I'll Be Right With You

In the cold light of morning, Ethan was awoken by his two rescued mix-terriers in his modest urban loft.  He groggily threw on some thrift-store-bought clothes, walked the dogs, tended to his mustache, and rode his vintage Schwinn to the Apple Store.  Ethan had been a reluctant salesperson for almost five months.

As he arrived for work, he greeted Aurora on his way to the floor and told a few customers he would be with them soon.  After a quick kombucha, he made his social-media rounds and then wandered back to the most impatient-looking of all the waiting customers.  He told the exasperated man and his wife they should be next and then asked how he could help the girl standing behind them.

“I was thinking about upgrading my Apple Phone,” the girl suggested, holding up a shattered screen as supporting evidence.  Naturally, she had already decided exactly which phone she wanted in the time she spent waiting.  Ethan resisted the temptation to correct the name of the most popular cell phone ever made and began the cursory run-down of features and comparisons.  The girl obliged before confirming her selection and Ethan walked her through the purchase and on to the Personal Setup Table.  Ethan took pause to eye the crowd in the area, who collectively followed the progress of their devices in dumb anticipation. 

Ethan’s next customer was the dad he had seen warning his kids not to break anything as they slobbered all over a $1200 iPad.  “What are we looking for today, Sir?” Ethan managed.  “Awww, Sir is my dad’s name.  Call me Ron!!” the delusional forty-something jovially barked.  “I’m considering getting one of these iWatches.  I’ve got enough gift cards, I think, but I just don’t know if I’ll use it enough.  Can you do email on this thing?”  Ethan forced a smile and said, “Yes, Sir, the latest Apple Watch is capable of handling email and many other apps I’m sure you would enjoy having conveniently available, with or without your phone clipped on your snazzy belt.” 

While Ron rambled on about doing email and the new fitness program he was planning to start, Ethan felt an anger descending all around him, filling his shoulders with burning rocks and pulling at the hairs on his neck.  After brusquely confirming the Apple Watch did have both “Wireless and Internet on it,” he claimed to be needed in the back and urgently escaped.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Aurora,” Ethan confided.  “Do these people realize how easy it is to look this stuff up on their phones?  If you want to know if Siri is a real person, ask Siri!  I swear, if one more person asks me where the iCloud is, I am going to LOSE IT.”  Ethan felt his phone vibrate.  Aurora had responded with an adorable kitten meme, which he had to admit did make him feel a little better.  Ethan took a ten-minute break to meditate, then returned to the floor refreshed.

He was coping much better for awhile until he met his last customer of the day.  Mary was a 74-year-old woman shopping for a laptop as a graduation gift for her granddaughter.  Ethan let it go when she called it an “Air Book” and smiled when she wondered “if it had all the iTunes on it and everything.”  However, when Mary asked if her granddaughter would be able to do email with it, Ethan punched the old woman in the face.

He stood over her lifeless body and shouted, “YES.  YES, it will DO EMAIL!!”

The scene fell silent as all the shoppers, employees, and even the four dogs in the store looked on in horror.  Thankfully, Mary wasn’t seriously hurt. She got back to her feet, composed herself, and suggested Ethan seek professional help and a personal trainer.  Hunter helped her finish buying her granddaughter’s new MacBook Air while Ethan and the store manager went in the back to calm Ethan down and give him a chance to share his truth. 

Ultimately, Ethan was sent to the corporate wellness self-healing retreat known as “Reboot Camp” before being reassigned to the Genius Bar.  He spends most of his day texting Aurora and doing email.

·         Written for “A Salesman Loses Their Cool”

The Ballad of Donovan Harvey

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I’d like to thank you all for taking the time out of your busy schedules to afford me a fair trial,” Harvey began.  Donovan Harvey, along with his team of passionate but inept hooligans, had been accused of armed robbery.  Harvey had chosen to represent himself in his trial and was making his closing arguments.  “I want you all to know I consider you my peers,” he continued.  “The facts, testimony, videos, and eyewitness accounts we’ve seen and heard this afternoon were impressively presented.  I’d like to congratulate the able prosecutor on a job well done.  As I mentioned earlier, my memory of these events is spotty, at best, so today was really helpful for me. 

