Tag Archives: Story

fiction

Missed Connection

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Dear Woman with Braids at the Brighton Chili’s,

I apologize if I made you uncomfortable by sending you a drink. I meant it merely as an icebreaker, although your demeanor appeared more rigidly icy than before. Admittedly, I see how you were shocked to receive an Apple Martini at 1 in the afternoon. In retrospect, such an act may be strange, but there is no reason to be on guard.

Or perhaps your reticence was due to my uniform. It can certainly be odd to see an American soldier in combat fatigues in the middle of the day (in a Chili’s no less). But believe me, I had a very good reason—I’m not allowed to take it off from the hours of 9-5, recruiters aren’t allowed to. And what am I supposed to do, Not go to Chili’s! So, I promise I wasn’t wearing it to get attention or for free appetizers (although I’m fine if I receive them, I would never pass up mozzarella sticks).

Or are you against the military’s current efforts in foreign countries? We’re on the same side then, honestly. You’ll never find someone more opposed to sending soldiers to do anything than me. I like it here in the States. I get thanked for just walking around and smiling at strangers.

Anyway, my dependents get free healthcare—just something to think about. 

Well, I’ve probably said enough. If you read this and want to get in touch, just pick up one of my business cards. You can find one in any small business in the city (never know who might want to join! Not me again though. I’m good.)

Sincerely,

SGT Alan Beck, United States Army Recruiting Command

fiction

On Call

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“What do you mean you have to go to work? I just made popcorn.”

“Simon, I’m really sorry, but this is important. I can’t just blow it off.”

“Oh, fine. And I’m not important? I’ve been looking forward to movie night all week. Huh… apparently I was the only one.”

“I—I can’t do this now. They’re prepping the kid for surgery as we speak and I’m the only surgeon on call. We’ll talk later, okay? Wish me luck!”

“Yeah… good luck. I just hope one of these days I’ll be more important than a kidney transplant on some child you don’t even know.”

* * *

“Hey! I’m here, I’m here!”

“What took you so long? They’re already wheeling Ian into the O.R.”

“I knowww, I’m sorry. It’s Simon, he can be so needy sometimes.”

“I thought you were leaving him?”

“I’m trying. We agreed that this is his last second chance.”

* * *

“Well, Ian, how do you feel?”

“Better now, miss doctor. Thank you for saving my life.”

“Aww! You’re welcome, sweetie. And thank you for getting me out of movie night with Simon.”

“I thought you were dumping that creep!”

“I’m working on it, buddy. Don’t worry about that though, just focus on getting used to that new kidney.”

fiction

Job Interview

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Interviewer: “Good morning, Jacob. Would you mind starting by telling us a little bit about yourself?”

Interviewee: “Certainly. Good morning, Mr. Aguilar and others participating in the interview process. My name is Jacob Smith. I was born Jacob Rivers in Winslow, Oklahoma to a left-handed prostitute and a heroine addict from the Vietnam era. I grew up poor, but happy. At the age of 14, I was released from the methadone clinic, free from my own addiction. I have a work history that is boring, lengthy, and deeply uninspiring. However, I have been repeatedly told that I show a penchant for soul-crushing repetitive tasks. While I will not ask much of your company while I am here, I take it as a given that you will also not ask much of me. Considering the employees I’ve interacted with so far, yourself included, I do not foresee that being an issue.

My strengths are mostly physical, and my weaknesses are none of your business. My long term goals include working somewhere better than here, and my short term goal is to eat a 5-lbs. bag of M&M’s in a single sitting.”

fiction

Beach

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“I’m a fool,” I said to myself, unconsciously clenching my teeth as I gazed around at my fellow beach-goers. I considered myself a fool because I fell in the same trap once again. I decided to go to the beach for a nice relaxing getaway. Only when I pictured it, I was alone on the picturesque shore as the sun descended to join with the horizon and the waves crashed rhythmically on the sand.

Needless to say, that has never once happened when I actually go to the beach. What doesn’t happen is I have to stressfully guard every morsel of food from persistent seagulls, I get seriously burned due to my brave decision not to wear sunscreen, and I become immediately surrounded by young children (seemingly without parents?) who seem to think that the most enjoyable pastime at the beach is to have sand-kicking competitions (in which no one wins, but I very much lose).


