Microstory 2247: Anecdotes that Never Happened

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Good news is I bought a new bed today. I was looking for specific one with special features. Back on my Earth, I had one like it. I didn’t buy it myself, but my sister did. Then she moved to another country, and couldn’t take with her, so I got it instead. It’s not something that I would have chosen, because I struggled with holding onto work, and didn’t have the marketable skills to afford it. But now I’m in a different position. Now I can buy things like this. It is really comfortable, but that’s not the reason I did it. Like I said, sister gave it to me, so it’s just a small connection to my past. I know it’s the same thing as being around the people that I care about, but it’s still a small bit of home. Or it’s a reminder of it anyway. I should look for more things like this, to make myself feel a little more comfortable, and a little more safe. There is nothing in this world that anyone in my family is so much as aware of. They never seen the movies you make. They have heard of your presidents. They not study your history. I have to do my best to pretend. If I were back there, my dad would have helped me carry this thing in, and up the stairs. We would have bumped the wall at least once, and after four years, he wouldn’t have able to take it anymore after occasionally passing by it when he visited, and fix it for me. My mom would have insisted on buying my sheets for me. I can make up these little anecdotes that never happened, but could have, and almost feel like I’m back where I belong. It makes feel better. And I really need it. Especially right now. I’ve spent all day cleaning and arranging our new furniture, so I’m going to break in this new bed, and get to bed early. I see you tomorrow, and all that.

Microstory 2246: So There’s That

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Moving day! That happened fast. One thing that has made it easier is that we don’t have to worry about selling the place where we lived before, and we don’t have to transport any furniture. Well, we did have a few things. Kelly left some stuff at her old place, and so did Dutch, though his parents had moved a lot to storage while he was missing. I only have enough belongings to carry in one small suitcase because I’ve left my apartment the way it is for the next tenant. I hope they like it. What we’re gonna have to do now is buy stuff to fill the new house up. The security firm is taking care of some of that, because they need it to be secure, of course. Also of course, I can’t give you details on our security protocols, because that would be dumb. But they’re good, so don’t come after us, lemme tell you that. There will be cameras, and other sensors. I won’t bore you with any more information about this stuff. I’m sure you’re all more interested in the surgeries that I’m about to have. Well, there’s no updates on those at all, so I can’t tell you what I don’t know. Oh, and the President of the United States wants to meet me, so there’s that. NBD.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 29, 2398

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Heath is pacing around the living room, talking to his wife on the phone. The other four are watching him, worried. It’s hard to tell how the conversation is going, but it’s clear by now that she and Kivi are at least not dead or hurt. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah,” he repeats. “Okay.” He nods, unhappy, but trying to be patient with her. “No, they’ll understand.” He continues immediately, “even Mateo.” He pauses. “All right, we’ll see you when you get back. Be safe.” He pauses one last time. “Love you.” He hangs up, but doesn’t say anything right away.

“Are they okay?” Leona asks him.

“They’re fine.”

“Are they on their way back?” Mateo asks.

“They’re not. They’re in Florida.”

“What? How did they get there?”

“Apparently, Marie wanted to see the plot of land where she grew up,” Heath begins. “In this reality, in these days, it’s an airport. It doesn’t go to very many places, but one of the destinations just so happens to be Orlando, Florida.”

“Okay...does she have a thing for Orlando, errr...?”

“It’s near something called the Fountain of Youth?” He answers in the form of a question.

Oh, that makes sense, sort of. “Well, it’s not,” Leona contends. “They founded the city of Orlando relatively close to the location of a spring that no longer exists.” She goes on, “my namesake, Juan Ponce de León once looked for it in 1513, and found it to already be dried up. He did find the Compass of Disturbance, though.”

“That sounds bad. Marie never mentioned it, what is it?”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” she assures him. “It just detects temporal anomalies; rifts in the spacetime continuum, invisible portals, the spot where a teleporter disappeared from, etcetera. The spring is hard to find, and even more so now. Juan once described the terrain for me, but his info is almost 900 years out of date. Even then, to get Youth water, you probably have to be there centuries prior.”

“So, what is the point of them going there?” Heath asks.

“They’re probably just doing their best to check it off the list,” Mateo figures.

“Well, they don’t have to do it alone,” Heath decides as he’s looking at the map on his phone. “We can be there in three hours.”

