skepticlysm

Tag: short-story

  • Some of Those Who Work Forces

    Some of Those Who Work Forces

    • Yeah, hi.
    • I did write a … wait.
    • I didn’t write yesterday’s …
    • Wait.
    • I started this yesterday, but did not post.
    • TIME TRAVEL FOR DUMMIES.
    • And then I stopped, set the lappy aside, and watched the rest of Dept. Q, which has fantastic characters.
    • I hope they make a couple more seasons of that.
    • Anyway.
    • Sitting here in the couch spot, writing.
    • And surfing, because goddammit, though I don’t want to, I start my days looking at social.
    • (Insert a lot more swearing.)
    • Looked at Hamby’s post this morning.
    • And now I’m listening to Rage Against the Machine.
    • How is it only 9:42 a.m.?
    • “Killing in the Name”
    • Anthemic.
    • (Well, it’s mine anyway. Especially now, after the awakening.)
    • I mean, depending on your stance, this song (and most their songs), seem particularly relevant at the moment.
    • Tom was a Harvard political science grad, after all.
    • Actually played that out loud.
    • I’ll shut if off now.
    • No need to drag Steph down the hole with me.
    • Oddly enough, I have no Rage Against the Machine merch.
    • The only band shirts I have are Tool and Metallica.
    • Which are my most listened-to bands.
    • But I probably should have a Rage one in the quiver.
    • I’m planning on going to the Woody Guthrie museum and picking up a hat.
    • (You might be able to guess which one …)
    • I’ve said it before, but now’s the golden age of t-shirts and merch.
    • There is a lot of crap, however.
    • Most of it is crap.
    • Sturgeon’s Law.
    • Like some jackass with Canva thinks they’re a designer and can make and sell t-shirts based off some lame template with a terrible font.
    • Or they’re just throwing up shops of AI-designed bullshit.
    • AI isn’t the way, people.
    • It’s another way to put people out of jobs.
    • To take the humanity out of everything.
    • For profit.
    • And then what?
    • They let machines and AI take all the white-collar jobs.
    • Do they really think we’re going to be cool with the rich fucks sitting there on beaches and yachts while the rest of us, what, work …
    • What work?
    • You can’t manufacture endless shit people won’t be able to afford.
    • The path we’re on is not the right one.
    • …
    • Dammit, Hamby.
    • The running joke about me is that I’m always angry.
    • That pic I ran yesterday, the greeting card thing, yeah … that’s probably closer to the truth.
    • And Vollertsen’s constant pointing out my idealism.
    • That’s where my “anger” comes from.
    • I cannot stand the cruelty in our society.
    • I cannot stand the presumptions that govern behavior, those attempts to put ourselves above others, that some of us are doing it the “right” way and deserve it more than someone not doing it “right.”
    • We should be focused on putting policies in place that provide opportunities for everyone.
    • We don’t.
    • Everyone’s morning affirmations should include, “I am not better than anyone else.”
    • Angry.
    • Frustrated is a better descriptor.
    • I get angry about injustice.
    • Inequality.
    • About motherfuckers trying to make their business my own, their view the only one, their path my path.