If it pleases the court, I’d also like to apologize to my associates.  I can see now that this was all my fault.  Gentlemen, for the record, this one is on me.  Choosing to go in there armed with Civil War era weapons was a mistake, and that certainly isn’t on any of you.  That was my idea.  I thought it would be kind of cool and retro.  It was impractical.  When you shove a pepperbox revolver in someone’s face, they’re more likely to ask you what it is than fear for their life.  I mean, sure, I did ask a few times if Jerry could borrow some shotguns from his uncle, so we could use those instead, but that doesn’t change how I feel about it.

Another thing--planning the heist using blueprints for the wrong building certainly didn’t help.  You guys did the best you could under the circumstances.  Had I pulled the right file, this whole thing might have gone another way.  I’m not going to sit here and blame Gordon because he was in charge of the plan and never noticed the address didn’t match.  He trusted me and just went with it.  I couldn’t have expected him to look at the front page.

Also, attempting to count the money right there on the spot was an unnecessary risk.  I see that now.  Trey, you’re horrible at math and I never should have asked you to do that.  You were only supposed to take the money and get it to the car like Gordon planned, and I had to complicate things.  That doesn’t excuse the fact that you insisted we use Waze to track the cops during the getaway, but even that ridiculous idea wasn’t as bad as Jerry’s driving.  Seriously, Jerry, I still can’t believe you tried to drive on the railroad tracks after you blew the tires accidentally jumping the median, but I’m still proud of you.

I am proud of all of you.  When Gordon first came to me with the idea to rob the Planet Hollywood, I thought he was out of his mind.  You guys nearly pulled it off!  In closing, I just want to say I’m sorry to the proprietors of Planet Hollywood, who were unable to join us today, the City of Orlando, and my life coach, Barney.  I can and will do better.  Your Honor, I rest my case.”

The trial was swiftly concluded, the jury dismissed, and Harvey was taken into custody.  In the end, Donovan Harvey was sentenced to serve only a fraction of the time given to the others after their subsequent trials.  His decision to accept a plea deal, but openly testify against his co-defendants rather than provide a written statement, was the first of its kind.  He was released the following spring and lives in Tucson with his wife, Dottie, and their two kids.

-          Written for “Not on the Team”

Enjoy The Hunt

Dorothy Fantana spent eighteen years trying desperately not to worry about her son, Alex.  When Alex was a toddler, she worried he would become a serial killer because he would chase other kids around the playground and bite them.  She was told by the other moms that it was just a phase, but he really seemed to enjoy the hunt.  She was sure he would eventually get run over by a bus, as he seemed magnetically drawn towards dangerous roads and parking lots everywhere they went, and he never looked both ways before crossing.  To Dorothy, these were the sort of concerns all parents must have.

You worry they will develop a heart condition because it seems they will never eat anything aside from chicken nuggets.  You issue warnings of tooth decay and diabetes because they had both cake and candy at Olivia’s birthday party.  Their proclivity for the taste of Children’s Motrin gives you nightmares about them falling victim to the opioid epidemic.  The world, it seems, is nothing more than a test of survival.

Dorothy tracked the progress Alex made growing up and felt markedly less anxious.  Despite repeatedly demanding food without the use of good manners in his youth, Alex does not seem destined to be a convicted felon.  He has enjoyed a few innocent and healthy romantic relationships, though he once showed his penis to a classmate in the preschool bathroom like a future sexual deviant.  He used to insist that school sucks, yet he has become a fine student with no expectations of living in Dorothy’s basement into adulthood.  In fact, Dorothy recently returned home to find a note from Alex indicating that he had moved to Ithaca.