“I don’t think that’s what she wants,” Angela says in a warning tone.

“It could be dangerous,” he argues.

“She can’t get hurt,” Ramses reminds him.

“Kivi can! I know you four don’t remember her, but I’ve known her as long as I’ve known you.”

“We’ve known her longer than that,” Leona volleys. “Both of them are capable and cautious women who have been through more than your wife has had time to tell you. She’s been around the block. The farm where she grew up is an airport. I’m sure the location of the former Youth Spring is a baseball diamond, or something.”

“What the hell is a baseball?”

“Out of all the dumb sports,” Angela replies, “it’s the least dumb.”

Heath has grown weary of being away from his wife so much. He’s noticed that she’s the one who keeps doing the leaving, even though at one point, he was meant to go off on these adventures with Mateo. Once they get past this, things are going to change. Ramses, Leona, and Angela have their new business to think about, which will hopefully resupply the funds that dwindled quite a bit when the majority of the team showed up. The only dangerous outsiders who might care about that both Marie and Angela exist already know about them, and the back-up twin thing they have going on. There is no reason why Marie and Heath can’t now begin the real mission of studying time travel in the Third Rail. Mateo should come too, and Kivi, if she isn’t interested in anything else.

“Are you doing okay?” Angela asks after he takes too long to react.

“I’m fine. I’m just going to go take a bath, and clear my head.”

“Okay.”

If Marie were here, she would be able to stop him from taking the bath, because that’s usually when he takes the time to locate and purchase something that costs them far too much.

Microstory 1346: Consumer Protection

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Library-Goer: Hi, I was wondering if you could help me? I’m looking for a book, but I can’t seem to find a computer to search for it, and I have no idea how to use a card catalog.

Library Assistant: Oh yes, we are very old school here. You don’t need the catalog, though. I can help you find anything you’re looking for. Why don’t you have a seat?

Library-Goer: Do I really need to sit? I just need a book.

Library Assistant: Ah, yes, but which book? Do you know the name of it?

Library-Goer: No.

Library Assistant: Then we shall have to do an interview. In order for you to tell me what information you’re looking for, you first need to know precisely what that is. You can’t tell me unless you understand it yourself. I assure you that, by the end of this interview, I will know the exact book you need; maybe two books. I won’t need to give you any more options than that.

Library-Goer: Can’t I check out more than one book anyway?

Library Assistant: Oh, of course. You can check out fifty, if your heart desires! You won’t need to, though; not as long as we find the perfect one. I’m very professional, and I know every single title in this section. I only don’t know fiction; that’s Ted’s job.

Library-Goer: Okay, let’s do this.

Library Assistant: What are you interested in?

Library-Goer: I wouldn’t say that I’m interested, but I need to learn about the law. I’m having some legal issues, but I can’t afford an attorney. I guess you’re right in that I don’t know where to begin.

Library Assistant: Law is in 340, under social sciences.

Library-Goer: Okay.

Library Assistant: Without giving me too much personal information, what kind of law are you looking for? You don’t just want to start with the first textbook they read in law school; most of it would be a waste of time.

Library-Goer: I bought, umm...a product...from a company. I don’t know if they committed a crime, but they need to answer for what they did to me.

Library Assistant: All right. So we’re talking private law. It’ll be in civil court, if you take it that far, but when we’re talking about a library book, that’s in 346.

Library-Goer: Yeah, I don’t want to tell you what it is, but let’s just say I’m on painkillers now. It physically hurt me, so I did what everyone does, which is complain to the seller. They made me jump through all these hoops. They wanted me to take a picture of the product right next to the receipt. Well, it was online, so there’s no receipt, so I printed out my confirmation, and they’re like, ‘that’s not good enough’. I dealt with this for a week, and they won’t even give me a refund, let alone pay for my medical bills. I looked it up online, and I’ve not heard anyone else having these problems, but that doesn’t mean there’s no potential for a class action lawsuit. It could mean that no one wants to say anything, because it’s kind of taboo.

Library Assistant: Ah, okay. So, what you’re looking for is information about consumer protection. Follow me to the 300s. This was an online purchase, so you’ll want a book that’s pretty new. We have stuff from the mid-twentieth century that won’t do you any good. Aaaaaand here. This will help you. It’ll at least help you get started. Maybe, since you can’t afford a lawyer, you can learn some legalese to help you...encourage the company to do the right thing.