Now, I don’t mean to complain—or rather, I do mean to complain, but I also don’t want to come off as a jerk. I would like to point out that I understand it is not reasonable for me to expect an entire coastline to remain uninhabited solely on the off-chance that I would swing by and want some alone time at a popular tourist destination. I’m just saying it’d be nice. Anyway, I’ll fall for it again in a week or so. Eventually, I’ll learn to just enjoy being a fool, but today I didn’t.

fiction

Siete de Mayo

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For those of you who aren’t fluent in Spanish numbers, Siete is 7. And so, Siete de Mayo can also be known as two full days after I partied hard celebrating whatever it is Cinco de Mayo is for (Independence Day in Mexico? I’m not sure). Anyway, we rocked out hard. By we, of course, I mean me, a fifth of Tequila (Fifth for the fifth!), and my disapproving wife who has to work in the morning.

I, thankfully, didn’t have to work yesterday, which was tomorrow back on the Fifth. The reason I didn’t (and still don’t) have to work is because Larry tried to do a donut in the forklift and took out my knee. Couldn’t have been prevented really, but hey, that’s life. And I don’t blame him. In fact, I owe him a ‘thank you’ card for getting me on workers comp. I get a whole two months off and one of those cool knee scooter things! (Google it)

Heck, if I’m being honest, I don’t even remember yesterday existing. I jumped straight from Five to Siete… or something like that. The night of the fifth is kind of a blur as well. But I awoke on the seventh (siete) to find that someone had the gall to deface my knee scooter with crude drawings. There is currently a disagreement about who would have done it (either me or my wife. Sure, I was blind drunk, but that means she had motive because she hates when I drink during the week. And thanks to me being dead to the world on the sixth (Seis in Spanish if you’re keeping with the theme), she also had opportunity). (Sorry about all the parentheticals) 

I’ll keep you updated as the case of the scooter vandal develops. Happy Siete de Mayo!

fiction

Working for the FBI

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You would think that there are a lot of cool jobs out there for FBI agents. There aren’t. You can go undercover, but honestly, it takes up a lot of your life and I just started dating the shoe gal at the bowling alley—and not to sound cocky, but I feel pretty good about it. So, undercover is out. 

You could also be one of the FBI guys in a suit or a windbreaker that shows up to arrest people for federal crimes (You know, like on the TV?). That’s it, just arrest them and then head back to the office. Pretty boring stuff honestly. Mostly paperwork.

Luckily there is also one other job, one that combines my talents and interests all in one. I’m the guy that spies on you while you do stuff you think is private on the internet. And if you do anything really weird, I look into everything you’ve ever done on the internet. Believe me, I’ve seen and heard some bizarre and unspeakable things. You know those people that put a little piece of electrical tape or something over their laptop’s webcam? Yeah, I mostly look for them, they’re the most entertaining. 

But don’t think you can just call up the FBI and tell them you want to do this (You can’t, I tried). The job was much harder to get than that. I had to prove that I knew a lot about computers (I don’t), or that I’m really good at stalking people (I am!). Importantly, I needed references— so I put down a crush I had in high school, Bonnie Raitt (Not that one), and a guy who works at AT&T who made me pretty mad. They know how much info I can dig up on someone when they become the sole target of my affection or ire. Based on their testimonials, I was given the job immediately.

The fun part is you kind of just get to choose who you look into. Most people in my position look into criminals and suspected criminals. I guess that’s what I’m supposed to do too, but no one really checks up on us. I spend a lot of time looking up family members and neighbors (spoiler alert: everyone you know is weird as hell—or everyone I know at least). 

Anyway, when I got started, they sat me in a dark room with ten computer screens and told me to let them know if I found anything. That was months ago. Well brother, just yesterday I hit the doggone jackpot. Let me tell you about K.J. Hanson:

Finding him was pretty easy. First, I looked for a list of people who Googled their own names recently. He was top of the list (4 times, just today!) The funny thing is, there is no reason to ever search this guy. He has a couple of inactive social media accounts and a half-assed WordPress site with like a handful of posts. I almost had to look away when he was nine pages deep in Google, it was just getting sad.

At one point, I thought he must’ve been onto me. He took off the tape over the camera and started sitting up really straight and making faces of deep introspection as he scrolled through a scientific article that he clearly wasn’t reading. (Does he do this every day just in case someone is spying on him?)

Later on in the day, after he had forgotten to put the tape back over the camera, he began doing karate moves in his living room. He was pretending to fight a lot of attackers. When I say karate moves, I’m not talking about an actual trained martial artist like Jackie Chan or that other guy. No, he looked more like the embarrassing choreography from the old Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movies. You know, before they had CGI and it was just out-of-shape dudes in heavy rubber turtle costumes doing half-hearted punches and kicks.