    • Cut the shit, people.
    • Focus on empathy.
    • Do right for others when you can.
    • Make the world better, because it sure as fuck is not at the moment.
    • I have a 17 y.o. FFS.
    • This is the world she gets to live in?
    • Are you kidding me?
    • I need to send her to the Sarah Conner school of life.
    • …
    • Hi.
    • There’s a lot of stuff I consider writing about in the List, and then don’t.
    • I have this problem at work for sure.
    • But even out here, where I’m “free,” I refrain.
    • Like … we could be talking about pooping.
    • Do you KNOW what it’s like to be on antibiotics for two months?
    • I have stories, man.
    • I tell them to Pryor, because we’ve been trading that kind of nonsense for 48 years.
    • 48 years!!
    • What I’m saying is that meds have inspired me to spend a lot of time in or near bathrooms.
    • To the point where Ginny the Cat accompanies me, lays on the mat in front of the shower and slow blinks at me.
    • The hell, cat.
    • Yes, she’s protecting me.
    • From … the turd monsters?
    • This morning, she tried to climb into the toilet.
    • We’ve had her a year, (almost a year?), and she’s only just now coming around.
    • We know she was a breeder cat.
    • The hell did they do to her?
    • Never hold her?
    • Never let her out of the crate?
    • She’s laying on the couch next to me at the moment.
    • Not against me, mind you, but … close.
    • Meanwhile, Liho (my cat), is walking from room to room caterwauling.
    • Ask not for whom the Cat squalls, it squalls for thee.
    • I talk to Liho when she does this.
    • Discuss what her issues might be.
    • She shuts up then.
    • For a bit.
    • At night, when we feed the cats their wet food, there are two phases of her noise making.
    • The first comes about halfway through her food.
    • We think it is her song of joy, telling us how much she loves the food, giving thanks to her providers.
    • Or it could be her going, “What is this shit you feed me every night? This, again. I hope you rot in Human Hell.”
    • Then she cries again when she’s finished to be let out of the kitchen.
    • We have to keep them separated while they eat.
    • Ginny hoovers hers up and then goes for Liho’s.
    • Liho beats Ginny up many times a day, or acts aggressively with swats, rushes, and hisses.
    • When food’s involved, however, she lets Ginny bully her out of the way.
    • The hell, cats?
    • Another day, another dodge of the Hollywood rant.
    • Someday.
    • Will it be worth the wait?
    • Probably not.
    • What else?
    • Going to be an action-packed weekend.
    • Steph’s birthday is Monday.
    • It always falls in or around Father’s Day.
    • Got that.
    • Got other things going on, too.
    • Stuff to write.
    • Hoping I get the car back again today.
    • Taking the kiddo shopping tomorrow.
    • I think.
    • Now I’m just stretching this out.
    • List record length.
    • 1011 words (well, it was, then I went back through it “editing.”)
    • OMG
    • Did I waste your time?
    • No one’s making you read.
    • (Queue Rage …)
    • I gotta go shoot up anyway, so you’re off the hook.
    • I hope the weekend finds you before I do.