Library-Goer: Wow, this...this looks like what I need. Thank you so much.

Library Assistant: No problem. Let me know if you need anything else.

Microstory 1281: The Little Fish and the Big Net

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There was a fisherman who was proud of his work. He did not care to go to the market and purchase the tools he needed for his trade. When the seas were too dangerous, or when he just wasn’t up for going out on the water, he liked to sit in his cabin, and create his own tools. He carved his own fishing rods, strung his own fishing lines, and even weaved his own net. He was so proud of his net that he couldn’t wait to go back out there, and give it a try. He dropped it in the water, and dragged it along to pick up as many fish as he possibly could. Now, the fish he caught were large, which were great, but he noticed that a great many smaller fish escaped his clutches. He was not happy with this. He wanted to get all the fish he possibly could, so he went back home, and started weaving a new net. He made it as tight as he possibly could, so barely a drop of water could pass through. “No fish will escape me now,” the fisherman said after months and months of working on it tirelessly. He dropped it in the water, and scooped up a hefty haul. When he took his catch to the market, he noticed that people were still only buying the larger fish from him. “Why don’t you take some of these instead?” he would ask. They always answered the same, that there was not enough meat for them to get anything out of those tiny little fish. “But I worked so much harder to get these ones,” he complained. It didn’t matter. His efforts were not just pointless, but counterproductive. Had he only focused on gathering the fish he would be able to sell, he would have been able to catch more than one school. No one cared how much effort he put into his profession; only the results of those efforts. They would have been just as happy with the larger net.

This story was inspired by, and revised from, an Aesop Fable called The Fisherman and His Nets.

Microstory 912: Fandom

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I have mixed feelings about this topic. On the one hand, I love that people love to love things, but I think they can take it a bit too far. Back in the day, men were allowed to like sports, boobs, explosions, and more sports. Women were allowed to like horses, and making sure my dinner was ready by 5:15. These days, it’s cool to like comic books and video games, and it’s not really cool to like those traditional things. I take issue with this too, because while the jocks ruled the school of yesterday, the nerds run the show now. There’s just as much judgment and animosity as there was before, but now with different divisions of people. I admit that this is getting better already, with the mini-generation after millennials basically not caring what anyone does, as long is it doesn’t negatively impact the world. I also think there is quite a bit of materialism going on, even more than there used to be. Man, my goal of being more positive for this series isn’t going all that, is it? I’ll do better next time. For now, I want to talk about all the stuff. Major content creators make more money off of merchandise than they could ever hope to make from the source material. Why is that? Why do full-grown adults find satisfaction from owning an action figure, while doing nothing with it but set it on a shelf. Or they own so much of this crap, they can’t even display it all. Do you not find that absurd? Exactly how many plush porgs do you need? If you’re about to look around the room and count your porgs, don’t bother. The answer is a hard zero. I’m all for expressing your love for whatever, but there’s a way to do it without losing half your income. You need a cup to put your drinks in, so buy a cup with some insider quote from your favorite show, like “I’m the one who knocks” or “time out on this game of thrones; I need to pee!”. You need a bag to carry your essentials, so that one works out as well. But all these little stickers, trinkets, figurines, and costumes you never wear; it’s all just useless junk to which one of two things will happen. Either you’ll die, and burden your family with all that stuff you overestimated how much they would want, or you’ll become immortal, your priorities will shift, and you’ll wish you didn’t have it anymore. And you won’t be able to sell it, because guess what, everyone around you feels the same way. So now the world is down in resources, but up in full-sized pokeballs. Like I said, it’s all about priorities. If you have some disposable income to burn on a real 1940s police box, why not instead give that money to charity? You’re not gonna make me feel bad about trying to make you feel bad for wasting your money on a sonic screwdriver that stopped making noise after a week.

