Microstory 1367: Birthday Boy

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Surveyor 1: Hi, sir. Do you have literally a few seconds to answer a quick question?

Birthday Boy: What is it?

Surveyor 1: Where are you headed this morning?

Birthday Boy: I’m going to work, just like everyone else.

Surveyor 1: Oh, in that case, could you answer one more question?

Birthday Boy: Yes, and that was it. Goodbye.

Surveyor 2: Sir, I noticed how nicely you’re dressed. You must be going to work. But why work on such a fine day. Wouldn’t you rather be relaxing in some comfortable Hawaiin attire?

Birthday Boy: Are you trying to sell me a shirt?

Surveyor 2: Are you in the market for a new shirt?

Birthday Boy: No.

Surveyor 3: Sir.

Birthday Boy: What is it!

Surveyor 3: If you could pick the best vacation, what would it be? A) The mountains. B) A cabin in the woods on the edge of a town where a serial killer is on the loose. C) A cruise. Or D) Also a cruise.

Birthday Boy: The cruise, I guess. Are you working with those other two people?

Surveyor 3: What other two people?

Birthday Boy: Well, they were right there just a moment ago. Hey, where did you go?

Surveyor 4: I’m right here, sir.

Birthday Boy: I wasn’t talking to you.

Surveyor 4: Well, you’re talking to me now. Would you care to answer a survey for the chance to win a free cruise?

Birthday Boy: I don’t believe you.

Surveyor 4: Well, the survey isn’t personal, so what do you have to lose?

Birthday Boy: Fine, go ahead.

Surveyor 4: How do you feel about orcas? Are we for, or against?

Birthday Boy: I actually love orcas. They’re, like, my favorite animal.

Surveyor 4: Great, because the cruise includes an orca watching excursion.

Birthday Boy: There is no cruise. And orcas are incredibly hard to find in Hawaii.

Surveyor 4: I beg to differ, sir.

Surveyor 5: Sir, do you have time for a survey?

Birthday Boy: I’m already in the middle of a survey!

Surveyor 6: Sir?

Surveyor 7: Sir?

Surveyor 8: Sir?

Surveyor 9: Sir? Do you have time for a quick survey about horseback riding?

Surveyor 10: Sir?

Birthday Boy: Stop it! What the hell is going on?

Surveyor 11: Do you have time for a survey? Are you afraid of helicopters?

Birthday Boy: No! No more surveys! Get me out of here!

Birthday Boy’s Girlfriend: I can get you out of here.

Birthday Boy: Girlfriend, what are you doing here? What’s happening?

Birthday Boy’s Girlfriend: Just one more survey, and we’ll let you go.

Birthday Boy: Haha, oh my God. What is this?

Birthday Boy’s Girlfriend: If you could take anyone on a Hawaiin cruise that I bought you for your birthday, who would it be?

Birthday Boy: Your sister.

Microstory 244: Perspective Nineteen

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Perspective Eighteen

I’ve been on shift for far too long; even longer than usual. My eyelids are dropping, and I can feel memories floating away from my brain. I mean that I’m consciously thinking about what kind of medications to give to my current patient, but as I’m trying to focus on them, they disappear. Fortunately, we write everything down, so I’m at very little risk of messing something up, but still. I just need a little sleep. There’s this corner just inside the backroom where no one can see me, including the cameras. I often stand there and rest my eyes, and I swear it helps. I think I’ve successfully taught myself to sleep standing up. But someone is in there right now. My boss sends me a text message, telling me he’s taking me up on my offer to go on the cruise. Wait, what? No, that text is from my uptight mother. My boss is summoning me to his office. That makes more sense. I glide upstairs and enter the office, plopping myself down on the chair. I stare out the window where his face should be. He must have stepped out for a second. No, that’s not right. This isn’t his office. Where the hell am I? I reluctantly get up and head for the right place. He goes on and on about being a team player and contributing to the successes of the group, and blah blah blah. I’m not listening. He’s so long-winded and aggravating. Can’t he just shut up and let me sleep? But then I catch a few words in his speech that don’t fit; just between us, and being a good girl, and maybe a raise. He would never mention giving me a raise, and what was that about a pillow? I roll the back of my head back and forth against the chair then let my eyes close completely. I don’t want to get fired, but I just can’t take it anymore. Even nurses need sleep, believe it or not. I feel myself being dragged over to the couch, and I carelessly try to fight him off. Sleep and let it happen, or run. Yes, run. I have to go. Straight to human resources.

Perspective Twenty

Microstory 243: Perspective Eighteen

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Perspective Seventeen

I’ve been called a “wretched busybody” by different people, on multiple occasions. Such a strange phrase, so people must be talking about me behind my back. I wasn’t always like this. I used to be sweet and understanding, and even a little submissive. That all stopped when my husband revealed to me that he’s been having an affair with the same woman for the entire fifty years of our marriage, and then some.  I never really liked the man, and was a little relieved that I finally had a reason to let him go. I actually wish he had told me the truth sooner. For the first few weeks, I felt free and alive. I even went out to the clubs a few times. I stuck out like a sore thumb at an amputee convention, but I had a lot of fun. Pretty soon, though, the novelty of single life wore off, and I reverted into the bitter, irritable old woman I was destined to be. My neighbor feels the brunt of my wrath. He runs a small business out of his home, selling custom wares with a cadre of hoodlums and delinquents. They all seem like nice people, but they all have problems. I don’t know if any of them have been to jail, but they just don’t look right to me. I don’t trust them, and I worry that their presence is bringing down property values. I had a real estate appraiser come out and confirm as much about neighborhood small businesses. Okay, that’s a lie, but I still heard that it’s true. He’s a great guy, and I’m glad he’s helping those kids out, but I just don’t think I should have to suffer them. Sure, they’ve not done wrong by me...per se, but they might. You don’t know. My daughter says that I should hold onto the youth I was recapturing just after the separation. She’s been not so subtly emailing me information about cruises, saying that women my age do this all the time. Apparently there’s this entire subculture of old people who just live on cruise ships for the rest of their lives. I’ve always found that kind of thing to be rather pathetic, but now it’s looking a bit appealing, to be honest. She recently sent me a brochure about a cruise for older singles. I’m still thinking it over.

Perspective Nineteen