Tag Archives: Stories

It’s Not A Neck Tattoo, It’s A Life Decision

Alternate titles for today’s post were as follows.

Neck Tattoos and Boyfriends
Please Don’t Flirt With Me (ft. I WILL Hurt You)

Dear the extremely creepy guys in the janky old car in drive through,
When you pull up to the drive through window and immediately lean forwards to stare at me, I see it. I know what you’re doing, and exactly where your eyes are lingering. (Here’s a hint, my face is up here. You know, with the eyes?)
Your cheekbone piercing is not attractive. You leering at me, looking me up and down before you hand me the money, or refusing to let go for just a split second too long, is not appreciated. Yelling at me as the window closes makes me want to ignore you.

When I open the window, before you grin, before asking if I have a boyfriend, I would like you to stop and think for just a moment, no matter how foreign this concept is to you.
I have been taking orders, making drinks, checking bags, paying out, and handing out food to customers like you for almost 2 hours now. As you speak to me, I have another order in my ear, and this person wants their order taken right exactly now and exactly right. I made at least four drinks while you stared at me, and have not stopped moving since I’ve been in your field of vision. And yet I have stopped all of my other tasks to focus on you. I hope you feel special.
Do I have a boyfriend, you ask?

The answer is no. But you don’t get to know that. If I answer you truthfully, you will take it as an invitation to press your advances on me. You will take it as a personal challenge to get me a boyfriend- probably you or your creepy friend. You will never leave my drive through, and I have times to make.
So yes. If you’re asking, I have a boyfriend.

I can see the frustration on your face.

“Are you just saying that?”

Now, isn’t that interesting. How many other girls have you interrogated?
How many have made the mistake of answering you truthfully?
Do you now expect women to lie to you as a default response?
I feel sorry for your previous interests. I wish you knew how to take ‘no’ for an answer.
Here’s your food! Have a great night, sir.

When It Hit the Fan. . .

Hey look, Laura’s blogging! That must mean a person did a thing at work!

Ahem.

So around ten tonight (tonight being a relative term) a coworker of mine got off work. As is often the habit of people here, he decided to get food and eat it here before leaving. A few minutes after the end of his shift, he walked back in from outside and gathered an audience to tell a story.

He’d gone outside to get his wallet from his car, and had seen an older woman full-out running towards the door. Not thinking too much of it, he came in the front door to see the door to the women’s bathroom (directly adjacent to the front door) closing with a small child already hauling their britches down, door still open.

Innocent giggles were had at the idea of bared cheeks, and we went on about our work. About 20 minutes later, the manager running the floor turned up and picked me to clean bathrooms.
While gathering the supplies, the person who’d just relieved me from the front cash register approached.

“Hey,” he said. “Why is my cleaning bucket on the counter?”

“I think you’ll find that’s my bucket,” I replied.

“I’m sorry, but it’s mine. Right now this whole area is mine. See those cups? Mine. See this drawer? Are your initials on it? No? Mine.”

The whole exchange was light-hearted enough, but not really liking someone can do wonders to kill a mood.

I retreated, letting him win.

The men’s bathroom was cleaned with no remarkable happenings, and then I went to the women’s.
Up till then, I’d completely forgotten the recently-told story.
I walked into the bathroom to be hit with a wall of stench with which I am all too familiar.

Fecal matter was spattered on the floor. It was on the front of the bowl. It had sprayed across the back and over the seat. I stood and stared at it briefly, sprayed it down with my cleaning solution, and beat a strategic retreat.

Walking back into the kitchen, all I was hoping for was that Jeremy, the storytelling-coworker, was still here.
I found him in the break room.

“So, Jeremy,” I said, setting my cleaning supplies on the table. “You know that story you were telling about that kid?”

“Yeah.”

“And how they were rushing to get their pants down?”

“Yeah.”

“I was just in the women’s.”

*choking noise* “Oh no.” *starts laughing*

“Do you want to guess what color it was?”

At this point, he had stopped eating and was nearly out of his chair laughing.
Another coworker walked up at this point and asked about the laughter, so I retold the story. I got to the point where I posed the question: “Guess what I found in there?” and someone passing the break table eagerly shouted the fitting expletive.
“Actually,” I said. “Yes. Also on the floor.”

When I walked back up towards the front register and the door leading to the toxic bathroom, I found the coworker I didn’t particularly like doing not very much.

“You know how we were talking about how front cash is your responsibility?” I said, in my most charismatic voice.

“Yeah,” he said, giving me a suspicious look.

“Well, you know bathrooms is part of that, right?” I proffered the cleaning spray and paper towels. “I’ll watch your drawer.”

With a sigh, he took the supplies, smirked at me, and turned and set them down behind him.

“I’ll get to them,” he said.

“Like, soon?” I asked. Pranks aside, the bathroom really did need to be cleaned before someone went in there and came to complain.

“Yeah, I gotcha.”

“…so, before another person goes to the bathrooms, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I was determined not to surrender this one, so I leaned on the counter, folded my arms, and stared him down.

“…you’re just gonna wait there until I go, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

*sigh* “Alright. Fine.”

He grabbed the supplies and left. Immediately, I turned and hurried back to the break room.
Jeremy doesn’t trust me when he sees me smile like that, and immediately frowned at me when I returned to the break room.

“I made Hank do it,” was all I said, and Jeremy choked on his food again.
“Does he know what happened in there?” was his first question.
“He was standing right here listening to the story,” I replied.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone heading back towards the break room. Turning, I saw Hank, a full forty seconds after heading to the bathroom. He set the cleaning supplies on the table, exhaled loudly, and frowned at me.