Microstory 884: Sap-Tinted Glasses

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A few years ago, I was wandering the Maze Market, which is this monthly event some organization puts up in the middle of Freelake Park. It looks just like a marketplace you might find in Egypt, or some other Middle Eastern country. It’s hard to navigate, and it’s always packed for the whole day. I spot this booth where no one else was buying anything. The woman working there is watching people go about their business, not attempting to draw any customers, but also not completely over it, and reading a book. She looked like she was just content with the view, and was good either way. She had very few things to sell; a few hats, some jewelry, and this pair of glasses that really caught my eye. They kind of looked like the kind Ringo was known for wearing, but they were also unique. I just had to have them. As the clerk was completing the transaction, she didn’t even look at me, and I realized that she was waiting for someone else. I almost felt bad about giving her a measly five dollars, like maybe she was so distracted, she didn’t realize what I was buying. But after I started walking away, she said one thing; that the glasses would show me the truth. I turned around to ask for clarification, but she was gone, as was her booth. I was so freaked out that I never put on those glasses; not even once. But then my friend noticed them hanging on my bedroom mirror earlier today, and suggested I bring them with us to a new club called Pandemonium tonight. By now, all of my reservations had been vanquished, so I shrugged, and agreed.

We walk up to the club, and she reminds me that I need to stand out if I want to get past the bouncer, which explains why she has a long scarf tied around both of her thighs. Apparently you don’t get into this place by being pretty or rich, but by being interesting, and memorable. I playfully scoff at how silly this all his, but put the glasses on, just the same. It’s the only noteworthy thing about me, except maybe that my top is a little tight, and it seems to work. The bouncer totally digs it, and opens the door for us. I’m horrified when I walk in. The entire place is covered in, like, this green fungal sap. Some people have maggots crawling all over their faces, but that’s nothing compared to what I see front and center. A monster twice as tall, and three times as wide as any man is standing in the DJ Booth. His eyes are on his neck, and there are several rows of teeth in his mouth, which never seems to close. He doesn’t have horns, per se, but his head turns up on the sides. My God is he ugly. He’s got headphones on, but only one ear is covered, like you would expect from any normal DJ. He’s hyping up the crowd, and promoting his radio station, 66.6 The Pit. How is everyone okay with this, I think, but then I remember the glasses. I tip them down with my finger, and look above the lenses. Everything appears perfectly normal. The monster is gone, replaced by just a regular douche, and the walls look clean. I look through the glasses once more, and then without them, and then with them again. The woman must not have been lying; these things show me the truth. They do something else to me, though. The more I stare at the monster DJ, the more I have the urge to commit great violence against him. My rage doesn’t subside, even when I take the glasses off completely, and I know that the only way to satiate my need is to just get it over with. After an hour, he leaves his booth for a break, and is followed by two bouncers, which look like miniature versions of him when I’m wearing the truth glasses. I realize that the glasses also give me this strength the more I wear them, so I have to keep them on. Killing all three of them is the most effortless thing I’ve done in my whole life. I can’t believe how quickly they go down, and it’s exhilarating. Once it’s over, though, the shame and guilt set in. And the fear. I take the glasses off, and see that the monster disappears, just as before. He still looks entirely human to everyone else. No one would believe me if I claimed that he was the Devil, and these were his two demon assistants. I’ve heard of people like that, and they always end up between four padded walls. I drag the bodies into the janitor’s closet, and try to sneak back out of the bathroom. The club owner suddenly walks up to me and says, “where have you been? You get two minutes for the bathroom, like we agreed. Hey, where’re your goons? Whatever, just get back up there. The people want those beats!” Now I’m the monster.

Microstory 745: Conclusion

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The wandering child removed the last canister from his head, surprised that he did not have to gasp for breath. Though his head had been in the canister for over fifteen minutes, watching this woman’s life story being told, he never ran out of oxygen. The canister had protected him through his faith in the process. It was then he realized what the fish woman did not tell him. The canisters were always meant for him, which explained their size. No one was destined to complete this quest but him. This last one was puzzling, though, and he doubted whether he would get it right. All other stories were that of moral lessons. They taught him to empathize with others, that you get out of life what you put into it. They taught him how to deal with others, to be sensitive to their needs, and to work together towards common goals. They taught him to work hard, and never give up. But this one was different. He used the magic communication cup as a reflector, to see that the water from the last canister had not left on him a brilliant shine, like the others had. Furthermore, the sparkle from the rest of the body was beginning to fade. He knew that if he didn’t figure out the final lesson, he would lose everything, and fail at the quest. So he sat on the ground, and meditated. He went back through all the stories, remembering what had happened. He recalled the farmers learning how to grow their crops right, the criminals who became an independent peoples, business owner trying to find employees, and unskilled laborers looking for work. Again, they all taught him how to improve himself, but the last one was teaching him nothing. The small shop owner lived a horrible life, and died not having accomplished anything remarkable. No one remembered her, and for as hard as she worked to please others, she received nothing. People were never particularly nice to her. Nor did they get their comeuppance once her generosity was gone. All signs pointed to the rational conclusion that her actions were fruitless. But that couldn’t be true...could it? No, that’s not the lesson. The lesson is that it doesn’t matter. It’s irrelevant how others treat you, or how you benefit from your own goodness. The only course of action is to be a pleasant and courteous person. This was the hardest truth to accept, because there is no fulfillment in it. Still, it must be so. If no one else is good, you can at least take comfort that one such person exists. The shop owner was the greatest hero of all, not despite achieving nothing, but because of it. She experienced so much hardship. Nevertheless...she persisted.

