once I work up the ambition to finish putting this work on here (it’s all on paper right now), things will start coming together.
Short Story / Trouble on the High Greens Part 1
There I am, sitting in the office of Donald Birkenshriner, Editor in Chief of the New York Times. Well, I’m more or less in the waiting room, which coincidentally is a waiting room to enter another waiting room where a group of black tied thugs weed out potential journalists all vying for the same position. Some would call it slave labor, but journalists such as myself see it as a gateway to Mecca; playing co-reporter for any reporter on that staff that needs it. Talk to witnesses, double check research, walk their dog, water their plants, not much better that scrubbing toilets. I will get no recognition for anything slightly even related to the story, or the person on the by line. Nothing, except for an acknowledgment by the reporter when it’s done.
One guy in the room is being approached by some large, gorilla-type men in black suits and ties. They could probably make a good ska group: Johnny Sphincter and The Dildos! They grab the scrawntly pen-jockey by under his arms and carry him out the door as the little fucker screams: “NO LET ME GO! I DESERVE THIS! HEY! HEY! THAT GUY HAS A BULLDOG IN HERE, KICK HIM OUT!” The men turned their heads and stared at my associate Norman and me. At the sound of his name, Norm lifted himself off the floor and gave a harsher more menacing look back at the gorillas that made them continue on with their business. I turned to the young woman next to me who seemed as if she were about to shit herself and said “You had better get out of here before the get you too, oh yes, these men have all intentions of removing you from this room and gang-raping you in the alley. They’re vicious, and depraved, no morals whatsoever. They’re out for one thing only, their own psychotic mental pleasures.” The girl quickly started grabbing her things as she made a dash for the door. “Faster, you must go faster,” I yelled, I really hope she made it out of there with her panties intact. I knew that it was a disgusting and immoral thing to do to that poor girl, but hell, all Big Don had to do was waltz out here, see that floozy and she would have been hired, of course in exchange for some sort of weird sexual fantasy that only CEO’s seem to be able to dream up. They always have the best scandals.
“Mr. Farrington,” a secretary called out scanning the room. I was the only one left in the room, so who the hell else could she have been looking for? An imaginary, drug induced friend of hers? Probably not. As I approached the secretary seemed to be creeping up on her sixties. Big Don must have had his way with this one too, I mean, fuck, she’s a secretary, what kind of sex craved freak doesn’t want to fuck his secretary. “Mr. Farrington, Mr. Birkenshriner, would like to discuss the terms of the position over a game of golf. He has a tee time set up at noon, he will be expecting you.”
“Fine!” I said, “I will play his rich man games if that means I get to crack into the infrastructure of this fine establishment.”
I stormed out of the building and checked my watch, 9:27; two and a half hours until I have to meet with this pig, and I still need a set of clubs. I looked down to Norman and said, “Well my fine joweled friend, we have some errands to run and a swine to impress.” Norman just looked up and continued panting. “Jesus Fuck Norm, can’t you help me out a little bit you lousy beast.”
Norman and I got into the red pickup-truck and we were off to procure a new set of clubs because I hadn’t bothered with the sport since I was a gosling. I checked my wallet on the way to the sporting goods store, $37. Not quite enough to buy an impressive set of clubs. I had to improvise. “Norman! Pay attention ‘ol pal, daddy’s a little short on cash so you need to do me a favor.” Norman turned his head out the window but I wouldn’t let that little fucker turn me down. I grabbed his face and forced him to stare into my fiery eyes. “Look you little bastard! Here’s the plan, we’re going to go for a walk into the projects. I hear they have some dog fighting gambling rings down there so I’m going to enter you in the contests. You’re going to have to kill a lot of dogs so we can get the money for my clubs.” Norm seemed less than thrilled with this proposal. “Well, ok, how about this? Are you rabid? We could take you into the store and scare the living fuck out of the employees an I’ll walk out with the clubs!” Norman opened the glove compartment and presented me with his shot papers, so that idea was out. “God Damnit Norman! Why do I even bother asking you to help me out? What happened to you man? Have you lost your zest for life? Has Jesus left you man!?” I was to take on this task myself, and I had a plan.
