“Where did you get the wound?” asked his boss as he closed the garage door.
The young man shrugged.
“It looks bad. Go to the hospital. Get that checked.”
He nodded and walked away.
“Weird kid. I better check if anything is going on in here.”
The boss opened the door and looked around. Nothing was out of place.
As he closed the door, he saw it. He walked closer.
It was the kid.
Before the night was over, there would be two of him as well.
This was just the beginning of the end.
I love fast food, microwave meals and TV dinners. I’ve no time to mess about preparing, baking and basting. A good meal to me comes in a bag you boil, or a tray slung into the microwave. Better still, just add boiling water, and I’m a happy man.
Tonight, I was not happy.
My new girlfriend had insisted on a meal out at a posh restaurant, and there was nothing on the menu I wanted.
“You’ve no pot noodle, microwave fries or any convenience foods at all?” I asked the waiter, exasperated.
“No sir, we do apologise for the inconvenience!”
We apologise for the inconvenience
I was at the airport when it happened, flying out to the UN Emergency Conference on, well, everything. Covid-20 even deadlier than Covid-19, escalating threats from the nuclear powers, the Indo-Pakistan war, then the Yellowstone supervolcano.
An announcement came over the PA system. “Attention all passengers. Civilisation has fallen. Passengers should only embark if travelling directly home. Once all remaining flights have departed this airport will close permanently. Personal message for Dr. Brezoianu. The conference has been abandoned, because what’s the point? Apologies for the inconvenience.”
I walked out of the airport and drove home to wait for the end.
The sign may say ‘convenience store’ but the fact is, it’s for my convenience, not yours.
If anything, I’m the one being inconvenienced by your presence here. Taking up my time, messing up my displays, touching things that don’t belong to you and asking idiot questions.
I’m not here to help you, it was your choice to walk through the door, I never asked you to.
So don’t complain when I refuse to serve you, shower you with abuse and throw you out on the street.
I’m not going to apologise.
But you can apologise to me, for my inconvenience!
“We apologize for the inconvenience,” said the metallic voice. It sounded like a cross between Jimmy Seward and Gene Hackman. We had already broken up all the furniture, torn up every book in the library. “I feel like the little match girl,” muffled Linda from beneath her double scarf. “I wonder if you can make wine burn.” We were running out of single toilet paper sheets. I fell asleep about 3:45. Sometime during the night lukewarm air fill the apartment. “One more day,” I said to Linda, “It’s not the days I fear, it’s the nights,” said she.
Linoliamanda took her phone from the back pocket of her blue jeans. “Hi Dad. Oh.”
She took the phone from her ear and pressed, audio. A recorded voice said, “Your call is very important to us. Please remain on the line and a service agent will be with you shortly. We apologize for the inconvenience.” A computer generated orchestral arrangement of “Livin’ la Vida Loca” began.
Billbert scratched his head. “Didn’t your father call you?”
“Yes.” Linoliamanda nodded, smiling. “He does this all the time. He’s a very busy man.”
A man’s angry voice broke in, “Linny. Where are you?”
We are The Apologists.
We are hired to apologize on behalf of others.
Whatever it is, we come up with a sincere apology and then apologize to the people demanding an apology.
Or we write up the apology and hand the script to the person needing to apologize, and they deliver it.
Virtual technology allows us now to puppeteer a person delivering an apology.
Sometimes, the people who hire us don’t pay us for our work.
So, we render up a new puppet of them.
And we make them say something horrible that they will really need to apologize for.