Microstory 744: Credos, Convention Fourteen: Courtesy

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The child removed the penultimate canister from his neck, which was more of a ring, and smiled. He was near the end of his quest, and he was feeling good. The final canister was wide and round, perfectly shaped for a head his size. He was about to place his head inside of it when he realized how unusual that is. “The quest should be availed to all, so why is this one so small?” he asked the fish woman through the magic communication cup. “No one has gotten this far,” she answered. “The canisters know when a lesson has been truly learned. You are the first and only to understand what the stories are trying to tell you.” “That does not explain the size of this canister”, the now nearly fully-glowing child said. “The stories are long,” she replied. “You will have to hold your breath for a good while to finish this last one.” “That’s not what I asked,” he complained. “I will not give you what you ask for. You must experience it for yourself.” Seeing that he would not get a straight answer out of her, the wandering child took as deep of a breath as possible, and stuck his head into the canister, hoping this story would be quicker than the previous ones. It opened on a small shop owned by one of the nicest women you’ll ever meet. She barely made enough to stay open, and lived modestly on the second floor. This was a general store that sold a number of items that members of the community would need daily, or weekly. She struggled to maintain the business, but was dedicated to her policy of not refusing any business. If someone came in without the ability to pay full price, she would still sell it to them, at whatever cost they could afford. If someone came in with no money at all, she would give it to them for free. Her reputation was well known in the county, and people took advantage of this kindness, allowing the shopto stay open by the occasional kindness of a rich customer, who paid a little extra, and offset the overhead costs. Still, the shop owner could afford very little for herself. She had bedding that she laid upon the floor, but no bed. She had two chairs, one of which she had to use as a table. She scavenged food from nearby dumpster, and walked far away to bathe herself in a stream, because she did not have running water. Still her business stayed open, but this was about to change. A store opened across the street that ultimately forced her to close for good, because she could not compete. Though people knew they could purchase items from her for cheap, they could find so many more products at this larger store, and that was far more convenient. Eventually, people stopped entering her shop altogether, and that was that. She died just as he was born...with nothing.

Microstory 559: Magnus Immortality Claimed to Be Real

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A man who goes by the nom de guerre Dr. Inquiry (not an actual doctor) has come up with yet another theory that he says will shock the viewers of a certain popular broadcast series. Dr. Inquiry—whose real name is Tad Bland (you can see why he doesn’t use it)—has made a number of outrageous claims over the years. He’s already gone down in history as the only “reputable conspiracy theorists”. While no confirmed evidence exists for most of his crazy ideas, one time seven years ago, he was extraordinarily validated. Most did not believe him when he said that scientists had accidentally accessed another universe, but this turned out to be true. Some of the team was even trapped on the other side, and it’s not known whether they remain alive today, for the survivors have refused to describe their experience in detail. Dr. Inquiry took this fame, and used it to fuel the second wind of his career, trying to convince people of other theories, but as stated earlier, he has not enjoyed any further success. Now he’s claimed to have made a discovery regarding the fictional serial Magnus Immortality. And it’s rather simple. He says that the show is about a real immortal person, galavanting and adventuring across some other galaxy, possibly many thousands, or even millions, of years ago.

