Microstory 2129: Eat All the Things

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Today was a fun day for me, but will make for a pretty boring post for all of you. My new company gave me both a signing bonus, and an advance. I’m not a millionaire or anything, but I have enough money in my bank account to start taking care of myself. After the pre-onboarding paperwork and meetings that I had to go through—which I can’t talk to you about—I went shopping. I bought groceries, as well as other necessary new belongings, like a nightstand to put next to my bed. I got a lot of walking done today, because I don’t have a car, and I had to make separate trips, since I didn’t want to be carrying all of the bags around. For the larger furniture, like that nightstand, and a rug for the dining area, I had to make a whole separate trip each. Fortunately, I’m in a really convenient area, so it’s not like I had to travel for miles and miles to get to these places. I have this problem when I go grocery shopping, especially if I’m starting with very little, or in this case, almost nothing. I buy everything that I feel like eating that day, but that’s too much food, so I have to choose one for my next meal, and save the rest for later. Or I don’t wait, and eat all the things. That’s how I gained so much weight even after leaving college. The way it worked in the dorm cafeteria was that I could eat all the food I wanted every time I swiped my card, and I felt like I had to take advantage of the savings by eating extra, because my parents were paying for it. I thought that this sort of behavior would stop once I moved into an apartment during my last year, but by then, I was used to binging, and couldn’t help myself. That’s never really stopped, even when I’ve been able to lose weight, which is what happened when I became immortal, but it’s coming back now, so I have to be really careful. Anyway, I’m sure you don’t wanna hear any more about my eating disorder and weight issues.

Microstory 1865: True Security

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This is the dumbest story from my life. Maybe that’s not the right word for it. Silly, I suppose. It’s certainly not the kind of thing a person should be thinking about as they’re on the brink of death. A normal person wouldn’t, anyway. I was known in my day as someone with an excellent memory. I didn’t have any supernatural ability, or even a diagnosable condition, like hyperthymesia or an eidetic memory, but I was good. In particular, I never forgot a name, and I never forgot a face. So it was a little jarring when a random woman came up to me in the bread aisle of the grocery store, acting like we were old pals. As she started talking, I was thinking that maybe she was mistaking me for someone else. I hear that sort of thing happens to other people. But while the things she was talking about didn’t make any sense, she used enough keywords for me to think that maybe we did know each other somehow, and I started questioning my confidence in my amazing mental faculties. Maybe I forgot people and things all the time, but they never came up again, so I never had the chance to even realize it. Perhaps this woman was tapping into a weakness that I was too blind to see I had at all. Was she a witch? A god? Was she still talking? I couldn’t understand most of what she was saying, her lips were moving so fast. She didn’t have an accent from my perspective, and she wasn’t mumbling, it was just too fast. I wished I had a little remote that would let me slow her down. But the more I thought about it, the more I thought I would probably just mute her, or turn her off. I didn’t need to talk to this person, except maybe I did, because she knew me, and I needed to know how! Yes, I had a cat when I was a child. No, his name wasn’t Mittens, it was Buttons. My first car? I made one up, because I don’t drive.

I keep trying to listen to her, but then I really did get bored of the “conversation” and wished that I could simply walk away. If I were anywhere else, I might have been able to, but I had this cart full of food. She would probably follow me, and skip the milk this week just so she wouldn’t have to end our little one-sided chat. Of course, I could have left my cart, and proceeded right to the exit, but that would have looked so weird, and again, what if she really did know me, and she tracked me down, and tried to spark a friendship? What was that about my mother’s maiden name? I still couldn’t—oh my God, she’s a scam artist. This woman was trying to get my bank information to steal my identity. Keep in mind that this was in the early days of the internet, so people were still mining for information in the real world. It was still bizarre. Joke’s on her, because of my great memory, all of my security answers were fake. I don’t find it any more difficult to recall a food that isn’t my favorite than one that is. It’s tomatoes, by the way, but I told her pizza, because that’s a normal answer. Then I just keep leading her on with her stupid little questions. I met my spouse in a city I had never been too, and also, I’m not married. The name of my first celebrity crush is an actor that I hate. My astrological sign? Really? I’ve never even seen that question before, and I would never use it, because it’s too easy to find out. I don’t even bother lying to her about that one. She went through so many questions, finding clever ways to sprinkle them in, I was almost impressed. Once she was satisfied, she claimed she had to get going, and we parted ways. It wasn’t until I tried to pay that I discovered my wallet missing. I realized that she wasn’t only probing for security answers. She was also distracting me from a pickpocket.

