Category: My stories

“I do,” said Bobby and Kathy.
“Til death do you part,” said the preacher.
It wasn’t a bad marriage. Wasn’t great, either.
So, years later when Bobby’s heart stopped, Kathy assumed the marriage was over.
The paramedics used CPR to bring Bobby back, but by then, Kathy was a free woman.
“We’ll take him to the hospital, okay?” said the paramedics.
“Fine, whatever,” said Kathy.
She put her hands behind her back and took off her rings.
As the paramedics put Bobby on a stretcher and loaded him into the ambulance, Kathy asked what they were doing after their shift.

Bob Saget the comedian died alone in an Orlando hotel room after performing standup for two hours.
He was found by hotel staff after he failed to check out in the morning.
It seems he’d checked out long before then.
If only he’d been fucking around with a hooker or two, they’d have been there to call an ambulance, go down the hall for the defibrillator, or something that could have helped.
If they had actually slept with him after all the fucking, of course.
Although, being hookers, they could have also stolen his wallet, his watch, and other valuables.

The monsters and I made a deal.
They get three bushels of corn a week.
And all the thieves they can eat.
Considering how much the thieves stole, three bushels a week is a bargain.
Plus, the monsters give me everything the thieves had.
Wallets, Boots. Cell phones. Nose rings.
That kind of stuff.
The clothes I sell to Goodwill.
Well, the clothes that don’t fit.
The stuff I sell at pawn shops.
Because I don’t have receipts.
“Didn’t we just eat you?” say the monsters.
“I’m just wearing their stuff,” I say.
And put down three bushels of corn.

Your parents don’t love you.
Or your brother.
So, you’ll stay with us.
We’ll raise you.
We’ll teach you right.
We’ll make you successful.
We’ll make you popular.
We’ll open doors for you.
But you can’t be you anymore.
Anna Marie is dead.
You’re Patty now.
Drink this.
Take these pills.
Talk like this.
Dress like this.
When people ask you questions, say these things.
Your name up in lights…
Patty, not Anna Marie.
And you’ll be on Broadway.
You’ll be on the big screen.
You’ll be on the small screen.
You’ll be loved everywhere.
But you’ll never love yourself.

Every day, a possum visits my patio.
And I put out cat food for it.
The possum sniffs around, eats the food, and then wanders off.
During a pointless argument and project delay, I pointed my laptop camera out the window during a work meeting.
There were a lot of questions about the possum.
And then the team adopted the possum as our mascot.
And they made a logo with the possum.
Just as the project was falling apart.
I think it was the first and only time that the team actually accomplished something without weeks of debate and mistakes.

The first rule of security cameras is that if you don’t see security cameras, then the cameras are well-hidden.
However, the second rule of security cameras is to make them visible so that people know they are there.
Then there’s the third rule: it’s cheaper to put a sign up that says there are security cameras, even though there aren’t any security cameras.
Because if people can’t see a security camera, they know they must be well-hidden.
Still, it pays to look, because if you’re like me, someone who steals and fences security camera, they can be worth a lot.

So, I made a LinkedIn account.
Connected with a bunch of coworkers and people I went to school with.
And then, I let it sit for a few years.
Every now and then, someone requests a connection.
Or there’s a bunch of people congratulating me for a work anniversary.
Then there’s the waves of connection requests by coworkers.
Usually, that a sign something bad is coming.
They ask me for recommendations.
So, I agree, and then the prospective employer calls me, I tell them the truth:
“You know what? I recommend that you hire me instead.”
And I hang up.

Long ago, I was in a Fourth of July Parade in Deerfield, Illinois.
We were doing the Boston Tea Party, dressed up in Indian war paint and throwing sturdy carboard boxes at the crowd that were painted to look like tea chests.
Helpers would gather and stack the boxes back up for us to throw again.
Celebrating cultural appropriation and defamation for patriotic purposes.
Tossing those boxes, we bonked a few people on the head.
One of the metal clips came loose from a box and tore up a few people’s hands and heads until they put that box away.

On Saturday, I like to walk to the grocery store.
I bring a pair of reusable bags, because the handles of paper and plastic bags are prone to breaking.
There are several grocery stores within walking distance.
Each has a different route, some along ugly streets and some through nice subdivisions with sidewalks and tree cover.
I sweat a lot on these walks, and cashiers ask if I’ve been running.
“No,” I say. “I’ve been walking. If I had been running, I’d have gotten here sooner.”
I’d probably have sweated less, being out in the Texas sun that much less.

Remember McGruff the Crime Dog?
He was a bloodhound in a trench coat that gave crime prevention tips.
But the truth was, Mcgruff was an actual crime dog.
He committed crimes.
Mostly robberies, stealing audio-visual equipment and computers from the schools he’d visit.
But sometimes, he’d sell drugs,
I mean, he had a whole display case full of them, and they weren’t just props.
They were real, and after the show, he’d sell them to the teachers and administration.
Why not, right?
But never to the kids.
I mean, he may have been a criminal, but he wasn’t a hypocrite.