Category: My stories

I’ve been using gMail as a mail client for years now.
I just point and click things.
Today, I accidentally hit the question mark in gMail.
It brought up a keyboard shortcuts page.
I’ve never seen that shortcuts page before.
Not that I’d use them. It’s pretty simple to point and click things.
Although there’s one shortcut I know I might use.
The question mark.
It’s right there on the page.
Maybe if I’d known about it, I’d have used it.
Which is why they put it on the keyboard shortcuts page in the first place.
For dummies like me.

I’m not what you would call the most stable person.
I don’t deal well with change.
So, I bought a bunch of self-help books.
You know the kind:
Throwing the elephant.
Who moved my cheese.
Don’t sweat the small stuff.
Those kind of simple wisdom things that work well when you’re a rich author who’s hoodwinked people into buying your crap writing, but doesn’t work in practice.
My shelf is full of these paperbacks.
And over the years, the sun has bleached the spines so they’re all faded and white.
Which is fine. They’re all the same useless crap anyway.

Walter was never meant to be king.
His older brothers were all given titles and land and trained how to rule.
Each built castles on their lands and liked them so much, they never came home.
While Walter puttered around the royal castle, kicking the dirt.
When Walter’s father died, the brothers went to war with each other for the crown.
And the winner was… Walter.
The brothers and their armies had all destroyed each others castles and killed each other.
Leaving Walter with the crown and the royal castle.
He hired good advisors and puttered around, shrugging and smiling.

Bob got a promotion.
Now, he’s training and mentoring all the new employees.
And he’s doing a good job of it.
In fact, he’s doing too good a job of it.
He’s trained a whole lot of new employees.
Especially now that a bunch are leaving.
Bob’s trained them up way too good.
And Bob’s been coaching the employees to find a better place to work where they will get paid for their skills.
“The more new employees, the better I get at my job,” he says.
Just as he turned in his notice.
For a better-paying trainer job elsewhere.

Lucien Sloan.
A real piece of work.
We’ve tried to put him away for all he’s done.
But nothing sticks to the guy.
Literally. Nothing sticks to the guy.
No matter what you throw at him, it slides off.
It’s like his skin is made of Teflon.
Turn a hose on him, and he’s dry in ten seconds.
Same goes for blood… none on his hands.
That bandage on his finger.
That didn’t stick, either.
It’s how he got that infection.
The antibiotic patch he was prescribed?
Slid right off.
We picked up the body this morning.
Cancel the warrant.

As a young boy, researcher Albert Bandura was attacked and molested by clowns.
So, later in life, he conducted experiments on clowns.
Adults beat the crap out of blow-up clowns, then the kids would be left alone and observed.
Sure enough, the kids learned from the adults, and they beat the blow-up clowns too.
They even learned from videos of adults beating on the blow-up clowns.
People point to this research as groundbreaking, demonstrating the power of media to influence children.
But the truth is, Bandura hated clowns, and he wanted to raise a child army to beat all clowns.

My upstairs neighbors have been quiet.
No stomping around, crying, and screaming.
Or coming down to ask me to help with resumes or visa applications or other paperwork.
Or, I suppose, dropping their baby from the window.
So, I went upstairs.
The mezuzah on their doorframe is gone.
I guess they left.
On the one hand, it’s a relief not to hear the stomping and screaming and all that.
On the other hand, a simple goodbye and thank you would have been nice.
I’ll settle for the lack of stomping and screaming as a thank you.
Or, an I’m sorry.

It took years for Ted to build up his business.
He personally hired everyone in the company.
From the factory floor to upper management.
And he had a good relationship with everyone.
So when the pandemic hit and orders dried up, he worried about having to lay everyone off.
He had to do something. Anything.
So, Ted gave everyone a huge check to help them through the downturn.
Ted became a media darling for his generosity.
But when they tried to cash the checks, the checks bounced.
Ted had cleaned out the company’s bank accounts and fled to New Zealand.

Days after he finished filming Soylent Green, Edward G Robinson died.
And according to his will, he wanted Charlton Heston to eat his corpse.
“Not raw,” said the will. “You’re not a savage or an animal, right?”
Robinson’s estate provided for the best of chefs, access to his extensive wine collection, and the utmost discretion.
Heston was horrified. More horrified than when he found out that his friend was dying.
And even more horrified than when he found out he’d have to film a death scene with him.
“Just a salad, please,” said Charlton, sipping some wine. “This is excellent.”

It was a show set in a small town in the woods.
A courthouse, a sheriff, a few stores and streets, and a small lake for the best fishing around.
Nothing much changed in the town.
The same stuff on the shelves in the general store.
The same movie at the theatre.
The same people in the park.
And the same toaster and iron on the counter of the fix-it shop.
For thirteen years.
You would think the owner would stop by now and then to ask about those broken things.
Or maybe they gave up and bought new ones.