“No,” he said. “That’s disgusting.”

I’m not going to pretend I’m not peeved by the woman letting her kid bomb our bathroom so completely and then leave without cleaning it up OR ordering a single item, let alone telling us about it. I obviously didn’t enjoy having to clean up the poop.
But, all in all, there are few pranks that have happened so beautifully and paid off so well.

Spicewine, Installment 1

The old house held many secrets.

They’d discovered hundreds, many of them lost again nearly as soon as they were found.

Scar and Sissy, always together, always looking. Pricilla Rosalyn, or Sissy Rose, to her friends.

Scar, or Scarlette to only her.

“Why do you have a girl’s name?” she’d asked him once as they sat in the rafters of the house, each on their own, their legs swinging in empty space.
“It’s not a girl’s name,” he’d said defensively, shifting his position to a lazy sprawl on the wide beam. “It’s my name.” Continue reading

Subject 37, Installment 1


Chapter One

I had reached the town that was my destination, my feet sore from the journey and my entire body ready to rest. Sleep and food, and on my way again in the morning.
It was snowing here, in this small, placid town in central America, the white flakes of purity falling against the purple velvet of the night sky above me, the soft, warm yellow glow of electric street lamps, and the dull green-grey-black of a circle of neatly trimmed lawn, where wild flowers were allowed to grow freely in the summer, encouraged in fact.
This circle of dead, frozen grass was split into quarters by wide, smooth sidewalks with grass growing between the squares, and ringed by knee high walls that broke off at each entrance to the inner circle. Continue reading

Beginnings Installment 6

She’d become skilled at lying.
This is what Kvistyn found herself thinking this morning as she sat engulfed in white and lace and chattering women.
Skilled she had indeed become, and far too skilled for her own comfort, though she saw no way around it. If she were to give voice to her true thoughts, she would be signing her own death warrant.
So Kvistyn played the Blushing Bride to be for Caldfyt, played a giggling girl for the women folk of the place, letting those commissioned to be her bridesmaids fuss and gush over her perfect white gown as they made the final touches to it. Continue reading

Shades of Black, Installment 3

I wandered amongst the trees, feeling each soundless step I took through the thin soles of my boots. Even my breaths were silent, mere frosted clouds in the chill air as I walked through the silent monarchs of the forest. I didn’t want to talk to anyone right now, nor did I want to listen to Zipper and her brother’s pointless bickering; These silent watchers provided the peace I enjoyed in the aftermath of the duels. I closed my eyes, leaning my forehead against the smooth bark of an unidentified tree as I tried to sort my thoughts. It was at times like this that I sometimes, if not often, wished my parents were here to help me.
I’d never known either of my parents, not enough to remember them. This, I’d decided, meant that I’d known little to nothing of either of them, considering the excellent memory I’d seen in the other small children in my Clan. Continue reading

Shades of Black Installment 2

“So how did you do in the duel today?” Zipper asked, bouncing up and down on her toes, as energetic as ever full of her inexorable cheer and good spirits. She was wearing these neon purple and black striped tights atop ridiculous purple boots made of loose, artistically wrinkled leather and that went to just above her ankles. These were accompanied in the style only Zipper could execute by a short, black skirt edged with crisp, light purple lace and layered with tulle underneath, finished with a short-sleeved, purple top, the tiny black stones sewn into it glinting in the moonlight in their mosaic pattern. It was far from difficult to deduce my best friend’s favorite color, and I had a habit of noticing details other people found trivial. It was handy sometimes, but often irritating others in my hyper-observance.
“I don’t want to talk about the duel,” I said tiredly.
I doubted this diversion would work on Zipper, but I always had to try. Sure enough, she only laughed and linked elbows with me. Continue reading

Beginnings Installment 5

Stone.
Chill glass.
Carved faces and features, looking over her head in regal poses.
She walked strange halls when dreaming, and there was so much peace, so much that she could now do.
Child, completely lucid and noticing the strange orderliness of her dream, floated up into the hazy ceiling, perching on a ledge above a massive round room she didn’t recognize, her feet dangling over the edge as she swung them slowly back and forth, bare feet crossed at the ankles. Her blonde hair floated about her as if she were under water, settling slowly about her shoulders in a perfect, pale sheet.
She looked down to see people filing into the room below, most of them clad in white, a minority of them in grey, with one or two in black. Those in the black robes had skin of darkest brown, with strong, beautiful features contrasting beautifully with the white clad, finer featured people, though the genders mixed freely, discrimination a non issue. Continue reading

Beginnings, Installment 3

Far back in the mountains, deep in the massive forests of twisting, ancient trees draped with tendrils of spiraling moss, and far from any humans, this was where the elves lived, in the Piedmonts of the great peaks. Their houses were graceful, arching structures, crafted almost as though water had run over the material while it was still soft, creating strange whorls and dips in the things, only these protuberances and indents were used as part of the structure, hammocks hung between and flowers coaxed around.Elves' Forest
The elves themselves somewhat resembled their houses, with smooth, soft-looking bodies and features, though their bodies were strong and had great endurance, when trained to. Their eyes were all different shades of blue and grey, with only a few the deepest black-blue of the depths. They were swift and lithe, much like the element that seemed joined to them, able to take nearly any place as their home. If Dryads were of the Earth, then the Elves were of the Water. Druids were said to be of the Air, though so little was known of them that there was no way to tell. Humans were obviously Fire, what with their destructive tendencies and they way they cleared paths for themselves wherever they went, with nothing ever stopping them. Continue reading