The creator of the Magnus Immortality, Leandra Shelburn has been famously secretive about where she gets her ideas. She and her anonymous partner are the only two people on the writing team. Two-hundred and sixteen episodes are produced every year, and only two people have true creative control over its narrative. The possibility that they are somehow witnessing events from another galaxy, in any time period, may sound preposterous, but the concept is not without its merit. Not a single other person is even allowed in their writing room, which they insist on referring to as “the lab”. One of Dr. Inquiry’s sources in the electric company has revealed that this “lab” draws a significant amount of power; uncharacteristically so for a simple writers’ room. My own source at Absolute Power Energy Cooperative has, believe it or not, authenticated these findings. Of course, this would never be enough to suspect a bizarre theory regarding galaxies far, far away, but Dr. Inquiry has other proof. Since his unexpected triumph with the truth about the transdimensional gateway, Bland has been desperate to find its sequel. He has kept an eye out for similar cases around the world, and has learned of certain purchases that Shelburn made that are not relevant to a broadcast pre-production department. Instead, Dr. Inquiry says, these parts and pieces of equipment would better serve their owner for some kind of particle accelerator. Furthermore, Grayscale Film Studios—where Magnus Immortality is filmed—covers an area of over 3100 square shemra. This would be more than large enough to fit the largest particle accelerator in the world underground. If true, this secret would require the cooperation of hundreds, if not thousands, of Grayscale Film employees, and likely other contractors. This is the one major limitation to this idea, but I must admit that it’s always been suspicious how large the Grayscale campus is, especially since a lot of it is nothing more than forest and other wildlife environments. I’m not saying that Magnus Immortality is all real. I just think there are some questions that need answers...

Microstory 483: Floor 2 (Part 2)

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I’m going meta again. For Floor 2? Meta!? Say whaaa—? Let me explain. The thing is that nothing happens on the second floor after Alpha’s death. Why is that? Well, the lobby is actually two stories high. An atrium runs from the bottom, almost all the way to the top, which allows people on the higher floors to conceivably see what’s going on below, but there are still rooms. Everybody works on the outer side of the building, and the atrium is really just to have a nice view, like a courtyard, but without a sky. I’ve talked more about architecture on this site than you ever thought I would, eh? Anyway, like I said, the second floor is different. It doesn’t have rooms on the outer side. It just overlooks the lobby, but doesn’t otherwise serve any real purpose. That’s why there can’t actually be any action here. In the first part, someone happened to be standing there, but once the building went into lockdown, everybody was removed from the first two floors, and ordered to remain away from the view of the atrium. So that explains why I keep bringing up the lockdown without actually depicting the announcement of it. Sorry if that was confusing. Here are a few other things you need to know. I titled each installment in the first half as “Part 1” which sort of locked me into this motif, but now I’m regretting it, because Part 2 wasn’t always a logical continuation of the greater story being told. I came up with the idea of witnessing the events of every floor in a building as a man falls from the roof a long time ago, and did not mean for it to have anything to do with time travel, let alone insert it into the salmonverse. It carries with it a connection to the Serkan Demir series, which was another story originally intended to stand alone. I’ve talked very little about where the hell the thirteenth floor is, and what it does. Obviously, I don’t have space for it here, but I do have plans to explain it in greater detail. But for that, you’ll have to buy (for free) my book. I intend to release it sometime in 2017; I don’t have that in front of me right now. No, I can’t just look it up; I’m on a deadline! I don’t even think I’ll have time to read this agoain and revvise it.

Microstory 467: Floor 19 (Part 2)

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Senior Buyer: Hey, Procurement Specialist. How are we doing? Are we feeling okay? Is the lockdown getting us down? You know you can talk to me about anything.

Procurement Specialist’s Mind: This is my boss. He’s not a bad guy, but he’s very...affectionate. I wouldn’t call what he does sexual harassment, but he’s certainly not aware of the concept of a personal bubble. He’s also not smart enough for a job in management.

Specialist: I’m doin’ all right, actually.

Senior Buyer: Ya know, death is a natural part of life. There is one inevitable truth, and that is that everybody dies. This is how it’s been since the beginning of time, and so shall it always be.

Specialist’s Mind: Actually the transhumanist movement’s goals of virtual immortality are closer to reality than most people know.

Specialist: Yeah, I know. I’ve seen death before. All my grandparents are gone.

Specialist’s Mind: None of them is dead.

Senior Buyer: Oh, I’m so sorry about that. Were you close with them?

Specialist: I was.

Specialist’s Mind: I’m not at all.

Senior Buyer: I’m so very sorry about that. You shouldn’t be working. Why don’t you go ahead and go head home?

Specialist: We’re on lockdown. No one can leave...