Microstory 1568: By a Dog

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Prompt

Because of my horrible allergies, I have a poor sense of smell, but I can smell poop and popcorn, and I can’t tell the difference.

Botner

I thought there was popcorn in the seat of the grocery cart, but then I didn’t smell it. The smell was different, like rotten popcorn, but not quite. The smell disappeared about the same time as the smell of poop. He was leaning forward into the cart so he could see the screen and as soon as he heard me, he tried to hold his finger over his nose. I guess the dogs would be more sensitive to dog farts if they were in the cart with you. I’ve heard that border collies can smell out drugs but I wonder about different breeds. Does it depend on the breed? I was a black lab, lab retriever mix, but probably mixed with some other breed since we got her before we started breeding labs. My parents only got me when they already had three dogs, and I was somewhat self-sufficient. I had a job, but mostly I just kept to myself and did my own thing. I used to follow my parents around and go to their bed when they were asleep. I still do that sometimes, but they let me now. I went with them when they went to visit my granny and the park she lives near. I wanted to go home with them but they wouldn’t let me, so I waited for them at the house. I got my mom’s last bite of chicken. I...

Conclusion

...don’t normally get to eat human food, but they each sneak me some when the other isn’t looking. They don’t know that the other one does this, and think it’s just our little secret. That’s fine with me, I get more chicken this way. My friends around the neighborhood often ask me how my owners are, and what it’s like to be me. In fact, they ask me this question every single time that they see me, because they don’t have much in the way of memory. I don’t know why I’m different than the other dogs; why I’m so much smarter, but it is both a blessing, and a curse. My humans regularly walk around without any clothes on, which makes me uncomfortable. I don’t know why, I’m not wearing clothes either, but I guess my fur makes me feel less self-conscious about it if, at least it would if I were them. I sometimes catch myself dreaming of leaving the house, and going off on my own. I would be able to survive just about anything. It’s only my fingerless paws that would make things problematic. Though, I suppose I could teach the humans I meet to understand me, and help me out when I need it. Why would I do that, though? I love my humans. They give me food and water, a nice place to sleep (even if it’s my bed or cage, instead of theirs), and I don’t get as distracted by the crazy smells all over the yard as my friends do. No, I don’t think I would give up my life for anything, even if I do have a little more potential than the average pup.

Microstory 1368: Security Job Security

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Security Department Head: Did you happen to read any of that document we emailed you?

Veteran: The one that came through a secure server, and made me register on a website to read it?

Security Department Head: Yes, that one.

Veteran: Yeah, I read the whole thing.

Security Department Head: Then this is mostly a formality, but not completely. I have to fill out this paperwork that says I went over your clearance, but if you went over the entirety of it yourself, we should be fine. I mean, you have pretty high level military security clearance, so if the government already trusts you, I see little reason for us to doubt your capacity of safety and security.

Veteran: No, sir. 

Security Department Head: I did want to take a moment to speak with you about your expectations for this job, and your reasons for being here. Even though we’re not exactly the most prestigious security firm in the nation, we’re still mostly composed of vets and cops—myself being a major exception; I was a federal agent—so we run in the same circles. I’ve heard your name floating around. Apparently, you’ve been in discussions with some other firms? Tell me about that.

Veteran: That’s right. A third of my unit have taken jobs at one firm, while another third started their own on the East coast.

Security Department Head: And the third third?

Veteran: Various other jobs; some of which aren’t all that glamourous. I fall into that category, I suppose. I’m pretty sick of stocking groceries, though.

Security Department Head: So, you’re not interested in working for one of these larger outfits?

Veteran: No, sir. I’m sure I’ll be quite content here.

Security Department Head: Okay, well the reason I ask is because we’ve been approached by both of these companies for a takeover. We do not intend to be swallowed up by them, but you can imagine how suspicious it is that someone as overqualified as you has stooped to our level.