The move wasn’t entirely unexpected to Dorothy, as Alex was scheduled to begin college there in the fall, but the note explained that he had decided to move earlier than planned.  It went on to suggest that he would not be returning.  Furthermore, Alex cited some of Dorothy’s past behavior as the cause for his early and permanent departure.

He complained of being secretly taught to drive by friends when he was already seventeen.  Dorothy, he reminded her, was sure he would end up running over a family of five on the way home from a sporting event.  He implied some lingering bitterness over the embarrassing circumstances that led to the loss of his first girlfriend.  Alex maintains it was inappropriate for Dorothy to have handed his girlfriend a pamphlet for the treatment and prevention of venereal diseases each time she came to their house.  The associated lectures, Alex insisted, were also abnormal.  The last straw, Alex explained, was Dorothy’s reaction to his request to go to Cancun this summer with Doug and the other guys from his youth group.  She listed human trafficking, gang violence, the Zika virus, and even tainted tequila among her reasons the youth pastor was “insane” to be taking anyone one a mission’s trip to Mexico. 

Alex was gentle in his note, but clearly explained he needed time away from Dorothy to find his independence as an adult.  Dorothy, overcome with worry, grabbed her pre-packed emergency bag and her dog, Buster, and left in a frenzy to go find Alex in Ithaca.  It was getting dark when she left, and she was driving faster than she had in years.  In truth, she had not driven more than fifty miles since Alex was born, but she felt a desperate need to get to Alex immediately.

With over two hundred miles to go, Dorothy began to feel tired and her mind began to wander as she imagined the trouble that Alex might already find himself in.  She decided to call him again.  As she sped along the winding country road, the hum of the asphalt and gravel whistling through the night air, she reached across to the passenger’s seat for her cell phone, but it fell to the floor.  Prisms of passing headlights shone through Dorothy’s windows as she reached down to quickly retrieve the phone.  Buster shifted uneasily in his seat, whimpering to her.  As she reared back to re-focus on the road, she passed an oncoming church bus full of howling children. 

She began to think of Alex and the special trips to camp she used to take to let him visit his friends for the day.  Dorothy rolled the windows down and began to cry.  She tightened Buster’s seat belt and considered turning around.

-          Written for “Unreasonable Concerns”

Suzanne Happens

Occasionally, I’ll have a bad dream about someone and wake up angry with them. This happened recently, when I dreamt I was headed to Spring Training and had asked Suzanne to care for my beloved poodle, Garbage. “Sure, Chip,” she had answered cheerfully. “You know I love spending time with Garbage; It’s no trouble at all.” I felt I could trust Suzanne, so I thanked her, jumped on my motorcycle, and happily sped away.

Some time that weekend, Suzanne took Garbage to the park for a walk. Everything was going fine until Suzanne let Garbage off her leash and then left her to go ice dancing with some hockey guy. Garbage, feeling too horrified to stick around watching Suzanne make a spectacle of herself, ran off to explore the city. Garbage has no patience for a show off. She pranced happily through the streets, smiling at strangers and stopping periodically to feel the warmth of the sun on her face.

When she stepped into the road behind some pigeons that were crowded around a spilled box of popcorn, I knew it was over for Garbage.

I woke up and felt a rush of relief, but the underlying bitterness and resentment I felt towards Suzanne was overwhelming. I decided something must be done. I made a list of scathing anti-Suzanne propaganda, reported to work at Zebra Printing, and opened a fresh box of blank bumper stickers. While largely ignoring the customers, I hammered out several incendiary designs and had hundreds of each printed by lunch time. I closed up shop just after noon and headed out into the streets of Santa Fe.

Soon, every light pole in a six-block radius read, “Suzanne, thanks for nothing.” I put stickers on every car I could find with a variety of messages, from “My other car is parked on Suzanne”, to “Honk if Suzanne really blew it”, and even “If you can read this, tell Suzanne to go to hell”. By the time I ran out of “Suzanne Happens”, I was exhausted and headed home rather proud of myself.