Walking into the drug store was a freak show all on its own nature. As you walk in you are hit by a wave of stench. The air is filled with the smell of stale cigarettes, cheap beer, and over-worn sweat stained wife-beaters that had obviously seen about 10 shades of white and yellow. All of this aroma is being supplied by one inbred, white trash family of raging alcoholics who have nothing better to do than to go to the store, buy a 6-pack of Milwaukee’s Best and rolling tobacco with their welfare checks. “My God,” I thought to myself, “what a way to live!” the state pays for these people to sit around, get drunk, and mass produce future generations of welfare babies. This I decided was an injustice of the highest caliber. I had tried the same thing myself for a couple of months, but the state never sent me any money. Maybe these people really aren’t white trash, they must be top government officials, and no government would be nice enough to just throw money at just any family of inbred alcoholics. I would not stand for it any longer! These pigs’ covers would be blown! The gap between the rich and the poor would be forever bridged!
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jhmckeogh reviewed Version 1 -
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the sex craved line, i feel like theres a logic error in it. Wouldn’t all sex craved people want to sleep with their secretary. is the narrator commenting on the type of sex cravedness that the character has? I wasn’t sure.
The tone, voice, and form of this piece are all well defined and well executed.
The short of the critique is i liked the beggining a lot more than how it unfolded. The line about the waiting room inside the waiting room was really good. I lost the narrative a bit as the action moved into the ghetto for golf. I felt like you had an idea for the beginning, and an idea for the ending of the piece… with the middle being a bit muddled. What i would reccommend is picking the beginning and let the action unfold a little more organically (or vice versa, working backwards.)
Cheers, this was an interesting read.
James
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oneshot92 reviewed Version 1 -
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not much better that scrubbing toilets. – “Than” scrubbing toilets.
They grab the scrawntly pen-jockey by under his arms – Consider removing “by” here. It makes this line read a little awkward.
You mention that the dog’s attention is caught by the mention of his name, yet his name was not mentioned. He was simply referred to as “the bull bog”. This isn’t any big deal really, just detail.
I really enjoyed this piece. I found the voice of the narrator to be very clever. His comical tone succeeds well in overshadowing his dark personality an view. The dog is a nice touch this.
Your opening line was great. It grabbed hold of me, forcing me to want to read on. So there I was, is always a good attention getter.
My only real issues, and I’m sure you have good reason, is the dog and golf. Why would someone applying for such an entry level position bring their dog along? And why would the employer invite someone applying for such work along for a golf game? Like I said, I’m sure you have valid reasons for these items, and if so, just tell me to shut the hell up. Otherwise, very good work here. The characters were colorful, and the story is entertaining.
derekosborne reviewed Version 1 -
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“They grab the scrawntly pen-jockey [by] under his arms and carry him… Delete bracket, stumbles the sentence, awkward
“NO LET ME GO! ......HERE, KICK HIM OUT!” I gaurantee if you ever use ALL CAPS at The Times you’ll be shown the door before you know what hit you. This is internet grammar 101. Real writers never use caps. Period. Paragraph break after this sentence as well.
”...the gorillas that made them …” ”That” is a weak construction. Same issue for “seemed” in the next sentence. Either it is or it isn’t.
“You had better ….....gang-raping you in the alley”. Should be two sentences
“The girl quickly started grabbing her” How can you quickly start grabbing? Either you grab quickly, or start to grab, but you can’t do all three at once.
“I knew that ….. be able to dream up.” The infamous run-on sentence. How many subjects are contained here. That’s your clue.
“a secretary called out[,]scanning the room..”
“I was the only …...in the room, so who the hell …” Repetition of the word “room” here is awkward.
So, enough on grammar, it needs a lot of work there. But it’s a good story, well told, nice level of diction and narrative flow. It falls apart on page 4 because we have no resolution of what is apparently the central conflict of overcoming the competition and landing a job at The Times. Buy a copy of William Strunk’s “The Elements of Style” and memorize it. You are a good story teller, but your craft needs to catch up with your creativity.
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