Veteran: I wouldn’t say that I’m stooping to your level. Like I said, I’ll be happy here. I don’t need to go overseas, or even get paid all that much. I just want to put in my hours, protect some people who need it, then go home. I got enough pressure when I was stationed on the border.

Security Department Head: So...you’re not a corporate spy?

Veteran: I’m not at all, no.

Security Department Head: Don’t laugh. You wouldn’t be the first one.

Veteran: I’m sorry for my attitude, and I’m sorry for whatever’s happened. I promise I’m not here on behalf of anyone but your company, and me.

Security Department Head: All right. I’ll press it no further. Let’s go up to HR to make sure there isn’t anything else we need before you can start. Is Monday still good for you?

Veteran: It is, sir. Thank you, sir.

Microstory 1341: Bad Thoughts

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New Patient: Where should I sit? Or should I lie down?

Psychologist: You can sit or lie down wherever you like, however you like. That’s why I have so many options. I have one patient who prefers to curl up against the wall, because it makes them feel safer.

New Patient: Okay, thanks.

Psychologist: So, what brings you in today? The way I understand it, you’re having mixed feelings about something?

New Patient: Well, that’s one way to put it. I would describe what I’m experiencing as bad thoughts. I just keep—not seeing things; I don’t have hallucinations—but I have these urges to do things I know are wrong.

Psychologist: Things like what?

New Patient: Well, the other day, the cashier at the grocery store got upset with me, because I’m apparently supposed to scan my rewards card before I pay, so now there was nothing she could do about it. I can’t say that I wanted to do this, but I just had a vision—this flash—where I shoved the card in her mouth, and told her to scan it now. Oh my God, that’s so terrible. I can’t believe I’m telling you this.

Psychologist: That’s okay. This is a safe space. Everything you say is confidential, and I’m not here to judge you. Mine is only to help.

New Patient: I sure hope you can, because this isn’t even the worst example. I can’t explain it. Like I was saying with that one, I don’t have a desire to hurt people, but I can’t help but think of these alternative responses. The normal thing to do is just open the door that’s just been accidentally shut in my face, but a part of me wants to get them back for that; to physically drag them back to the threshold, and slam it in their face too.

Psychologist: So your thoughts are more about exacting justice, or revenge, on people who have wronged you.

New Patient: Yeah, I guess that’s probably an accurate limitation. I don’t walk past someone on the street, and think about randomly slitting their throat. It just seems to bother me more those little annoying things that people do. I mean, I would almost rather just be the kind of jerk who snaps at others, because then at least I wouldn’t be hurting them. I’m worried I’ll one day just lose control, and actually act on these thoughts.

Psychologist: Well, I wouldn’t be worried about that just yet. Simply by acknowledging that these are, and would be, irrational reactions, you’ve taken the first step in changing your perspective.

New Patient: I’ve just never been like this before. I grew up totally fine, but now it’s all I can think about, at least for a few moments after something frustrating happens to me. It’s making it hard to focus on everything I need to do.

Psychologist: There’s probably some reason it’s happening now. When people change their moods like that, it’s usually due to newer, stressful situations. Let’s talk more about who you are, what you do, and what has changed in your life recently that could cause you to feel a little more temperamental than before.

Microstory 1056: Carrie

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I don’t know why I’m telling you this story, because it’s not in my best interest to reveal the secret of how I knew Viola, but I have this inexplicable compulsion to get it out. I don’t have all the answers, so you’re going to have to talk to Earl and Edgar, but the reality is that the whole Gertrude-Maud tragedy was not the first deadly and harrowing adventure that Viola took it upon herself to help with. Last year, Edgar found out that I had a bit of a crush on him, and he decided to do something about it. If I had realized who—and what—he was, I wouldn’t have had those feelings, but I was just excited he was taking an interest in me. The four of us started hanging out; the fourth being this other person I can’t really tell you about unless I explain what happened to us that night, and maybe then you’ll also understand why someone told you to speak with Ida before me. How they knew you should do that, I couldn’t tell you. The first thing we took was a pack of gum, from the grocery store. Roy even caught me doing it, but Edgar used his charm to get him to let us go, which of course wasn’t that hard, because he has a learning disability. The next time, though, we took something larger. I don’t remember what it was, but Blanche caught us this time, and there was no way she could be convinced to look the other way. Yet she did, all because Edgar simply told her to. I was scared, but also mesmerized. How did he do that? I had to know more, so I kept doing everything he asked; be it more stealing, some vandalism, or stashing a baseball bat at my house. By the time I had the good sense to stop the madness, he already had me in his claws, and no matter how much I wanted to pull away, he kept me subservient. Some people seem to think Viola had superhuman powers, which I know was true, but no one seems to be considering the possibility that she was never the only one. There is so much about this world that we can’t explain.

Things got so much worse when he asked me to film him give our fourth friend a beating. He didn’t say why he was doing it, but he was enjoying it a lot, and that psychopathy was enough to break me out of my trance. I immediately knew that Viola was the only one who could help me with my problem, even though I had no real reason to think that. By the time she and I found them again, the fourth friend was already lying on a wooden table, in this creepy dungeons, his blood draining into a bucket. Viola was clear he wasn’t a vampire, but that didn’t mean she fully understood what he was going to do. It was very ceremonial, and culty, which she wasn’t surprised to see. The victim was inches from death when Viola started taking Edgar on in a physical manner. They spilled all the blood during the fight, and drenched the place, except not a single drop touched me, or Earl, who was in an even deeper trance than I ever was. Before too long, Viola had him bested, and knocked unconscious. She ruthlessly rolled the victim off the table, and placed Edgar on it. When she picked up the knife, I thought she was going to kill him with it, but she just made several very shallow cuts, all over his body. I couldn’t see anything change, but I could feel the heat from some kind of energy pass from the victim, up to Edgar’s body, and a coldness transfer the other direction. When Edgar woke up, he wasn’t Edgar anymore. They had switched placed, thanks to Viola’s magic. The reason I can’t name him is because Viola erased him from history, and everyone’s mind, including his own. I was one of only three to remember that any of this happened, but Viola never told us why, and I still don’t recall his name. That’s all I know. Earl can tell you more. I’m done talking about this.

Microstory 865: Cashier or Credit

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After seven years, the war is finally over, and wouldn’t you know it, it ended in peace. No side truly won over the other, but compromises were made. Hell would continue to house all the dead bad people, but exactly what qualifies as bad would be drastically altered. There would also be limitations on the conditions of the hellscape, rendering the place more depressing and banal than torturous. Heaven would be turned over completely to be run by the hypostates, with very little cross traffic, save for checks and balances. Earth would be left mostly to its own devices, with an interesting twist. Any demon wishing to relinquish their connection to the other realms would be free to start new lives, alongside living humans, with no repercussions. The apostates agreed to this, not thinking it would make any difference. A surprisingly high number of demons wanted to live with mortals, which was actually rather beneficial to the global economy. The world was primed to restabilize after the apocalypse, but that didn’t mean demons were automatically awarded decent jobs, or that they would be happy about it, or that they would not revert to their old ways. Most of them ended up with dead-end, minimum wage, high school jobs. If you were a law-abiding demon who went an entire workday without doing anything with trash, you were lucky, just that good, or had brilliant connections. With this in mind, I get into the line at the grocery store that’s being run by a demon cashier. The woman ahead of me is wearing that infamous tattoo, indicating that she was a warrior for The Lightbringer during the war, which explains why she’s the only other human willing to risk it. I’m here because demons don’t bother me that much, and the other lines are far too long. It doesn’t hurt that the demon cashier is extremely beautiful. I identified as pansexual even before the armies of darkness brought hellfire to the surface, as many people did. I know a lot of others started questioning their sexuality when that happened, never having before been confronted with the puzzle of how to feel about someone who we would best be described as a monster. I had no problem with it, and were we not literal born enemies, I would have considered a relationship with a demon years ago. I treat individuals individually, and try not to judge people until I know more about what they’ve been through. The warrior takes her groceries, along with the fiver that the cashier tried to pocket. She doesn’t even argue about it; she just gets it back, and walks away. I throw my own stuff on the belt, and try to swipe my credit card. The cashier tells me that the reader is broken, and she’ll have to swipe it for me. Extra cautious from what she tried to do to the warrior, I watch her carefully, easily catching her slipping the card into her cleavage while replacing it with another one. She tries to give me the wrong one, likely hoping I’ll put it away without even looking. I politely ask for the right one, and remind her to return this other one to its rightful owner. “And one more thing,” I say. Her eyes dart over to her supervisor. This may be the straw that causes the camel to fire her. “Would you like to get some coffee sometime?”

Microstory 277: Perspective Fifty-Two

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Perspective Fifty-One

I know what to say. And I can teach you how to say it too. I hate the term pickup artist, but that’s what people call me, so I have to allow it. Unlike other teachers, I can tailor my lessons to utilize your personal skills. That’s why I always only run small class sizes. I don’t just give you lines to memorize, and I try to steer clear of negging. For anyone here who doesn’t know what that means, it’s basically giving someone an insult that’s wrapped inside of a compliment. What this does is convince your target that they’re good enough to be noticed, but also that they could do with some work, and—what luck—you happen to be there to help them. I shy away from this because, even though it has its place, it also sort of poisons the well. People are smarter than they used to be, and they read through these tricks. The only way seduction works in today’s day and age is to be genuinely interested in your target, or rather, be able to convince them that you are. It also doesn’t hurt to have something that sets you apart from all the other schmucks in the bar, as it were. But it doesn’t have to be a bar. There are plenty of places to pick someone up. If you’re in a grocery store, I recommend putting something in your cart that you’re target is buying, as a start. Unless it’s just milk, because everyone buys milk. Grocery stores are tough, and require a lot of nuance, so if you wanna learn that, you’re going to need to attend my advanced class. The dog park is a good place because people who like puppies like other people who like puppies. But this requires a commitment. If you just borrow a pet from a friend, your target will be able to tell. If you’re gonna do it, go big. Make it a rescue, and if you’re a man looking for a woman, make it an ugly dog. Honestly, women can’t resist an outcast animal. It draws them to you, and makes you look like you’re not superficial and shallow. Now if you’re here to become a pickup artist, then you might as well leave right now. I’m not here to teach you a “game” that you can play for your amusement. The fewer number of targets you speak to, and the higher number of successes you have, the better. I don’t want you to “play the field” and objectify others. You should be looking for a connection. Now, this connection doesn’t have to be marriage; it could still be a one-night stand, but your goal should be a phone number or a shared cab with one special person; not as many as you have time for. This introduction was free, but if you want to learn my method, it’s time to pay. Who’s in?

Perspective Fifty-Three

Microstory 69: Breakdown

I blew a tire out on my way to the bulk store today. It was just another in a series of problems I’ve had with my car. It’s so old that, last week when my muffler was dragging on the ground, the mechanics had to build a new one out of parts. They literally don’t make them like they used to. I was already late to help my mother with the heavy groceries, so it was even more humiliating rumbling and shaking like a crazy person, trying to desperately make those last couple of blocks. After getting the groceries, my mother needed help unloading them, so I rode with her back to her house. I tried calling a tow truck, hoping to meet them back at the store, but they said they wouldn’t even send one out unless I was already there waiting for them, so I borrowed my father’s truck and left. Apparently this was a big day for tows, because it took them almost an hour to reach me. The driver had to find a workaround because I evidently don’t have any “hook points” in the front. But he finally got it strapped down, and we headed out for the tire shop.

I was told that I had arrived at the tire place with enough time to install new tires before closing, but it took them much longer than expected; so long, in fact, they they wouldn’t be able to finish until tomorrow. That was extremely annoying, but my dad didn’t need the truck since they were going to be out of town for a couple of days. As it turned out, it didn’t matter since the truck refused to start anyway. There was a guy sitting in his own car nearby who heard me dealing with it and was 99.9% sure they it was something called the “fuel pump”. He had me stick my head in the tire well to prove it wasn’t making the sound it was supposed to. Having no other choice, I began the long walk back home. When I finally got back, exhausted and just wanting to go to bed, I found police officers escorting a man in handcuffs from my front porch. I asked one of the officers what was going on at my house. He answered, “he just robbed the liquor store down the street, across from the police station. It’s a good thing you weren’t home. He’s been holed up in there for hours, claiming to have hostages.”