I slept heavily that night and woke up feeling refreshed but wondering if perhaps I had overreacted. During my breakfast, Suzanne called to fire me. It was a decent job, but I didn’t really care. I finished eating and started investigating local animal shelters. I had decided to get a dog.

• Written for “Dreamlike”

Over At Sullivan's

Walter Kowalczyk had never been shy about sharing his success stories. He was a man of meager beginnings, but a hard worker and had earned what little he had. During the 31 months he spent between jobs in the late ‘80s, he learned that other people’s good news isn’t always easy to enjoy. In fact, it can be a miserable reminder of one’s own misfortunes.

Walter had become affiliated with a fraternity of the potentially employed that spent their ample free time at a local bar. Mostly, they just threw darts and commiserated over cheap beer. He and his associates were always quick to congratulate the lucky bastards that managed to find work, only to curse their names and wish them ill the minute their backs were turned. In one case, after a few too many drinks, Jerry broke a bottle over his brother’s head, just because his brother had won ten dollars on a scratcher he found at the bowling alley.

When Walter finally got the news that he had been hired on as a MIG welder over at Sullivan’s, he didn’t want his friendships to suffer a similar fate, so he kept it to himself. In order to explain where he’d be during the day, he announced to the bar that his Aunt Sally had taken ill and he was going to be dealing with a bunch of B.S. for a while. That hadn’t been a lie, so much as it was an unfortunate coincidence. When he’d show up at the bar each night, he’d talk briefly about Sally’s decline and say he was just trying to stay positive and hold things together. Occasionally, he’d garner enough sympathy that someone would buy him a beer, an act of significant generosity under the circumstances.

Later that year, when Sally finally passed and left Walter her ‘78 Buick, Walter mentioned only her death and the added stress the bills had put on his budget. After all, the late-model sedan wasn’t exactly the most fuel efficient. Walter’s brotherhood responded admirably, filling his belly with beer and even taking up a small collection to help him in his time of need. The only problem was, he had lost his excuse to remain scarce every day during business hours. Worse still, he’d been given a promotion and would be busier than ever and earning the kind of money it is hard to hide from friends with a sixth sense for a spare dollar.

When asked the following Sunday if he’d like to go fishing one day that week, Walter panicked, made up a poor excuse for an excuse, and angrily shouted about having sold his fishing gear before storming off. He managed to avoid any further complications until he was finally cornered at the bar one night by a guy called Stu. Stu said he didn’t want to make a big deal of it, but he wanted to give Walter his fishing pole and tackle box. When Walter tried to refuse, Stu explained that—between the two of them—he wouldn’t have much time for fishing for a while anyway, as he had just been hired on as a spot welder over at Sullivan’s.

Touched by the thoughtful gesture, guilt-ridden over having taken advantage of these downtrodden men, and mostly just the right amount of drunk, Walter confessed that he had been working at Sullivan’s for several months already and offered to give Stu a ride on his first day. Initially, Stu looked angry and disgusted with Walter, before suddenly turning away, leaving him to worry if he’d expose Walter as a fraud and turn everyone against him.

Walter went home with a pit in his stomach the size of a ‘78 Buick. The following Monday, after a hard day’s work, Stu walked into the bar, nodded silently to Walter, ordered a beer, and announced that he had some bad news to share.

• Written for “Keeping Good News to Yourself”

The Dark Roast

“Someone turn off that stupid spotlight,” I yelled in my foggy rage. “Jesus, could that really be the time?” I wondered. I felt like I had just laid down. “I guess I better get moving.”

I stumbled to the bathroom and started a shower. I stood, lifeless under the water, hoping for some glimmer of resuscitation. When that didn’t work, I knew I’d have to make some coffee before leaving the house, even though I was already running late. The second there was enough to fill my favorite travel mug, I ran out the door.

