Friday Fiction - The Pecking Order - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

News travels fast

Will walked out of his bathroom and into his modest office to a grouping of messages blinking on a cluttered computer screen.  His incarcerated employer left him with a conveyor belt of finances to take responsibility for.  Among the emails and spreadsheets, an Instant Message[1] blinked in the corner of the screen, eclipsing the infinite labor with additional tribulations.  Will sat at his desk and leaned in to reply to the blinking window.

BabyG23[2]: Hey!
BabyG23:Are you there? I need to talk to you
BabyG23: Where are you?
BabyG23: Hellooooooooooooooo?
BabyG23: ???
BabyG23: Why aren’t you responding?
BabyG23: Answer your phone! Where are you??
BabyG23:…
Andable[3]: Hey hon, sorry I was in the bathroom, whats up?
BabyG23: yeah, cause guess who was out jogging in the park this morning?
Andable: who?
BabyG23: your asshole pal Jaime!

It had been a while since Will talked to Jaime. Even when they did, it was always business and nothing more than it had to be.  He wasn’t sure how to respond to this and had to pause again.

BabyG23: well?
BabyG23: r u there?
Andable: you didn't talk to him did you?
BabyG23: i tried! But he wanted to be an asshole as ussual! You know what he said?
Andable: why did you do that?
BabyG23: do what? I just tried to say hi!
Andable: what else did you tell him?
BabyG23: Nothing! We just ran into each other when running!
Andable: he hurt you?
BabyG23: gawd no!!!
BabyG23: i just meant that as an expression!
BabyG23: besides i didn't even get the chance to say much! Do you know what he told me though?!
Andable: what else did you expect?
BabyG23: whats the big deal! Calm down!
Andable: Why couldn't you just keep runnin?
Andable: you knew he wouldn't want to talk to you
BabyG23: He’s an asshole! he needs to grow up! Maybe you do too!
Andable: Jaime’s just a bitter person. He’s not going to forgive overnight,
Andable: We’re not supposed to be together and he resents us for that
Andable: why cant you understand that?
BabyG23: Now you're being an asshole too!
Andable: Im not. Im just concerned about you
BabyG23: no you really aren't. You're more concerned about you! I'm not scared
Andable: i know you don't really think that
Andable: not after everything we went through
:::BabyG23 has signed off:::

"Dammit!" preceded more cursing.  Will’s neighbors heard his apartment door slam as he left. He tried calling Abigail and predictably she refused to answer her cell phone. It flashed and rang, ignored as she was busily applying make-up at her house. She knew Will would be coming over to apologize.  He would take the time to drive out of the way to the “good” Chinese take-out place. He didn’t need to be reminded to order her the usual; the #7 sweet-n-sour chicken without the sweet-n-sour sauce and crab wanton with hot-n-sour soup. Abigail’s favorite.

---

[1] Instant messaging is the act of instantly communicating between two or more people over a network such as the Internet.

[2] Abigail’s online alias.

[3] William’s online alias; represents a play-on-words, so to speak on the phrase “Willing-and-able”

Teacher Appreciation - See You in Hell, Mrs. "W"

Thursday Thoughts
Teacher Appreciation week and Why I wanted to become a teacher.


Teacher appreciation week is here and I've been fortunate to learn from the best, but it's also important to reflect upon what I learned from the worst. Whenever I'm asked the reasoning for becoming a teacher, I always think about my 7th grade English teacher. She was an angry, red-haired Irish woman. Is it redundant to be described as red-haired and Irish? Probably. She was a big fan of red. I know this because my class writings were always handed back to me covered in red ink.


Until the 7th grade I always received high marks and praises for creative writing. But that was in the Texas school system and this was the Oklahoma school system which apparently places a higher emphasis on grammar rules than creativity. It's not a bad thing to emphasize mechanics but something about the way she reviewed the errors with me as if in disgust at my very existence. 

A familiar sight...

"This doesn't explain ANYTHING?" she would say.


"What are you TRYING to say here?" she'd say.


or my favorite,


"Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no."


Then she'd extend her arm out, paper in hand with her evil sneer turned away and nose in the air. I'd take the paper and return to my desk to start over. From my desk I'd look up as she gave praise to the brilliance of every white girl in class. 


'That's odd.' I thought to myself 'every girl in this class is really that brilliant?'


Then I watched as my (African-American) friend  went up to review his work with the teacher. It was as if I was getting a play-by-play reenactment of my teacher-student meeting. 


