Grab yourself a cuppa joe (and a dozen doughnuts – it is all about the gluttony, after all), and kick back to enjoy these latest offerings!!
First, from angrygorillaemissions
It was getting near that time of day again. Dexter didn’t really recognize that it was nearly 4:30, like you or I would, but he knew it nonetheless. He felt it. Dexter watched a lizard scurrying under the couch. In his youth he would have chased after it, but now it bored him. He waved his tail impatiently and yawned, then climbed up onto the couch and let the peacefulness of the afternoon lull him. A truck rumbled by outside, and his ears involuntarily perked up. “No”, he thought, “This isn’t the sound Mrs. Hattock makes when she opens the door.” But still a pang of hunger struck him at the thought of Mrs. Hattock returning.
He mindlessly licked himself and found that his fur tasted quite delicious.
Then the familiar jingle of Mrs. Hattock’s keys searching for their place in the door reached Dexter. He sprung up immediately and ran to the door. He was surprisingly out of breath from this short flight, but paid no mind to his physical discomfort. He was fixated on meowing as loudly as possible until Mrs. Hattock fed him.
“Hello Dexter,” Mrs. Hattock began cordially, but Dexter was in no mood for small talk. He began to whine and rub himself against her aging calves, arching his back.
“I’ve got a treat for you.” She said, opening up a can of soft food. Dexter plunged his head into the can of soft food even while she tried to empty it into his food bowl.
“Now don’t be greedy Dexter.” She reproached. “My how fat you’ve gotten.”
She didn’t care that he was fat really. Neither did Dexter. The two of them needed this daily ritual. She loved to spoil him and he loved to eat. He swallowed his food quickly without really chewing it. It didn’t even taste good it mostly just felt good. It was more like an esophageal massage than a dinner.
In that moment they both thought they loved each other. Soon they would be both be gone, and neither one wished to contemplate what would happen if the other died first.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Next up – Lindsey from rewindrevise
It had been three months since Allison had left rehab. She had just earned her 90 day sobriety chip, which had become a comforting worry stone as of late. As she sat in the reception area of her husband’s office, she flipped the coin between her thumb and forefinger all the while eyeing the handsome young man her husband has chosen as his assistant.
“I have Mrs. Taylor here,” he emphasized over the phone.
Why had he not called her Allison? The young man cleared his throat.
“No, she’s here.”
Allison continued to flip, flip, flip.
“He’s just wrapping something up…a meeting. He’s wrapping up a meeting,” he clarified. How long had this been happening, Allison wondered? How long had it been happening right in front of her eyes but she was too stoned to see it? Their sex life never had the kinds of stories she wanted to boast to her friends about. At first he blamed it on stress. He blamed it on the office. Then there was the baby. Then there was her and the vodka. How long had it even been since they had…been? The longer Allison waited, the more her stomach sank. She could feel the urge coming. The sound of a train rumbled in the distance and once again she was reminded how much she hated this place. The 90 day chip was no longer soothing, but heavy, hot. She looked at the clock…tick. She looked at the water cooler…drip. She looked at the young assistant’s coffee…and there she spotted them. A crystal bowl full of champagne and rum truffles. The assistant caught her gaze and began wildly shuffling papers to distract her. He had not cleared the bowl in time for Allison’s visit. Was that what was making him nervous? She had showed up unannounced, but surely the wrath from her husband for not hiding the bowl of liquor truffles was not the complete source of the young man’s anxiety. No, this was the kind of nail biting, knee-bouncing, pen-tapping anxiety that comes with knowing a secret, one that is about to explode.
From behind the office door, a man’s voice, yelled, “I don’t care, anymore!”