Halfway to the car, I ran back inside to find my car keys. I checked all the typical landing spots with no luck, before finally finding them in my pocket. “God help me,” I muttered. Finally, I backed out of the driveway and sped off down the road.

As I weaved through traffic waiting for my coffee to cool to a reasonable temperature, I wondered if Superman ever felt that way in the morning. I tried the coffee, but it was still too hot. “Probably not,” I guessed. I unscrewed the lid, so I could blow on my coffee and realized I had missed my exit about a mile back. Swearing loudly and creatively, I spun an extraordinary U-turn and then burned my entire mouth when I took a careless and irresponsible draw from my travel mug. “This day is garbage,” I decided.

When I finally reached the scene, I was beginning to feel a bit better. Unfortunately, the robbery was long-since completed and the perpetrators made their getaway over a half-an-hour before I arrived. I ignored the scathing onslaught from the commissioner and jumped back in the car to begin my feverish pursuit. Several red lights, a railroad crossing, multiple wrong turns, and a symphony of obscenities later, I finally caught up with the suspects.

I fought my way to the leader, had him trapped in an alley and was ready to restrain him and take him in, when I realized I had left my utility belt in my living room. “Cripes,” I cried out. After tying him up with random garbage from the dumpster, I explained that his luck had run out and he’d be going to prison for a very long time. When I asked where he had hidden the money, he began a sinister laugh. Not in the manner of an evil comic book villain, but in a strange, off-putting way that broke me into a nightmarish lucidity.

I began to survey the scene around me, shaking my head in disbelief and trying to make some sense of what I had done. The sobering reality was that I had confused the crime with another from earlier in the week. The worst of it was that I had just “fought” my way through a crowd of hostages, injuring nearly every person I had been called to save, women and children included.

I decided right then to stop staying up so late and to get more sleep. I had gotten into the habit of telling myself I’d watch only one episode of The Great British Baking Show, but I’d inevitably get drawn in and end up staying up half the night. I miss having that extra “me time", but I just can’t do it like I could when I was younger.

• Written for “Batman is Tired”

Like An Itchy Rabbit

It has been about a year since I first noticed Woody becoming difficult around other people. We were seated at a local restaurant waiting for someone to come by with our menus, and it was taking a fairly unreasonable amount of time. We were both feeling impatient, but then Woody suddenly lost it. He began to yell and insult the staff, demanding to speak to a manager and making a huge scene. I was completely embarrassed.

That sort of thing began to happen more frequently, and it got to a point where I felt like we couldn’t go anywhere.

Noisy people at the movies. Too many items in the grocery store express lane. Driving too fast. Driving too slowly. Pretty much any situation involving a crying baby. Woody seemed like he couldn’t wait to tell people how they were bothering him.

Then, a few weeks ago, Woody really crossed a line. I had been invited to a birthday party for one of my neighbor’s kids and decided to take Woody along. When it was almost time for cake, one of the kids became very upset. Apparently, the cake wasn’t gluten-free, and my neighbor hadn’t thought to provide any alternatives. Once Woody found out what was happening, he started in on the kid’s mom and really let her have it.

He went on and on about how she should have brought something herself “for her annoying little brat” if she wanted to be “weird about food” and “turn her kid into a nut case.” He might have had a point, but Woody was so loud and offensive about it that many of the guests were upset and we had to leave. After that, I finally got up the nerve to confront him about it, and it did not go well.

He began almost immediately naming all the annoying things about me. “You snore,” he barked. “You fart all the time, no matter where we are. You bite your fingernails on the couch. You’re a loud eater. You have stupid hair.” He went on for some time and when he finally finished with a three-minute rant about how I bounce my leg when I’m anxious “like an itchy rabbit,” I had heard enough, and I fired back.

