ll use my long-dusty loyalty points for a free small popcorn and small drink.
I’m done with the LARGE and HUGE and FREE DIABETES SCREENING AT THE HOSPITAL NEXT DOOR sizes.
I wonder if can sit through a two hour movie without having to go to the bathroom during it.
If I can’t, then this will be the last ticket I’ll buy to a movie.
Goodbye, overpriced drinks.
Goodbye, sticky floors.
Goodbye, overpriced oily popcorn.
Goodbye, expensive parking.
Goodbye, obnoxious children in the audiences of R movies.
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

Alfonse keeps the sacred books.
“Alfonse, Keeper of The Sacred Books” is his title.
It’s painted on his front door.
He keeps the sacred books in a closet in his cellar.
Every now and then, the priests come by and go into the cellar, open the closet, and study the books.
Then they put the books back, thank Alfonse, and head back to their homes.
Sometimes, they arrive with some new books to put in the closet.
And other times, they take away some books.
“These are no longer sacred,” say the priests.
Alfonse nods, and starts up the fireplace.

I’ve lived in this city for thirty-four years, and in this neighborhood for twenty-one of them.
And there’s some restaurants that have been around longer, but I’ve never been to them.
When I drive past or walk past, I wonder what it’s like there.
Are they any good?
So, for this week off, I made a list, and I went to every one of them.
And sure enough, I now know if they’re any good.
Most were quite awful.
So when I drive past or walk past, instead of “What is it like?” it’s now “Oh God not that place.”

The apartment complex has gates around the parking lot.
But the gates are open and the controls are broken.
They posted signs that nobody reads,.
NO TRESPASSING. NO UNATHORIZED PARKING.
As if. Not happening.
They hired an app to handle parking registration.
Enter in a bunch of information on your phone.
No stickers. No passes to hang from your rear view mirror.
How the hell will they know who’s supposed to be there or not?
I see moving trucks loading up every day, loading up the fed-up former residents.
I wonder if they’ve registered those moving trucks for guest parking?

April and May are my favorite months to sit outside.
My jasmine is usually in bloom by then.
One flower, then a few, then all of them.
I have a chaise lounger for sitting out.
And a table to put iced tea on.
There’s no electrical outlet out there, so I run a cord through the window so I can plug in a fan.
That’s useful towards the end of May, when the heat shows up and stays.
And the jasmine flowers fall off, one by one, then faster and faster, until there’s none left.
I wait for April again.

Rick got up from his barstool and went to the bathroom.
He saw a phone number scrawled on the stall… for a good time call…
So, he did. He got out his phone and called the number.
There was a knock on the stall door. Rick opened it.
A man in a chauffeur’s suit was standing there.
“Come with me, sir,” said the man.
Rick washed his hands, dried them off, and left the bar with the chauffeur.
And he got in a white limo, and was never seen again.
One can only hope that he had a good time.