When To Know It’s Time For A Career Change

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“I think it’s time for a career change,” said Darcy to her friends.

“You love sales,” said Audrey.

“And you’re really awesome at it,” added Jane.

Darcy responded with a pained expression. “I don’t think I have a choice.”

“Why? What happened?” asked Jane.

“I got fired.”

“What?” said Audrey and Jane in unison.

“I was taking my boss and a client to a job site. They both wanted to stop for a coffee on the way, so we hit a drive-through,” said Darcy.

Both friends followed Darcy’s words with rapt attention.

“Long story short, I mistook the garbage cans for the place to give our order. I didn’t realize. I don’t drink coffee and never go to those places,” pleaded Darcy.

“Embarrassing, but not worth losing your job over,” said Audrey.

“Well, an employee of the coffee place was changing the garbages and started laughing at me. I was so mad and humiliated I just wanted to get away, so I rolled up my window and drove to the pickup window.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” said Jane.

Darcy looked off into the distance. “I caught the guy’s safety vest in my window and dragged him across the parking lot.”

“Is he okay?” asked Audrey.

“He’s still in the hospital with a broken leg, concussion, and who knows what else,” said Darcy.

“That would be devastating,” said Jane.

“That’s not all,” said Darcy, timidly.

Jane rolled her eyes.

“We went to that coffee place specifically because the client’s son works there.”

“Don’t tell me,” said Jane.

“I nearly killed my client’s kid,” said Darcy.

“C’mon. You gotta be kidding,” said Jane.

“I was so fired,” said Darcy.

“Oh, Darcy. What are you going to do?” asked Audrey.

“Like I said, it’s time for a new career.”

A glint formed in Jane’s eye. “I heard of a vacancy that just opened up at a coffee place.”

Posted in career, career change, coffee, drive-through, fiction, flash fiction, friends, humor, humour, sales, short fiction, short story, story | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The Hashtag Mystery

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“I joined the Twitterverse,” announced Darren’s mom.

“Way to catch up with society, mom,” replied Darren sarcastically.

“I tweeted my first twit.”

Darren laughed. “The message is a tweet. A twit is the fool who reads it.”

“Then you better call yourself a twit, ‘cause you’ll be following your mother.”

“Aw, mom.”

“Don’t ‘Aw, mom’ me. I need at least one follower.”

“Okay. What’s your screen name?”

“You’ll love it. I’m ‘TherealDarrensmom’,” she said.

Darren choked. “No. That’s humiliating. You can’t do that.”

“Absolutely I can. But there’s one thing I don’t get. What’s a hashtag? I mean, its the pound sign.”

“Only if you were born in the 1950’s,” quipped Darren.

“Watch it.”

“Sorry.”

“Still, where did the term come from? Hashtag. What is hash?”

“If you don’t know…”

“I know what it means. But they don’t tag hash. It doesn’t make sense,” said Darren’s mom.

“You could google it.”

“Like everything on the internet is true. I’m not that gullible,” said Darren’s mom skeptically.

Darren smiled. “At least we won’t need to send you to remedial internet lessons.”

“I’m more tech savvy than you think, young man. Still, I’m not so sure about these hashtag things.”

“Think of them a ways of connecting people.”

“I know what they do, I just don’t know why they’re called that.”

Darren put his hand on his mom’s shoulder. “Just think of it as one of the great mysteries of the modern age.”

Posted in fiction, flash fiction, hashtag, humor, humour, internet, mom, mother, short fiction, short story, son, story, tweet, twitter | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Snow is a 4-Letter Word

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Vicki burst through the front door, then locked it behind her.

“I hate winter!” she shouted.

Lucius poked his head from the kitchen. “How was your day?”

“Brutal. Awful. You’ll never guessed what happened.”

“You got in a fight with winter?”

“You have no idea,” declared Vicki.

“Tell me all about it,” said Lucius, sympathetically.

Vicki flopped onto a dining room chair. “I went to the drug store after work to pick up a few things.”

“Did you remember shampoo?”

“Yes. Anyway, I was almost finished paying when my phone rang. Have you ever answered the phone and had no idea who you were talking to? Here I am, talking to this guy and he obviously knows me, but I can’t figure out who he is.”

“Was it your first husband?”

“Funny. No. I’m putting my bags in the trunk and I notice black crud in that hollowed out part under the trunk. You know, where all the leaves and stuff collect? I’m still talking to this guy on the phone, but for some reason I decided to pull that black crud and leaves out and flick it on the ground. Next thing I know, a flock of seagulls are all over me.”

“Where did the seagulls come from?”

“I don’t know. But they were there. It was like a scene from ‘The Birds’. It was creepy. Their wings were hitting me and they were pecking at the black crud,” said Vicki.

“I’m sorry,” said Lucius has he wrapped his arms around Vicki. “What about the guy on the phone?”

“The birds were squawking so loud it was hard to hear, so I told him I had a late meeting and had to get off the phone.”

“Did he buy it?”

“I don’t know but that’s not the worst of it. The wind was blowing and snow was falling and one of the seagulls flew up my skirt! I was violated by a rat with wings.”

Lucius suppressed a smile.

“It was the worst. I hate winter,” said Vicki.

“I know. Snow is a four-letter word.”

Posted in 4-letter word, fiction, flash fiction, humor, humour, phone, seagull, short fiction, short story, snow, story, Winter | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

My novel ‘The Pastor Who Hated Church’ is on sale!

For the next few weeks the ebook version of my hilarious novel The Pastor Who Hated Church is on sale for 99 cents! What a deal!