Specialist’s Mind: ...dumbass. And I didn’t say they all died today.

Specialist: And I’ve not been able to work anyway because we’re also locked out of the system...

Specialist’s Mind: ...and it’s not like I spend a lot of my daily time working anyway. I’m mostly squeezing sweets and pig-revenging and raising virtual animals on a farm.

Senior Buyer: Oh, that’s right. Well, have you seen Purchasing Intern 2?

Specialist’s Mind: He’s in the closet...with the other intern.

Specialist: I think both interns got caught on another floor.

Specialist’s Mind: Honestly, I didn’t lie to him about where the interns are because I care about their privacy. I lied to him because I would be worried he’d invite himself into the closet with them, and then things would get real weird.

Senior Buyer: Well, if you see him, would you let him know that we’re letting him go?

Specialist’s Mind: Really? He wants me to do it? I’ve always wanted to fire somebody.

Specialist: Really? You think I’m ready for that?

Specialist’s Mind: Can I fire them both? Can I make ‘em duke it out for the one remaining position? What is our policy on making people cry?

Senior Buyer: You’ve proven yourself invaluable. Somebody messed up an order, and I’ve traced the problem back to Purchasing Intern 2.

Specialist’s Mind: Yikes, that was actually my fault.

Specialist: Oh no, that’s terrible.

Senior Buyer: I don’t like having to lose people.

Specialist’s Mind: Lemme guess, cuz it harshes your mellow.

Senior Buyer: It’s the worst part of my job.

Specialist: I think that the worst part of your job is you.

Senior Buyer: What did you say?

Specialist’s Mind: Shit.

Microstory 424: Floor 19 (Part 1)

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By the time I graduated from college, I had acquired tens of thousands of dollars in debt. I don’t have a hoarding problem, I have a shopping problem. I often sell things I buy, but of course, that comes with diminishing returns. I love the feeling of coming home and seeing a package on the patio, or of watching a plastic piece of junk forming in the 3D printer. I was one of the first general consumers to own one of those, by the way. My father, ever the gen-xer, has often asked me why I didn’t just get “tranny surgery”. In his mind, he was being progressive by accepting me as a woman, but he was actually being closed-minded by not accepting that men can enjoy shopping as well. My mother, ever the pragmatist, suggested that I pursue a career in procurement. And me, ever the ignorant kind of millennial, had no idea what that meant. As it turns out, it’s where you get paid to buy things. Can you believe it? I spend all day buying equipment, and renting heavy machinery, for my company. Looking back, of course this department exists. A company couldn’t survive if it didn’t have, like…things. To be honest, though, it’s becoming less and less fun. So much of it has become automated. This is supposed to make the process easier, but all it really does is make me irrelevant. Great, where else am I going to find to work like this? Analion is actually rather behind the automation revolution, so it’s only gonna get worse from here. I don’t know if I can hold a real job. What would I even do? Flip burgers? No, they don’t use humans for that anymore either. Could I be a technician, and service the machines that will ultimately replace me? I definitely couldn’t do that. I already have enough trouble with the programs I use now. I think I ordered the wrong parts for those windows we sold that people fell out of. What am I going to do. Shopping always makes me feel better. Where do you suppose my girlfriend hid my credit card?

Microstory 236: Perspective Eleven

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Perspective Ten

A few years ago, my father was diagnosed with angle closure glaucoma. As the doctor was prescribing medication, she apparently claimed that he would be better off treating his condition with marijuana. That’s great and all, except that this is a lie. It was relatively recently officially determined that cannabis is no more a productive treatment for his condition than other medications. Unfortunately, my father has a bit of tunnel vision; no pun intended. When you tell him something that he wants to hear, he latches onto it and blocks everything out, even if he’s interpreting the opposite of your intention. I can’t be sure exactly what happened during his conversation with the doctor, but I doubt she legitimately suggested he go this route. Before getting my Master of Business Administration, I earned a bachelor’s degree in biology. The pharmaceutical company I work for has particularly high standards when it comes to hiring their sales representatives. They aren’t just looking for a pretty face willing to seduce a client with ever-imminent promises to make a sale. We are required to actually know what we’re talking about, and to spend a great deal of business hours studying and understanding the products we’re selling. My superiors genuinely believe in our medical treatments, and are interested in making the world a better place, rather than just getting over that bottom line. I’m not saying that they’re saints, but we pride ourselves in selling drugs that work to a certain degree, and have a limited number of side effects. I’ve tried explaining the truth about my father’s condition to him, but he won’t hear it. As far as I know, he’s never wanted to do recreational drugs before, but I get the feeling he just worried about getting in trouble. A lot of people will follow the rules just because they’re the rules, whether they’re likely to be caught or not. When they find a way around it, they take it. I’m not getting anywhere with him over the phone, so I’m flying clear across the country to have a talk with him back home. But first, lunch with an old friend.