  • Elevator Doors

    Elevator Doors

    • Yesterday …
    • Okay, maybe it was Saturday.
    • Yeah, definitely Saturday.
    • We went to Mi Tierra for dinner.
    • Had fajita leftovers.
    • They were not my leftovers, but I was told I could have them for lunch today.
    • Which is nice.
    • Nice to not have to worry about spending $17 for lunch downtown, you know?
    • I had my bag slung around my chest, my coffee in one hand, the styrofoam container with the fajitas in the other.
    • (Who still uses styrofoam?)
    • (Well, lookie there. Apparently “Styrofoam” is a brand name like Kleenex or Xerox.)
    • (No, you environment killing thing, I will not give you a capital S.)
    • Scanned in, went to pull open the big glass door to the 14th floor …
    • Which slipped.
    • And caught the fajita container and my arm, flinging it from my grasp.
    • Fajitas everywhere.
    • Everywhere being mostly the floor.
    • And my hand.
    • Which after multiple washings still smells like fajitas.
    • Sigh.
    • Apologies to the cleaning staff.
    • My fault.
    • How’s your Monday?
    • Mini fiction:
    • He nodded to the woman behind the security desk as he entered the building.
    • “Good morning,” she said.
    • He echoed the greeting, lamented for the moment he did not know her name. Well, if it were really a she? It looked like a she, but he knew it was one of the latest bots from Boston Dynamics. Probably had a model designation and not a real name like Sally or Veronica. Maybe he’d give it a name. Later, though. The timeclock waits for no one, however, and he needed to get upstairs for a meeting … which started in four minutes. At least it was a Zoom meeting.
    • He stopped in front of the elevator bank, mashed the Up button with the pointer finger on his right hand while the rest clung to the coffee tumbler. His other hand held a small square box of “gourmet” donut holes.
    • The button’s yellow-orangish light lit up.
    • He leaned around his left arm to check the time.
    • Two minutes.
    • Ugh.
    • The elevator beeped. He fought the urge to step forward, reviewing stock footage of all the times he tried to rush onto the opening elevator while people tried to get out. All the awkward apologies to people he didn’t know.
    • The doors opened.
    • No one got out.
    • He stepped on, looked at the bank of floor buttons and the card scanner.
    • Oh, right.
    • He fumbled with the ID lanyard, snaking his thumb behind the ribbon to extend the card toward the scanner. He wondered how ridiculous he looked if the security guard happened to be watching from their console.
    • Card mashed against the scanner. The light turned green. He dropped the lanyard and thumbed the button for his floor, then stepped toward the back of the elevator, started to rehearse what he might need to say in the Zoom meeting.
    • Then realized the elevator had not moved.
    • He glared at the floor buttons. None were lit.
    • He sighed, loudly.
    • “Work, you stupid thing.”
    • He repeated the card scan/button process. Why did they even have to scan a card still? Couldn’t they code these things with biometrics? Or even scan your card in your pocket? Why the old school tech? Maybe the building supes spent all the money on Sally.
    • He refocused.
    • Again, all the proper lights lit. Again, he stepped back, this time keeping his eyes on the buttons.
    • The lights, which lit for a moment, went off.
    • “Seriously?”
    • He repeated the watch dance.
    • Late.
    • Officially.
    • He stepped forward, tapped the “open door” button.
    • Nothing happened.
    • “C’mon, you dumb thing. Work!”
    • Talking to himself on a Monday morning while trapped in an elevator …
    • The elevator dinged, lurched upward for a second, then stopped, bouncing.
    • He struggled to keep his coffee in his hand as his arm whipped out to catch the wall for balance.
    • He glanced around, looking for a camera.
    • “Help?”
    • Again, it lurched upward, stopped. Lurch. Stop.
    • He crouched back against the wall, waited. Counted to 100. Why he counted to 100 he didn’t really know, but it seemed a reasonable amount of time to make sure everything was … stable.
    • He stood, stepped toward the buttons, then repeated the card swipe process and reselected his floor. The buttons lit up like they were supposed to. The elevator began to climb.
    • “Thanks for nothing, dumb elevator.”
    • He felt an increase in upward velocity in his knees, which flexed a bit. He flicked his eyes to the floor indicator as his floor came and went.
    • He gritted his teeth.
    • The elevator stopped at the top floor.
    • He waited for the doors to open, visualized the door to the stairs.
    • The doors did not open.
    • He leaned forward, mashed the “open” button.
    • Nothing happened.
    • “Open the doors, you piece of junk!”
    • He stomped on the floor.
    • Which opened. He slipped into the dark of the elevator shaft, coffee and donuts flying from his hands as he flailed. As he fell, he looked up and watched the yellow light of the elevator vanish.
    • Mondays, he thought.
    • …
    • End.
    • Yeah, I dunno. That’s what popped into my head this morning getting on the elevator here at the Arvest Tower.
    • I have never written list-based fiction before now. Nor let anyone read that kind of thing without massive edits. That’s a first draft. Heh.
    • Also, that was before the Fajita Fiasco of March 2025.
    • Also, I have to go read the comments from the Millennials in Friday’s list. I see there are new ones, but I have not gotten there yet. Been a busy Monday, even without the fajitas.
    • Also, this was all written to Iron Maiden’s Somewhere in Time (album, not just the song.)
    • Dunno, man. I listened to another of their albums over the weekend, Seventh Son of a Seventh Son, which is one of those concept albums.
    • I have memories of the day that came out when I was in junior high.
    • Sorry. Middle school.
    • I really haven’t listened to Maiden since seeing them in Tulsa a handful of years ago.
    • They played too much of their new stuff, which stinks.
    • Purged them from my system for a while.
    • Okay.
    • I’m out.
    • You have a Monday.
    • Try to keep a good grip on your lunch, right?
    • Stay safe!