“Do you think anyone would even talk to you if it weren’t for me?” I yelled. “I gave you a chance and a place to stay when no one else would. I defend you when people make fun of you. You’re nothing without me and all you’ve done for the past year is embarrass me.” It was a spectacular fight.

There were some tears and awkward silence for a while after that, and things between us have been better in some ways and worse in others. Lately, I’ve been wondering if ventriloquism just isn’t for me.

• Written for “Why Does Everyone Annoy me? Do I Annoy Everyone?”

Top Of My Class

Let me start by explaining that I realize standard protocol for surveillance does not include alerting one’s subject to one’s intent to surveil. I happened to be standing next to Man in line at a coffee shop, I was excited about completing my final assignment and becoming a certified private investigator, so I threw out the idea that Man could be my mark.

I explained that if he agreed and I was successful in spite of his knowing, it would surely put me at the top of my class. After careful consideration, Man agreed it might be fun, so I paid for his peppermint mocha and bid him farewell. “See you later…but you won’t see me,” I offered with a wink.

Quickly, I hailed a cab, circled the block a few times, then jumped out in the middle of a crowd moving slowly past the M&M Store. I saw Man toss his empty cup near the trash can at the edge of the park, look around a bit, then shrug his shoulders before heading north. I joined a Segway tour for an outrageous fee and surprisingly little paperwork, and kept a close eye on Man as the group and I pretended to listed to our instructions.

As we made our way to the north end of the park, Man received what appeared to be an important phone call and he headed west in a hurry.

I ditched the Segway and followed Man on a stolen skateboard to some kind of medical office building on West 111th Street. I used the rear entrance and hid behind a Highlights magazine as I made my way to the lobby. “I AM CRUSHING THIS,” I thought to myself. No sign of Man, however.

Patients came and went for 45 minutes. Still no Man.

Growing concerned, I decided to work my way back through the office and retrace my steps. Just as I opened the back door, I spotted Man getting into a supply truck. Luckily, I had just enough time to sneak into the back of the truck with the cargo and carefully shut the door before the truck pulled into the side alley and then made a right.

We made another right, a left, crossed some railroad tracks, I think, made several more turns, then drove for awhile east, I’m fairly certain. When I woke up, the truck had stopped and it was very quiet. Unsure of what to do, I decided to get out and do some general reconnaissance.

Unfortunately, before I could make my move, the cargo door slid open and Man stood there looking surprised and then angry. My cover was blown. I forced a smile and yelled, “Gotcha,” in hopes that Man was unfamiliar with standard procedure and would think this was my plan from the beginning. Man was not amused and, in my opinion, less understanding than was reasonable, considering I’d warned him something like this might happen.

The strange thing was, Man began to claim that he’d never met me. He also said he wouldn’t drink a peppermint mocha if it was “at your mom’s place on Christmas morning,” which was weird and hurtful. He was adamant that he would “never agree to let another dude follow him around all day.” I don’t know if Man was just messing with me or what, but he told me I better get the hell out of there, and he was VERY sure about that.

At any rate, your website says that as long as I report everything that happened, I can pay to retake the exam and “graduate” in the fall. Please find my check enclosed. Look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Kyle B.

• Written for “Follow a Stranger”

Be Gentle

It all started as a dumb joke. Actually, I’m not sure it even qualifies as a joke, but it certainly wasn’t meant to be taken seriously.

After trying to ignore some guys at lunch going on and on about “making America great again,” I finally couldn’t help myself and I just blurted it out: ”You know he and some of his friends burned down a church when they were in Prep school, right?”

Naturally, my exclamation was met with immediate protest, so I began to embellish my spontaneous outburst with a web of fabricated but thoughtful details. I spoke solemnly about the poor groundskeeper who had been trapped in the basement during the fire. I raved with spectacular disdain over the injustice bought with highly-paid lawyers and influential parents. I confidently recounted the swift cover-up that kept the story quiet and out the media with the bravado of a seasoned conspiracy theorist.

