Full Plate

Joe called Randy for lunch, but Randy said he had a full plate of activities. Joe sobbed something about his plate was never full. He didn't even have a plate or a hopper for ideas.
Don't be so dramatic, Joe, Randy said. Everyone has ideas and projects. I feel worthless, Joe moaned. I thought conversation with you would make my day.
You need a hobby like gardening or woodworking, his friend advised.
I do laundry twice a week. Does that count?
No. Take adult classes where they teach you scupture with glued toothpicks.
I tutored kids, Joe revealed. They locked me in a closet. The janitor rescued me.
There's a macrame shortage, Joe. Learn the craft.
You've given me inspiration, Randy. We should talk like this more often.
Sorry Joe. I'm crushed with work. Even this conversation has set me back eleven minutes.
Got to go.

Free Shipping

 I went onto Amazon and ordered writing supplies. A dozen metaphors. A box of alliteration. A can of foreshadowing. An entire prologue for a book I haven't written.
They screwed up my order and sent an entire case of ellipses. I found several misplaced modifiers and a set of quotation marks I had no use for. I called and complained and was offered free shipping on my next one.
I ordered a mail order bride named Tamika from the East Indies. Instead, they sent me Ernie, an accountant from Beth Page. He hogs the TV and demands to do my taxes. I am so fed up. Plus, I found a dangling participle at the bottom of his air holed box.
How is Amazon so successful?

Watch and Listen

I watch you and listen to your conversations. I am a behavioral analyst. The world is my office. Those people sitting over there, a group of writers focusing on their laptops. The guy on the end gently bites into his toast. He writes thrillers about mass murderers. The fellow next to his has chubby fingers and looks like a mixed marshall arts fighter. I'm betting he writes romantic poetry because he hates his image.
People have been driven mad by my constant analysis. So I have no family.
This what I do, seven days a week. I am well compensated by large corporations.
Wait. The woman writer with the cane is watching me.This is unexpected. She is one with me. An outsider. A watcher.
We should meet and compare studies.

Mouse

I think I have defeated the mouse. Glue traps, pellets, spray, poison boxes all failed. Barricading openings in the wall did not work. What worked is this red flashing light you plug into the wall. It emits a silent signal that evidently drives the rodent back into the wall.
The damn exterminators haven't shown up in weeks. Lot of good they did. Three quick sprays and have a nice day. Anyway, I feel empowered. I wish they had something you can plug into the wall that would keep away toxic people.
The late Doris Day was known for her concern over animals. You always saw her in photos holding a cute dog or cat, never a mouse. One hour after her death was announced, we had a complete blackout. I think they were connected.

Roulette

Norton lived for the excitement of roulette. Fortunes could rise and fall on a dime. That was his life story. One minute he's eating a grilled cheese sandwich. Then he's choking. He grabs the bottle of water from a stranger sitting across from him and drinks until his throat is clear.
He apologized, but the man seemed unfazed. It happens to everyone, he said.
Then he took out a book from his knapsack and offered it to Norton. It was his own book, a collection of flash fiction. Perhaps this book can change your life, he said.
Norton took the book and read it. He was so inspired, he decided to become a writer. Next day he brought his notebook to the coffee shop and started a short story. Three pages in, he took a bite of his chicken teriyaki sandwich, choked and keeled over before he could drink anything. His heirs kept that fragment and every anniversary of his death, they took it out and read it by candlelight.

Car Alarm

The damn car alarm would not shut off. Hour after hour. Right under my window. I couldn't even hear the TV. Why doesn't someone call the police?
One AM and still it blows. I saw cherry blossoms covering it. Could those feathery things be triggering it? Why doesn't the owner come and fix it?
I want to dial 1-800 Car Whisperer, but there is no such thing.
This is why people go quietly insane.
Finally, it stops and all is quiet. I don't have to go down there and leave a nasty note on the windshield. He might come after me with a machete. This is Hudson County.