'Hmmmm...' I thought to myself. Then I watch my other (Caucasian) friend go up and was shocked when he received the same praises as the rich, white girls.


'Huh?' I thought to myself.


After spending the 7th and 8th grade with this teacher I finally came to the conclusion that I could do her job better than her and make it fun! But whatever happened to my favorite worst teacher?


She's dead. 


You're writing is safe because her red pen cannot reach it from the depths of the inferno which she is no doubt spending eternity.


Happy teacher appreciation day, Mrs. "W". I'll see you in Hell.

Wednesdays are for Wine! - Sparks Deep Fork Red

Sparks - Deep Fork Red: A Sure Bet for the Party Goer

Deep Fork Red

Sparks is my go-to wine when I need something to take to a house party or fancy schmoozing dinner with Okie elites. It’s a dry red and remains bold but doesn’t have an alcohol taste. I like to keep a bottle in my wine bar for emergency occasions like those described above. It’s the Mexican way, my mom would say and it’s only good manners to bring something to a party when invited. I can’t cook but most people will at least enjoy a bottle of liquor and everyone enjoys a bottle of Sparks when I bring a bottle. They would hate it if I tried to bring a home cooked concoction!

I think I read somewhere that it’s polite to bring two bottles – one for the hosts to enjoy with you during the party and one for them to enjoy alone after the party. I have a two bottles rule too - one to enjoy before the party and one to enjoy at the party.

I’m breaking my own rule by drinking my stand-by bottle now. There was no other way really because tonight is the night I enjoy writing about wine and was too lazy (and sweaty) to go by the Wine Cellar after MMA practice. I’ll go tomorrow and grab another stand-by bottle for the home base’s wine cabinet and three new brands.

Tuesday's Traumatic Childhood Stories - "My Mom's Black Friends"

Tuesday’s Traumatic Childhood Adulthood Stories

My Mom's Black Friends

I was wearing a vibrant blue dress shirt. I ironed it myself and made a point to not forget the hard plastic strips that make the collar rigid. I wore my best fitted, khaki slacks, also ironed, and a new true-black, leather belt. My shoes were shined to a bold, shimmering black and were very uncomfortable as the requirement for a proper dress shoes. I even wore real dress socks that weren't faded and matched.

"I can't believe this is what you chose to wear out of all the nice clothes I buy you." my mom said. "I didn't teach you to dress like this. This is something I'd wear to clean houses."

It was April and we were stomping away from the fancy get-together and down the long corridor of the Cowboy Hall of Fame towards the parking lot.

"Why didn't you wear that striped, purple Ralph Lauren shirt I bought you?”

I gave it away.

"We dress better than you."

“I can tell that hasn't been dry cleaned” she said motioning to my outfit.

“You're supposed to wear a brown belt and shoes."

I'm 28 years old and being taken to the parking lot to be scolded.

"This is embarrassing. Don't you know my black friends are going to be here? They take pride in how they look."

We get to the parking lot. She opens her car trunk and reaches inside. A tan Calvin Klein suit and Gap shirt emerge from the recesses still wrapped in protective plastic.

''Here" she says.

I change in the back seat of a car.

I'm 28 years old.

I've been missing the fashion mark for 28 years going on 29.

Manly Mondays - Bruises

Here's my latest favorite bruise: 

This tells me I need to practice my standing takedowns.

If you've seen my cartoon, How I Didn't Become a Ninja, you know I haven't grown up getting in many physical altercation. Is it a good thing? Overall it is better to end altercations with words rather than fisticuffs but I noticed the long-term effect had made me too passive. When I needed to be aggressive, I couldn't do it.

One of my top three greatest regrets is not getting involved in a competitive sport earlier in high school. Frankly, I was intimidated. Eventually I resolved to face my fears during a process of reinvention that started even before I read Neil Strauss' The Game. I started boxing lessons at Conan's Academy and transitioned into kick boxing only to move towards the mix-martial arts classes.

Twice a week we work on striking and twice a week we work on ground work. I hated going to the ground work days. It's exhausting. It's rough. It hurts every time. Sometimes you're paired up with people that out weight you by 20 pounds. Sometimes you're paired up with overzealous noobs. Everyone earns bruises at practice.

It's better than any therapy money can buy. 

As much as I dread it, nothing makes me feel as good as surviving another class and walking (sometimes limping) away. Elijah Wood's character, Matt Buckner from Green Street Hooligans, explains this best:

"Once you've taken a few punches and realize you're not made of glass, you don't feel alive unless you're pushing yourself as far as you can go."