Allison raised an eyebrow at the assistant and he squeaked out a high-pitched laugh. “Excuse me,” he said, as he quickly got up and let himself inside the office door. Before he quickly closed the door behind him, she could see the back of a man’s head, jet black, his shirt wrinkled from where it had been tucked in, untucked, and tucked again. He was adjusting his carefully rolled sleeves…and then the door slammed with the assistant inside…but not before the waft of that familiar cologne had escaped. That cologne she had smelled on her husband after business meetings and gold tournaments and galas. That cologne had almost replaced her husband’s scent. Only when he visited her in rehab, when she did not smell the cologne, did she realize it was a cologne that did not belong to him.
It was just Allison and the bowl now, Allison and the velvet truffles calling for her, Allison with the 90 day chip and the train rumbling and the cologne wafting. She no longer needed to see her husband. The assistant had told her everything she needed to know. Allison lunged for the crystal bowl, ripped off wrappers with her acrylic nails, and two by two popped glorious bursts of rum and chocolate into her mouth.
When Jim finally emerged reeking of that other man’s cologne, all he found was the 90 day chip in an empty crystal bowl.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Next up – Sean from theequiaticbind
At most fast food restaurants they enforce a rule called the two finger smile. This rule dictates that if you put your top two fingers next to your mouth, holding the fingers together like you’re making a gun out of them, and then smile, your smile needs to be the same height as the fingers. The strictness of the enforcement of this rule differs from restaurant to restaurant. I’ve been in some restaurants were the server has barely spoken let alone smiled and I’ve been to others where they smiled so much I became suspicious and in the end I left after asking for directions to somewhere I wasn’t going to.
One time though I was stupid enough to make a complaint. It happened like this:
It was a Tuesday afternoon and the restaurant I was in was fairly empty. Actually it was completely empty save for myself and the servers. One of the servers had on a red tie and a short sleeve shirt that denoted management.
I had ordered my meal, found fault with it and approached the counter.
‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘I think there’s something wrong with my meal.’
My server said, ‘Yes, sir and what is the problem.’ He had a two and a half finger smile.
‘Yeah I bit into my burger and I suddenly had a very strong memory of being stood up for a date when I was sixteen by a girl who ended up with my best friend and broke my heart. I would have come and complained sooner but I’ve only just stopped crying.’
He nodded, ‘I see.’ He made a hand motion and the manager appeared at my side.
‘Yes sir, you were crying sir?’ said the manager with a three finger smile.
‘Yes. From eating your burger.’
‘Yes this is a common problem. You ordered an unhappy meal, sir?’
‘No, I ordered a happy meal.’
‘It’s a common mistake at the moment, sir, you see we’ve just started a new campaign promoting our unhappy meals. They’re a more depressing but healthier version of the happy meal. They also don’t come with a toy.’
‘Yeah I noticed that. Mine came with a small note saying that my glasses made me look a dork.’ I readjusted my glasses on my nose. ‘I like my glasses.’
‘They’re wonderful, sir.’
‘Okay then I’d like to change this for a happy meal then.’
‘No. That’s not possible.’
‘Why not?’ His smile had dropped to one finger status now. ‘You ordered an unhappy meal so you have to finish it. Company policy.’
‘I’ve left food unfinished here before.’ The smile dropped to half a finger.
‘I’ve left food unfinished here before.’
The manager turned to the server, ‘lock the door.’
‘Wait, wait, wait. What’s happening?’
‘You wıll eat the food you have wasted.’ The manager now had a two finger frown. ‘Eat it or there will be consequences.’
‘You’re a fast food restaurant manager. You have no power over anything in the real world.’
He smiled then, one finger, then two, three, four, his mouth stretching to five fingers then six then seven then eight.. He spoke in a voice that sounded like frying meat, ‘Eat.’
I looked down at the counter and saw the servers had gathered heapıng great piles of food there.
‘Eat,’ they hissed at me. ‘Eat.’
I reached over with a shaking hand and picked up the first of what looked like a hundred burgers. I slowly unwrapped it and began to chew, tears running down my face. The manager eight finger smiled at me, ‘enjoy your meal.’