Category: My stories

To the saint, it is a travesty that there is no Heaven.
To the sinner, it is a relief that there is no Hell.
I walk through Eternity’s mist, looking for a sign of anything… anyone…
But there is nothing but the light and the mist.
I am walking on something, aren’t I?
The mist doesn’t just settle on vast emptiness, does it?
I kneel down, and feel what I think should be the ground.
The mist bothers my eyes.
I have eyes. And hands to feel, legs to bend with.
So I keep walking through the mist, never stopping.

I remember that I once met Aretha Franklin, but I don’t remember when or where.
Bossy. Rude. Unpleasant.
Maybe it was her health bothering her, she was unhealthy and sick most of her life.
That can take a toll on a person’s psyche.
Some stranger, bothering you for something.
Even if they’re just saying hello or thanking you, but giving you your space.
I’ve met others who were gracious and pleasant and friendly.
Dom DeLuise was an absolute sweetheart.
He was unhealthy and sick most of his life, but he loved life and people.
Unlike that bitch Aretha, I guess.

A coworker gave me a baseball bat.
Engraved on the side is “You’re being awfully quiet today.”
There’s some days I don’t feel like talking.
And when people notice, they say I’m being awfully quiet.
There’s no good response to that.
Because if I answer, I have to talk.
Kind of defeats the purpose of staying silent.
Usually, I’ll raise an eyebrow.
Or just ignore them.
It’s not them, really.
It’s me. I don’t feel like talking.
Not specifically to them, but anyone.
No particular reason.
No particular feeling.
I just don’t feel like talking.
Or talking about it, really.

You don’t say that a guy’s getting divorced.
Instead, you say “He’s moving in with his Uncle Bob.”
We load up the truck with whatever he thinks he’s going to get to keep, and we head down to Bob’s Storage Facility.
Pick up a key from Bob in the office, enter the gate code, and drive down the alley until we get to the right unit.
“Hey, we’re neighbors!” says one of the guys. He’s got the next unit over.
We unload the truck, lock the door, and head down to the bar.
“To Bob!” we shout, and we drink.

Ted’s doctor ran a few tests, and the numbers weren’t great.
“You’re fat and your cholesterol is too high,” said the doctor. “You need to go on a plant-based diet.”
Ted started a food diary.
Every time he ate an animal-based product, he’d buy a plant-based substitute for it the next time he went to the store.
After a year, he lost a lot of weight, his numbers were much better, and he felt great.
Until the heart attack that killed him.
Three weeks after the funeral, Ted’s grave began to sprout something.
The cemetery gardeners pulled up the weeds.

I can’t carry over vacation days from year to year, so I end up using a bunch of them at the end of August and beginning of September.
I’d rather use them in October or April when the weather is nice, but my work anniversary is in early September.
I could use those days in October or April, but what if I need time off between April and September?
I don’t want to chance it. So, I save the vacation days up.
I thought about quitting and getting rehired in late October.
But I don’t want to chance that either.

On the way home from the store, I witnessed a car collision.
One car was going West on Westpark.
Another car was going East.
The car going East tried to turn left without a protected arrow.
The sign says left turn yield, but they didn’t yield.
They steered right into the other car, and they hit each other.
The driver going West got out of their car. They were fine.
The other driver… well… who gives a fuck, really?
They were a stupid asshole and idiot for turning without a protected left into the other person.
Fuck the stupid asshole..

Business picked up at Dan’s neighborhood bike shop around the holidays.
He mostly sold assembled bikes, but some fathers insisted on doing it themselves from the boxes.
Those were the ones who called Dan on Christmas Eve, and Dan would charge them a lot more for a house call.
Kids would want to try their bikes Christmas morning, on the icy sidewalks and roads.
Dan would make a few more bucks from repairs.
And the restocking and scratch-and-dent fees for returns.
He’d get them fixed up for the next holiday season.
He also sold rollerskates and rollerblades.
And wheelchairs, too.

Hillary Clinton had the most votes, but lost the election.
Some people say she deserves to be in the White House.
Others say that she deserves to be locked up.
I say let her in.
The media can watch her walk the red carpet and cheer.
Waving to the cameras, smiling wide in her favorite pantsuit.
Bill at her side, with that shit-eating grin.
Then put her in chains, drag her into the basement, and lock her up.
As for Bill, he can visit, if he wants.
When he’s not collecting bribes… I mean charitable donations.
Or fucking his mistresses.

Jose Hernandez was a gardener here at the university.
He wasn’t a very good gardener.
He never trimmed the hedges. He never watered the grass. He never weeded the flowerbeds.
Fifty years, he couldn’t do a damned thing right.
When he died, he left all of his money to the university.
“Build a memorial garden for me,” his will said.
So, we did.
It’s over there, in the middle of the parking lot.
We toss all of our dead plants there.
Downed tree limbs and branches.
Every year, we hold a bonfire.
And we start the pile all over again.