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The Weirdness of Books

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While riding on the bus a woman said, “I love books,” to no one in particular. She took a long sniff of the pages, then let out a euphoric, “ah.”

Some of the passengers rolled their eyes. Others had a look of fear. A teenager laughed to himself.

One man sitting behind her felt a compulsion to reply. “You know, some people read books, not just smell ‘em.”

The woman turned. “Books are more than just words on a page. You don’t just look at it. You hold it. Caress it.”

“Do you and your book wanna be along a minute?”

The woman scowled. “Don’t be crude.”

“Just sayin’.”

The teenager laughed.

The woman shifted in her seat so she could face the man. “Reading is a complex sensory experience. It’s not just about the word, but touch and smell, too.”

“I like reading with a book levitating in front of me. That way I can avoid paper cuts,” said the man.

“Why are you mocking me?”

“Because we’re living in a video age. It’s about the visual. Image and action.”

The woman wrinkled her nose in disdain. “That’s so one dimensional.”

“No, it’s two dimensional, at least. You see and hear videos. That’s two.”

“Yes, but reading books involves imagination. It’s like creating pictures in your brain.”

“You can do that with e-readers. And you don’t have to lug heavy books around.”

“But each physical book has a character all its own. You can enter and exit at any point, jump forward and look back at an instant.”

“Books are made out of paper. Trees died so you could feel them up.”

The woman looked horrified. “Again. Rude. Besides, computers are chemically processed plastic. Books are made of a renewable resource and are recyclable.”

The man thought for a second. Finally he said, “you’re still weird.”

“Did you know that the archaic Scottish definition of the word ‘weird’ means ‘a person’s destiny’? It’s a term Shakespeare used in Macbeth for the witches. They had the power to know someone’s future. You know what? I have that power. I get it through books,” said the woman with an impish grin.

The man quickly left at the next bus stop.

Posted in book, books, bus, fiction, flash fiction, humor, humour, Macbeth, Shakespeare, short fiction, short story, story, weird, weirdness | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Crisis Management

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It was while Burt and Ariadne were watching the 11 o’clock news that Ariadne noticed the dark spot on the curtains.

“What is it?” asked Burt.

Ariadne got up to investigate. She tilted her head and said, “I don’t know.”

The spot released its grip on the curtains and flew over Ariadne’s head. She ducked and screamed.

“Oh, it’s a bat,” said Burt. He was somewhat amused at the sight.

At that precise moment, their teenaged daughter Emma shuffled into the living room. Her movements seemed to startle the bat. It swooped down and slapped Emma in the face with its wing.

Emma stumbled into a lamp, causing the bulb to shatter. The only light left in the room was the flickering screen of the television.

Ariadne gathered her daughter and scrambled into the hallway. Burt sat in his chair, watching the bat circle around the ceiling.

“Listen to it echolocate. It’s amazing,” he said.

Ariadne poked her head in the doorway. “Aren’t you going to catch it?”

“In the dark while it’s in flight? That’s when at bat is at its best,” explained Burt.

“Well, do something,” said Ariadne. Emma huddled on the floor, whimpering. She was still sore from the collision with the bat.

“I am doing something. Two things, in fact.”

“Oh really? What?”

“I’m waiting and thinking.”

“How exactly is that helping? I sometimes wonder if you-”

Ariadne was interrupted by the loudest whistling sound she’d ever heard. It was so high pitched she felt disoriented.

There was a dull thud against the wall that Ariadne felt more than she heard. Burt scooped up the bat, opened the door and tossed it outside.

“What happened?” asked Ariadne.

Burt smiled. “That, my dear, was effective crisis management.”

Posted in bat, crisis management, fiction, flash fiction, humor, humour, night, short fiction, short story, story | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

The Paperclip Scenario

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“Do you have a copy of the proposal?”

Fred pulled a stack of papers from his satchel. Walter took them, pulled the paperclip from the corner of the papers and tossed it aside. The ping of the paperclip echoed off the tile floor of the cavernous lobby of the Richardson Building.

“What are you doing?” asked Fred.

“What?”

“You can’t just throw away a paperclip like that.”

“Are you serious? It’s just a stupid paperclip,” said Walter.

“Oh yeah? Think about this. That stupid paperclip gets kicked outside, eventually onto the street. No big deal, right? Wrong. A motorcade drives by. The paperclip gets lodged in the tire of the car carrying the Prime Minister,” said Fred.

“And he gets a flat tire, making him late for a fundraiser,” scoffed Walter.

“No. Wrong. It works its way deeper into the tire where it does real damage. Suddenly, without warning, the tire blows, sending the car careening off a cliff. The Prime Minister dies in a fiery crash. The economy collapses in the ensuing chaos. Anarchy ensues. Do you want to be responsible for that? Do you?”

“You’re an idiot,” said Walter.

“It could happen and you don’t even care,” said Fred.

“What doesn’t he care about?” Neither Walter nor Fred noticed the approach of Preston, their boss. “Well?”

“He supports a course of action which would lead to the economic collapse of our nation, perhaps the Western World,” Fred blurted out.

“Is that true, Walter?” asked Preston.

All eyes focused on Walter as his face flushed. “No. I mean, no,” he stammered.

Preston’s eyes narrowed. “If I were in your shoes, I’d deny it, too. Hmm,” he said as he walked off.

Fred smiled and smacked Walter on the back. “Too bad this happened at promotion time.”

“I hate you,” said Walter.

“Hey, don’t blame me. Blame the paperclip.”

Posted in business, economy, fiction, flash fiction, humor, humour, paperclip, Prime Minister, promotion, short fiction, short story, story | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments