100 Word Challenge: Service Time

9 out of 10 dentists surveyed recommend the 100 Word Challenge for their patients who engage in online literary challenges. This week's word is pleasure, and my entry is called "Service Time"








“My pleasure,” she said. It was the corporate line, drilled into them when they were trained. Just say it, regardless of whether you mean it, and after a few slipups, she incorporated it into her patois. “Number 4 Meal with Fries and a Sprite? Certainly. My pleasure.” Over and over again, for hour upon undercompensated hour. Pleasure was something to hoard, to be won, not a prize to be handed out to every caller. She sighed, careful not to let the mic pick it up. “Welcome to Chick Fil A, may I take your order?”, she asked with false cheeriness.

I managed to not mess up! Uh, hooray? "No Returns"

The fine folks at 52/250 have put up this week's stories, and I managed to actually submit mine on time this week. The theme is "Bad Haircut", and my contribution, called "No Returns", is located here.

A quick quote, before I go back to my writing

" 'You're awfully good. If I didn't love you for anything else I'd love you for decisions.'

'They're easy to make when you haven't seen how too many of them can turn out.' "

-Hemingway, "The Garden of Eden"

If I Could Be Anyone, At Any Time In Recorded History...

I might be Duff McKagan (the blond who isn't the drummer) on the day this video was made.

Can a Flash be A Flash Without Me? Apparently.

The 52/250 Flash is up here this week, the theme being "Least Favorite". You should go read it. However, my work is NOT there, only because, I assume, I forgot to send it in.

Sigh.


So here it is, "Least Favorite", NOT part of the 52/250 Flash, because I'm dumb.













“Oh, great,” Natalia said under her breath. “Bacon.”


Of all the food products she dealt with behind the sandwich counter, bacon was by far her least favorite. It just looked wrong, with its marbled surface, all dried up but somehow still greasy, looking like a dog treat. Sure, she was a vegetarian, too - one of a group of idealistic high school freshmen who tried it as a weight loss method and social protest, she was the only one who found it easy to maintain as the years went by - but the bacon here was just gross.


She looked over her slim glasses to try and see who ordered the bacon-filled sandwich. It was probably him, seeing a middle aged fat guy with a grizzled goatee staring at her. You need less bacon and more sit ups, she thought, then made a mental note to add that to her notebook. It might work well in her novel.


She hated her glasses, they made her look geeky. She longed for contacts, but she didn’t even bother to mention it- she sensed what her mother could and couldn’t afford, and had stopped asking.


She made the sandwich mechanically, just another sandwich, hour upon endless hour. She had become someone who just existed, not her favorite way to be. She finished, called out the sandwich’s number, and the hefty guy came forward immediately and took it from her.


“Thanks,” he said, and smiled. His eyes were wrinkled, but kind.