I wrote up a whole report on this guy for my supervisor. At first, I was worried that I would get in trouble for using so much of my time roasting some nobody for an official FBI memo, but they loved it! I owe them a report on K.J. every week now. Can’t wait to see what he gets up to tomorrow!

fiction

Confessions of an American Senator

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Truth be told—I wanted to be an actor. But no matter how many acting classes my parents paid for, I kept getting told the same thing: Not believable.

Sometimes I feel bad about the stances I take on certain issues, but if you want your soundbite to be on the news, you can’t just agree with everyone else or say something rational—you need shock and awe!

I often wonder if people realize how little power I actually have to do things, or how little effort I put into doing the things that I can do.

I use most of my salary to pay different media sources to say good things about me and make my life seem down-to-earth, instead of joyously extravagant. Image is everything.

Pro tip for you future senators: you don’t need to do great things if you can pay someone to say you already did great things.

fiction

Is Exercise Killing Us All?

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Yes. Yes it is. Exercise is morally reprehensible. When you exercise, you consume a drastically increased amount of oxygen (the thing we all need) and expel tons of carbon dioxide (the bad stuff). Exercise contributes to global warming and is killing the planet (thanks fitness jerks). They’re basically poisoning the earth during their wind sprints and burpees (I hope that single-digit body fat percentage and rock-hard abs are worth it, you tool!).

Despite the above paragraph, I don’t think all people who exercise are bad, far from it. Well, not far from it. I actually pity them in a way, and not just for their assumed physical insecurities and probable lack of self worth. I pity them because one day they will understand how many lives they’ve ruined with their ignorance. I don’t envy anyone on that day.

Please keep an eye out for my next article: Why Writers are Actually Hotter than Athletes

fiction

Obituary

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If purgatory is truly a possible destination, Jacob Renz is the exact person it was made for. Close friends often remember him as “Okay.” Whenever his name came up, co-workers would be the first ones to say, “Who?”

Who indeed, was this man that was neither great, nor wicked. He stood paper-thin on the line that divides good and evil, so that if you stared at the right angle, he was impossible to notice.

Family members loved the way that they didn’t feel strongly toward Jacob one way or another. He is remembered most as being technically blood-related, and for not forcing awkward conversations on people at family gatherings. “He was my husband,” says his wife of 20 years, “and I don’t have any complaints about him,” she had added with a shrug. His two children had fond memories of not having bad memories of their father. “I really appreciated the way that he never beat us, or emotionally abused us.”

Jacob Renz was a middle-of-the-road man that this world neither needs more, nor less of. He was not a hero, or larger-than-life figure that people will seek to build statues of. Neither was he a bad man who left behind grudges and unsettled scores. And for that, we can all feel satisfied in knowing that his death brings neither intense joy, nor deep sadness to anyone who knew him.

Liked the story? Check out more at KJHansonStories.com!

fiction

Monster

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A lot of people don’t realize how bad it is being a monster. Unless you’re lucky enough to be one of those monsters that can bite people and turn them into whatever you are, like a vampire, or a zombie, or a werewolf. That’d be neat, but if you aren’t one of them, then you’re pretty lonely just about all the time. And the times you’re not lonely are when some hot-shot with a sword and god-complex tries to chop off your head. But that’s just for starters.

Have you ever seen a monster working at any shop or office you’ve ever been to? I’ll answer that one for you, no. And it’s not because monsters are lazy, we would love to work. But nobody hires a monster to work for them. Sure, they’ll do monster appropriation with mascots and such, but hire any real monsters? Nope. Nuh-uh. Not even once. 

Any time I even try to ask for an application they are already too busy making their blood-curdling screams and begging for their lives. It’s hard to make a good first impression with all that going on. And then the stories they tell, my word. They’re on the 6 o’clock news talking about how I crashed through the door and started trying to eat people. You believe that? 

First of all, that was a weak-ass door. I mean, hinges shouldn’t just snap off like that. Second of all, if I was going to start eating people, I would go to a country with a leaner cut of meat, if you know what I’m saying. No offense to North Americans, but that much fat in my diet would kill me in just a few years. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yeah, so they get on the news and badmouth me to anyone and everyone who will listen. As if my job prospects weren’t bleak enough.


Do they even ask my side of the story? Of course not. They just assume that I am some hideous outcast from this world of theirs that has come back to exact my revenge. Well, I mean, I am now. But that’s more their fault than it is mine.