Remote Vacation

Pete has an adventure

Busy Work

 

Walking the entire length of every aisle in the warehouse added up to 14.2 miles. Ted measured it twice. It took him a week. His boss approved and promised to send the information up to the big boys.

 Ted was doubtful of Jack’s conduit to the big boys. The third shift warehouse manager was not on the fast track to the executive suite. Ted, Jack’s only underling, wasn’t even convinced there were big boys.

 The work was easy, but as boring as boring gets. The third shift only existed to handle immediate rush jobs from huge companies that needed their electronic parts NOW! On a good night that meant three, maybe four orders. A big order might take fifteen minutes to complete. Many nights, no orders at all.

 You’d think that would be tolerable, but Jack insisted that Ted look busy in case any of the big boys should happen by. Even if the big boys did exist, the odds of them wandering into the warehouse at 3AM AM were pretty low.

 Then, one night, Ted had to get an old part for a VAX computer from “The Annex.” This was an old bomb shelter under the parking lot. The tunnel to it wasn’t wide enough to walk. You had to shimmy sideways.

 The annex was a junkyard of old mainframes. Many of them had tape drives and tubes. The VAX was fairly modern in comparison, but there were only two left here. Ted pulled the back cover off one machine, but the part in question was already missing. Fortunately, the second machine had the part.

 Ted was about to leave when he realized that something in the room was turned on. None of this stuff was built with shielding, so the radiation was perceptible. Along the far wall he found an old terminal that was warm to the touch. He hit the space bar on the keyboard, and the screen came to life.

 On the screen was a command prompt. Sitting next to the terminal was a user manual. Ted left the terminal alone. He had to get the VAX part to shipping. Some company was paying more than Ted’s annual salary for it.

 Starting the next night, when the night’s orders were done, Ted returned to the annex terminal. At first he had little luck, but then found if he typed help, it would help him. After a few days he figured out how to navigate the folder structure. He also began to suspect that he was playing with more than just a dummy terminal.

 He found a folder with a bunch of subfolders, each one the name of an employee of the company. The folder with his own name was empty except for a record of the orders he’d processed. Jack’s was much the same. Ted was hoping for some he could use against his boss.

 The big boys’ folders were a little more interesting. Emails and letters, written in a techspeak jargon that Ted could barely follow. It took a month or so for Ted to learn enough of the code words to learn of the company’s internal struggles.

 The company, at least the old parts branch, wasn’t doing well. They were making a profit, but not enough. Half the big boys wanted to dump the business; the other half wanted to expand. Hanging in the balance was Ted and Jack’s jobs. Plus, the day shift, but Ted didn’t know any of them, so he didn’t much care.

 It took another week for Ted to get up the courage to mention to Jack what he found out. Jack admitted that he already knew of the problems but was concerned about how Ted knew. Ted told him of the terminal, and Jack told him not to use it again.

 Two nights later, Jack wasn’t at his desk. After picking and shipping the few orders, he went to the annex. The terminal was gone.

 The next night, at the front door, there were dozens of police, guys in suits with name tags, and even most of the big boys. Seems that Jack somehow got into the computer network and moved several hundred thousand dollars to a bank in the Cayman Islands.

 Ted’s interviews with the authorities reminded him of Sgt. Schultz from Hogan’s Heroes. He just kept saying, “I know nothing.”

It's A Gas

Checkers

 

David’s life was a yo-yo journey between the heights of madness and the depths of depression. He had pills that evened him out, but he said that they mushed his brain so much that he couldn’t beat a chimp at checkers. Though he never had the chance to prove it.

First of all, checker-playing chimps were not easy to come by. Amazon doesn’t sell them, and the medical animal supply company requires much more paperwork than David could supply. He tried a few other animals with simpler permit requirements, but their checker skills were subpar.

He devised a series of experiments using human opponents but kept running into roadblocks. First, the control state, to prove he was a genius when it came to checkers, could only be accomplished if he went off his meds. So he often wound up incarcerated before he could find a worthy opponent.

He tried playing people in the various wards, but he found no players the theoretical chimp couldn’t beat anyway. He tried playing computer opponents, but they were too predictable. The doctors weren’t any help. They tried to convince him that since nobody could beat him at checkers, he wasn’t as impaired as he imagined.

Then he met Fred.

Fred was winning dollar bills, the maximum bet allowed by the attendants, from the other patients by beating them at tic-tac-toe. Eventually, Fred challenged David, and they drew. They grinned at each other for a while, then discussed the morons who think the center square is the secret. They knew better.

Of course, they moved to checkers. Fred won the first game. David won the next two. Then Fred won three in a row, taking the best of five. Fred stared at David for a long time. He agreed that David was a better player, but he made mistakes every third or so move.