Perspective Twelve

Microstory 235: Perspective Ten

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Perspective Nine

My pot dealer is an idiot. I mean, of course he’s an idiot; I don’t know what I should have expected, but it’s pretty irritating having to deal with him. He’s always trying to tell me stories, especially about his FBI agent roommate, but he bungles them up because he can barely remember his own name. I would like to find a new dealer, but this isn’t my world, so I wouldn’t know where to begin. I’ve actually tried to hint to him that I’m interested in taking my business elsewhere, but he lacks the brain capacity to understand subtext, and if I were to just straight up ask him, he would be offended. I don’t know why I should be worried about offending a stoner, but I guess a part of me is afraid that he’ll turn me in, even if it means he gets caught too. He’s that dumb. We live in a state where marijuana is completely illegal, and in a part of the state that’s too far from states where it is allowed. When I was first diagnosed, my doctor prescribed me certain medication, but warned me that it was only going to take me so far. She said that my best option was medical marijuana, but admitted that this put me in a pickle. My worsening condition has made it impossible to continue being driver, and so I had to drop down to an entirely different field. Because of the decrease in pay, I can’t just up and move to somewhere that can serve my needs, especially not since I’m still responsible for taking care of my aunt. And so I’m stuck with this doofus. I think I got lucky with him, though. I’m all right with further decriminalization of marijuana, especially for medical purposes. My problem with it is that everyone wants to smoke, which is disgusting. My dealer has an inventory of edibles which work just as well, and don’t muck up the air around me. And bonus, I get to eat brownies and cookies all day without feeling guilty about gaining a few extra pounds. Why people insist on lighting things on fire and putting them in their mouths is something I’ll never understand. The truth is that they think it’s fun, and the damage to their physiology is apparently irrelevant. I’m not saying that I want it to be me, but I do think if we changed the face of weed legalization to someone legitimate, things might actually change. If it weren’t so terribly obvious that the majority of people in favor of such bills were just wastoids in their parents’ basements, we might have something here. Promote your cause by pointing out the medical and psychological benefits of this medicine, and people who would otherwise be against you might actually start listening. I would give almost anything to not have to interact with this moron again.

Perspective Eleven

Microstory 213: Store Front

Every day for a year, I would pass by a strip mall on my way to work as a lifeguard. It was all very nondescript, and I never really paid attention to it. But then one day, I noticed that the name of one of the stores had changed. I couldn’t remember what it was before, but it was now Happy Pets. I thought I might play with the puppies on my way back, but ended up not having time. The next day, the storefront had changed again; this time to a place called Brilliant Treasures. That was weird, but I figured the rental agreement fell through after the sign was put up, and so it was passed to the next one in line. I looked in the window, because it was only open while I was at work, and I could see a ton of knick knacks and other random crap that no sane person would want. Then the day after that, it had changed to Silly Toys. Same thing; stocked completely full with inventory. Each day following, it was an entirely new store. Winter Bundles; Gatlin Gunns; Just Underwear, Nothing Butt. I tried stopping people on the street to ask them if they had any clue what was going on, but they either ignored me, or hadn’t noticed a change. And no matter when I tried, I could never be there during business hours. They would always adjust the hours to be closed, as if someone was trying to keep me away. After months of this, something even more unusual happened; the day’s store was called Valdemar Bristow Gas and Lighting. This was ridiculous, because no one in the world other than me could possibly have that name, and I would never have anything to do with gas or lights. As luck would have it, however, I was able to enter this time. There were several desks on the floor, arranged like a military recruitment office. Only one of them was occupied, by a woman who greeted me like she knew who I was. Without saying a word, I walked into the back and sat down in my office that was already decorated with some of my things. This is my life now. I sell lighting fixtures and natural gas, and I am somehow very good at it.