Quite satisfied with myself and my little prank, I abruptly went back to work and on with my life. Imagine my surprise when I saw the trending headline on social media the next morning. Apparently, one of the gentlemen from lunch runs a surprisingly popular blog about finding Jesus in a hunting blind, or something to that effect.

I immediately began to retrace the steps of the conversation, paranoid that I might have left some clue to my identity. I remembered claiming to be just as American as any of them and not “a G.D. socialist,” contrary to their collective appraisal, but I was fairly certain I had not given my name or place of business.

As the news cycle played out and the outraged rhetoric reached its high-water mark, the discourse settled on finding the source of the allegations and levying a full investigation.

I have never felt that level of panic. I remain in that state as I write this in the food court of the West Davis Mall, trying to act natural while scanning the room for anyone seeming to act natural for my benefit. If you’re reading this, I assume you work for the FBI, so be gentle. It wasn’t meant to be taken seriously.

• Written for “ Notice Someone Trying To Act Normal”

Relative Resignation

I first met Hank Williams, Jr., while waiting in line to rent a boat at a marina in Myrtle Beach, SC. I had been in the line for an exceptionally long time and my patience was wearing thin.

Groaning, stretching, and looking to the sky for mercy, I failed to identify Hank, Jr., when he first walked past. I did, however, notice he was allowed to bypass the line, grab some supplies, and toss them into a boat called “Rowdy” without a word from anyone.

As he then proceeded to occupy the only employee at the desk with small talk, he caught me shaking my head and glaring at him in disbelief. Hank, Jr., shrugged and offered, “Membership has its privileges!”

I wouldn’t describe myself as “star-struck” at that point, as I had never had any appreciation for the man’s music, apart from the Monday Night Football theme song, but my eyes did widen as I realized who he was. As I could see that he noticed me making the connection, I apologized for staring and explained that I thought for a minute that he was Carrie Underwood.

Hank, Jr., thought that was so funny that he invited my family out on his boat that day, and we really hit it off. I’ve seen him countless times since then. He always pretends it is a coincidence, but we both know he doesn’t shop at my local grocery store or go to my kids’ school. It has become a problem, but at least I’m not still waiting in that line.

• Written for “A Dishonest Boast”

Terribly Pooped

I woke up today to my son telling me he was very sweaty. He explained, as I tried to figure out if I was even awake, that he had NOT wet the bed, but that it might look that way because of all the sweating. My wife suggested that I get him cleaned up because she had really only slept for a total of four hours, due to my completely unexpected snoring. I assured her it would be my absolute pleasure.

As I left for work, my neighbor was taking two garbage cans full of rattling wine bottles out for recycling and mentioned they had been meaning to invite us over for dinner, but that things had been really crazy lately. We agreed we would get together really soon and I told him I hoped he had a great day.

After explaining how awful the traffic had been on the way to the office that morning, my boss said she had heard there was some kind of gruesome accident and that the important thing was that I was okay. Later, she told me how everyone had been so impressed with all of my hard work and that she thought it would be a good idea if I took over the supervision of our team. I had been expecting it and assured her that it was not a good idea; it was a magnificent idea.

I became very busy telling people how busy my day had been, then called my wife to let her know I couldn’t wait to see her and I would be right home. Completely unexpectedly, I stopped at a local pub I had never been to before for just one drink. I left soon after and while safely driving home, a very courteous man asked me to pull over to the side of the road to talk. I promised I had only had the one beer but had also taken a new allergy medicine that did not seem to be agreeing with me. We both decided that explaining that to his judge friend would be the best way to go and that he should give me a ride home in the meantime.

As I explained later to my wife and kids that I had helped thwart a robbery and saved that officers life, earning myself a highly coveted spot in Spy Detective Training School for the next 18-24 months, my son asked me why my pants were all wet. I told him the day had left me very sweaty.

• Written for “When Nothing Rings True”

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