David slept well that night. His theory was proven correct. In the morning he found Fred and asked him to go with him to the doctor to explain what happened with the checkers games. Fred frowned, saying that he didn’t think he could help David with his problem.

David asked, “Why not?”

Fred replied, “Because...I...kill...children.”

Suddenly David’s checkers difficulties seemed trivial.

The Audition

Lights Out

Jump Start

 Phil was never accused by his fellow parents of being overprotective, or for that matter, protective at all. If not for his wife, Carla, Little Bill would be completely feral. Despite what they said, he did however have a basic sense of safety for the child.

Such was the case on a sunny afternoon when Bill was in the garage riding his big wheel. The comforting sound of plastic rolling over cement suddenly stopped. Not too concerning, but then Phil thought he heard the squeaky springs of the car hood pop open. Not good.

On his way to the garage, he imagined several mostly harmless reasons for the sounds he heard. None of them were close to correct. There in the garage was Bill, standing on a step ladder, hooking jumper cables to the car battery.

The cable ran to the floor, where they were hooked to the head and left front paw of a dead squirrel. Phil told Bill, “That won’t work.” Bill asked why not, and Phil had no real answer, but figured a demonstration would be best, so he got in and started the car.

At first nothing happened, but then the squirrel started twitching. Phil was about to apologize for doubting Bill when the squirrel exploded. Phil shut off the car and tried to think of what he was going to tell Carla. The mess was cleanable, but the severed squirrel paw embedded in Bill’s thigh was problematic.

The Messenger

Fresno

 

Paul got off the bus in Fresno and started taking pictures. He’s wanted to go to Fresno nearly his whole life. He grew up down the road from a junkyard that had a purple bus out front with a destination sign that read “FRESNO.”

Now here he was. It was all that he knew it would be. The internet leaves little room for not knowing things. Our modern life leaves little to the imagination.

Then there was a man on Paul’s view screen. Paul turned to shoot something else, but the man moved to stay in frame. Paul lowered his camera and gave the man a look he calculated would convey his annoyance, but didn’t.

Then the man yelled, “Please don’t take my picture!”

Paul replied, “I’m trying not to.”

“I know, but don’t.”

“I won’t”

“You’ll be sorry if you do.”

Paul didn’t say anything. The man kept looking down at Paul’s camera, then back up at Paul’s eyes. After a while, the man started walking backwards till he bumped into a parking meter and almost fell down. Just because of the weirdness of the moment, Paul took a picture of the man.

The man straightened up, smiled, and said, “Thank you, but remember, I warned you.” Then collapsed onto the sidewalk.

A passerby tried CPR till the ambulance arrived, but it did no good. The man was dead.

The hotel clerk had no interest in Paul’s dead guy picture story. Neither did the waitress at the restaurant or the bartender at the hotel bar. Being a kook was not to Paul’s liking. He tried to let it go, but with everyone he met, he felt compelled to tell his story. Like, if he could get someone to believe him, it would all be OK.

But he couldn’t, so it wasn’t.

Then came the nightmares. The guilt of killing someone, mixed with no understanding of what happened, made for some wild dreams. They ended with Paul jerking awake as someone screamed, “Don’t let them take my picture.”

Paul sat for a while, catching his breath, trying to calm himself when he realized that the screaming voice was his own.

The next morning he returned to his quest to explore Fresno. By the afternoon, the novelty had worn off. This didn’t surprise him. Fresno was the excuse to take a trip, not the whole trip on its own. Over dinner, he checked bus routes and decided that Tijuana would be a good next stop.

He didn’t take any pictures that day. The few sights he saw weren’t worth the risk of touching his camera again. He spent another restless night. Tonight’s dreams had Paul running, and other people were trying to take his picture. He wanted to stop and get it over with, but a voice kept telling him to run. He woke up at 3 AM in a sweat. He went to his bag, got his camera, and took a selfie. Nothing happened. He slept well after that.

In the morning, waiting at the bus station, Paul realized he was hearing a voice in his head. The confusing part was that it was his voice, but his voice was saying things that he would never say. Much of it was nonsense, like a newborn baby was using his voice. Then the baby grew up.

By the time he was on the bus, the voice was making sense. Well, the sentences made sense. What they were saying didn’t. Then they did, and that was the scariest part.

Paul’s internal voice told him that he entered Paul’s head when he took that man’s picture. It said he would eventually control Paul, and then they would die. The only way to get rid of him was to have someone else take his picture, but had to ask the person not to take his picture.

Paul thought about that for a minute, then said aloud, “What?”

The woman beside him said, “What?”

Paul looked at her and wondered how he could have missed her. Beautiful, dressed all in black lace. The impression was that she was young and old at the same time. He apologized.

She smiled and said, “Tell me about it.”

So he did. He couldn’t stop himself. He told her the whole twisted tale. Her smile grew wider, and as Paul finished repeating what the voice said, he noticed she was holding a camera. Without thinking he yelled, “Don’t take my picture!”

When he woke up, it was night. He was still alive and still on the bus. The woman was gone. So was the voice. Well, there was still a voice in his head, but it was his. All his. Then he found the note in his pocket. It read, “You’re safe now.”

Tijuana was much more interesting than Fresno and is a great place to drink your troubles away. Best of all, nobody screamed when he took their picture.

His third night there, he noticed a woman staring at him. She noticed that he noticed and said, “Etiquetado.”

Paul asked, “What?”

She giggled and walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Etiquetado.”

“Tag?”

“Si, tagged.”

“How did you know?”

“It shows.” She laughed and walked away. Paul felt no desire to follow.

When the tequila binge wore off, he found himself in a cheap motel in San Ysidro. He finally got up the courage to try to research what had happened to him.

It took a while, but then he found the rabbit hole. Soul Tag. He got caught in a game of Soul Tag. The problem was that the souls being “tagged” are not willing participants. They try to escape the game by jumping to non-players, like Paul. If they can avoid getting tagged, they and their host die after a few days.

He figured the woman on the bus was a player who collected the soul that jumped to him. Whoever collects all the souls is the winner. Then the game starts over, with the same souls being scattered again.

Paul wondered what sins committed these poor souls to such torture.

Tisum

Burden And Diversion

Stick figure man meets his match at the emotional crossroads

100 Words - Burger King Jesus

 The preacher declared that Marty was Jesus reborn. Marty was pretty sure that he wasn’t. He argued that Jesus probably wouldn’t work at Burger King, or have three drunk and disorderly arrests. Yet every Sunday the whole congregation would come and order Whopper meals and bow as he handed them their trays.

At first he swore at them, a lot, but his boss yelled at him. Though, Marty knew his job was safe, because you can’t fire Jesus in a church town. He learned that if he started every sentence with “Hearken yee, or thou shalt” it made people happy.

100 Words - Yodel In The Dark

 It was nearly dawn at the end of a long night of successful drinking, but unsuccessful debauchery. I left the bar drunk, lonely and hopeless. Then, walking among the still dark valleys of Brooklyn came a beautiful sound. A song. Not a song, a yodel.

I followed the echoing sound to an alley behind a butcher shop where a beautiful young woman yodeled away as she chopped up dead pigs. I watched in awe, arousal and repulsion. I wanted to approach, but couldn’t.

She finished her chopping and yodeling, scooped the meat into a wheelbarrow and disappeared into the shop.

Crossroads

100 Words - Fear The Proles

 

They were told to crush the proles. The only problem was that they had no idea who these proles were. So they built themselves a mighty bunker and sat waiting for coming prole uprising. There they say in the ecstasy of security for the rest of their days.

The archaeologists weren’t sure what to make of the compound. It superficially resembled a fortress but was easily breached. The remains inside appear to have all lived long lives, but those lives were devoid of joy. They found no books, no writing, no musical instruments, no alcohol. These were not fun people.

100 Words - Into the Void

 The void presents itself once again, but this time there is something different. Rather than the scary empty darkness I see it as a place with no restrictions. Endless possibilities. No fear. A blank page.

So what shall we build? What will fill our empty space? Will there be music? Books? Movies? Comfortable chairs, or perhaps even a comfy old couch that never looses the smell of Grandma’s brandy spills?

Will there be a garage? I’ve always wanted a garage. Walls lined with tools. Broken machines that need fixing.

Or will there be monsters, waiting to eat my eternal soul.

100 Words - Aristocrat

 Karen’s primary goal in life was to remove the word aristocrat from the English language. She said it aggrandized the rich. To accomplish this she worked her way to be the head editor at a major publisher. No author under her watch ever got the word into print.

Nobody noticed the slow decline in the use of the word till one day the AI at one of the dictionary website found no current use of the word on the internet and quietly added the word “archaic” to the definition.

Looking down from her tower office, Karen grinned into her tea.

Dreaming In Haiku

What happens when your dreams are subjected to rigidly restrictive formatting.

100 Words - Ramble On

 

Tomorrow I plan to go on a ramble, a long bike ride of no fixed route.. This evening I will make a list in my head of everything that could possibly go wrong. Tonight I will have a dream where a dozen things interrupt my ride. In the morning I’ll chicken out and circle the neighborhood, as usual.

Only, I didn’t chicken out. I made it up the first big hill. It was hard, but not impossible. Then down the other side. I didn’t pedal for an hour. Time to turn around. Or is it? Where does that road go?

100 Words - Jacketed

 Once again they are yelling at me because I’m not acting the way that their pills are supposed to make me act. The pills were bad enough, but this straight jacket is what launched me straight into this tantrum. I keep telling them that if take the jacket off and call off the weasels, I’d calm down. They don’t listen.

The weasels aren’t all that bad really. Mostly, they just keep stealing the laces from my shoes. They occasionally bite my ears, but I think they’re after the wax. Their smell is the worst part. The come through the sewers.

100 Words - Periodic

 

In elementary school we learned about the elements. Our science book revealed to us the periodic table in all its four color printed glory. That night my mother asked what I learned in school. I told her that Mrs. Reno taught us all about periods.

This is where I should say my mother was shocked, but she was a nurse. Nothing related to human functions shocked her. She was confused though when I was unable to answer some simple questions. My oldest brother laughed and explained the confusion. They all laughed at my blush when Mom explained what periods were.

100 Words - Viking Askew

 

Ken’s Viking-style funeral lost much of its majesty when the flames reached the propane canisters that his nephew hid under the body. Though some would later argue that the human debris raining down on the friends and relatives was poetic in a rather bad-ass way.

At the party later they stood around the keg and played, “What’s That Body Part?” as they picked debris off each other. By the time the keg was empty and the scotch was flowing they had a trash bag half full of gore, and were considering its fate, finally settling on the strip club dumpster.

100 Words - The Cardinal Identity

 

He pulled the scarlet robes over his head for the first time and the enormity of his situation hit him. The robes of a Cardinal, representing Sangre de Cristo, the blood of Christ. The lesson for the day was, be careful whose identity you’re stealing.

He kept watching for an opportunity to escape., but found none. Outside his “cell” he was never alone. He was not allowed to be alone. At least when he kneeled and pretended to pray he was left alone.

A thousand miles away, the former Cardinal was sitting on a beach and loving his new life.

Mr. Nightmare

Not all nightmares are unwelcome.

24 Hour News Syndrome

How I feel after watching any of the 24 hour news channels.

Hamlet Gone Wrong

One changed line and the story falls apart

100 Words - Loaded Burdens

 

Peter wondered aloud if there was a difference between a load and a burden. Load seems unbiased, just a measure of work, but burden implies negative implications. “Implies implications? Is that right?”

Mary was not amused with Peter’s musings and suggested he “Pick up the damn couch!”

The couch was the last thing loaded on the truck, and would be the first piece of furniture in their new home. It weighed a ton, but was so comfortable, and probably indestructible. It was known to have withstood a full keg toss back in the college days.

The couch loaded. Door shut.

Bob and Sparky: The Date

Poor Sparky

100 Words - Anvil and Sword

 For our sixth anniversary, the Iron anniversary, I bought my wife an anvil. No, I’m not an idiot, she does metalwork on weekends. She used it to make me a sword. It’s beautiful and dangerous. When swinging it I look like a kid with a cardboard tube.

She keeps trying to get me to go to pretend medieval sword fighting events. I try to explain that my lack of coordination should disqualify me from such activities. She laughs and again offers to make me chain-mail armor. I again suggest she should make something that less involves me in mortal combat.

Why Boise?

Retirement gone totally strange

100 Words - Around The Board

 Luck or doom. Fortune or destruction. My voyage around the game board had higher stakes than usual. Across the table sat a snotty rich kid whose men and their guns were glaring at me. Will they kill me if I win? I can’t afford to lose. That money in the kitty represents four months rent.

We started with six players. The first few bets were a joke, but things got out of hand. The other four went broke one after the other over the course of an hour. Now it’s just me and him, and th6se guys with those guns.

Passing Wind

Fighting the wind. Riding a bike. Facing reality.

100 Words - Mattress Money

 

Back home there lies a man in a shallow grave. I buried him there just before the Fall’s first frost. The dogs will find him in the spring. They’ll know it was me, but won’t come looking. He was an evil man.

No one will mourn him. At least no one who knew about his mattress full of cash. All they’ll find there are crumpled up newspapers and forty dollars to throw them off the trail. One more mattress score and I’ll be able to retire.

The new town and job suck. I wonder where the boss keeps his money.

Web Of Enlightenment

Deep thoughts require a deep web

100 Words - In The Shed

 

There was something in the shed. Banging and scratching noises came at random intervals. Peter opened the door, stood back and watched, but nothing emerged. Brutus the dog went to the door, sniffed and ran away, once again not living up to his name.

Peter tried throwing a rock into the shed. It landed with a thud and rattle, then came flying back out. He tried talking to whatever was in there, but it did not respond.

He went back into the house and called the police. The noises stopped as soon as he hung up the phone. Of course.

Little Death

Death comes in many guises. The little ones may not be as deadly, but they certainly are annoying.

Insomnia Grammar

The things we think of when we're wide awake in the middle of the night.

100 Words - Cousins

 

It takes two hands to count my siblings. Two hands and a foot to count my mother’s. I don’t have enough appendages to count my cousins, though there aren’t many whose clothes weren’t handed down to me.

The cousin bags were always an adventure. Clothes and shoes were removed and tried on. Anything that didn’t fit was returned to the bags. Then our own cast-offs were added, and sent to next household.

Having two older brothers and many older male cousins, new clothes were unknown to me. Maybe that’s why I feel so much more comfortable shopping at the Goodwill.

The Third Dirty Joke

This is an animated version of the third dirty joke I ever heard.

100 Words - Grave Cop

The ghosts gathered at the fence of the graveyard. Sheila, a seeker in the world of paranormal was explaining this to us. We saw nothing, but we believed her. Then the sheriff came and told us to go away, because we were disturbing the ghosts.

“Did someone complain?” Sheila asked.

He stared at her for a long time, then looked towards the graveyard. Suddenly Sheila smiled. The cop grumped, got in his car and drove away.

Sheila turned to us and screamed. One by one each of our friends heads popped like zits. Blood everywhere. June, Fred, Pete, Harry, then...

Sunset Denial

Believe what you see or the Doomsters will destroy you.

100 Words - First Dance

 

Halfway through the dance we realized that we grouped together at the far end of the gym. So without any discussion we all got up and started dancing together. No couples, just a group of boys and girls to shy or indifferent to mix with the popular dancers.

Some of us snuck out to be there. Others were dragged there, kicking and screaming. Some knew how to dance. Others didn’t. Nobody cared. We talked like we were all old friends. Then the music stopped. Our first closing time. Goodbyes, hugs and promises were offered. Some were kept. Most were not.

100 Words - Bonus Time

 

I love it when I wake up at 5AM and have to pee. It doesn’t happen often. When it does, I get up and pee, then go back to bed. I’m alone in the dark. At 5AM there are no todo lists. No chores. No tasks. No responsibilities. It’s just me and my unencumbered brain. Then I fall asleep.

Then I wake up, feeling like I’ve wasted all that time between 5 and now. Like sleep isn’t the highest expression of human existence. There are things I could have worried about. All those things are left floating till tomorrow morning.

Mas Macho

Sometimes there's just nothing better to do

100 Words - Rocky Road

 The so-called gravel road was actually small boulders. OK, very small boulders, from ping pong ball to baseball in size, but they were all kinds of jagged though. If the truck didn’t have pre-Reagan military tires we never would have made it through.

Now we are here, wherever here is. It’s not so much a nameable place as just the end of the road. The sunset over the empty desert was almost worth the trip alone. Spent the whole night digging and half the day filling in the hole. Now I get to go home. Gonna be lonely without her.

Carpet Drive

Sometimes all it takes is a magic carpet

Never Argue With A Clairvoyant Rabbit

It’s impossible to win an argument with a clairvoyant bunny rabbit. First, they know things. Second, they don’t speak English. Finally, they’re mean!

100 Words - Creepy Old Guy

 Try as I might I’ve never been able to pull off the creepy old guy at the bar persona. I’ve tried a series of maneuvers to give off a “this guy might be dangerous, hide your daughters” kind of vibe, but I’m just too obviously harmless.

Apparently I was raised right. Or maybe I’m mentally ill. Insanity is easier to accept than failure of appearance. Not just that good an actor.

There just aren’t enough drunk young women with grandpa fetishes. It happens on TV all the time, but I’m starting to think that it’s all just a male fantasy.

The Vampire Chicken

A semi-true tale of animal violence and parental betrayal

Dusk, Neon and the Prophecy

What fate awaits our hero?

100 Words - Octopus Tangents

Peter’s dreams would start in a variety of ways but they always ended with him being eaten by octopuses. As phobias go, fear of becoming octopus fodder is pretty rare. It became so bad that Peter was eventually unable to interact with any tentacled creature.

Oh, and I recently found out that since octopus is a Greek word, octopuses is the correct plural for casual conversation. I consider my writings to be casual. You really shouldn’t take anything that I write to be authoritative, or for that matter, true. That’s why it’s called fiction. Does this count as fiction? Unknown.