The Humour Club discussion
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Phil, I like the characterization and description, which is really humorously done. Distracted shallow wife, supportive but critical shop assistant, cantankerous old lady, thuggish divorced bloke, etc. May I offer some suggestions, please? The title is perhaps a little off because it contains a list of things, the first two being one word items... and then "cups of tea." I know what you're trying to do: contrast Ray's fantasy job with his real bland one. Great idea, but if you were to tinker with this a little, you might add some more subtlety to the humour, e.g. Robbery, Murder and P.G. Tips (or brand of choice, from Ray's shop, suiting his station in life). Also I noticed that in the beginning of the chapter it is November but later on it's October.
The last bit, however, is superb. After all that's said about the lack of crime, there is one unexpectedly. I never thought I'd ever say cadavers were comical, but the way you almost casually introduce yours is startling, yet SO funny, especially because Ray, who's been dreaming of this moment, has such an undramatic reaction. This reader is left wanting more.
So, when's the next instalment? You can't leave me hanging on an "oh" too long....
Please take my advice as just that, advice. I don't pretend to be an expert on writing. But, from my own experience of a short story I wrote, my editor made a one-word change in the title which really improved it. So it's worth your while to think about your title really carefully. Ultimately though, it's your work and you'll be looking at it for a while, so you have to pick something that you like. And maybe you could work the brand name into the story; if you choose the one mentioned earlier, perhaps you could have Ray going undercover as Phillip Gregory Tippington or something like that. :-)
You can always advise them to "Read the book and find out!" :-)
Finally got around to reading it. I liked it, if my humble opinion matters that much to you?I'm interested to find out what happens next as well. Did that shipment of tinned prunes come in?
Mind if I hijack your post Phil? Looking for a little feedback as well,Tales from the Wayfield Market
Chapter 1
“Roz, get in here”. The Editor’s voice echoed through the office of the Eastern Natural Organic Local Food Magazine. The sound made Roz, who was nodding off, get up and stumble towards the room in the back which was The Editor’s office. The Room of Reckoning it was called, once, as a bad joke by one of the journalist – it never stuck.
Roz eased his head around the door. “Yes, sir?”
“I have an assignment for you.” The Editor spun his chair around and faced Roz. “Well, come in! I know you are more than a head!”
Around the door into the office Roz went. He sat down on the hard, squeaky, wooden chair – the Chair of Reckoning it was also called once. That never stuck either.
The Editor, a name which stuck, mostly because he was the magazine’s one and only editor, leaned forward. “Mr. Wells, boy do I have a good one for you.”
“Let me guess? I’m going to cover the opening of that new organic, free trade gas station opening up next weekend. The one out by the highway?”
The Editor smirked, slightly. “No, not that. I gave that gig to Howie. I have something much bigger in mind for you.”
Roz, who considered himself the number one journalist at this lowly magazine, was convinced he was going to be given the assignment of the season. “I’m going to the European Union Summit on food standards? Wonderful, I’ll start packing.” Roz moved to get up.
“No…”
A look of shock on Roz’s face stopped The Editor from continuing. Roz took the opportunity to plead, “but, but, I thought I was going to cover that summit? I thought I was going to Europe again. Oh, I love Europe. Come on, send me! This is going to be the biggest story for us, you know that. I, should be the one going right? You know I’m the best thing around here.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever said ‘the best’. It is true you always do a great job Roz, but, I already gave that assignment to Suzie.” The Editor crossed his arms over his chest, bracing for the inevitable blow up.
Roz looked even more shocked, if that were possible. Maybe it was the eyebrows, they seemed to rise up more than humanly possible. Then it was like the fuse ending and the dynamite blowing. “Suzie?! Suuuz! She puts the ooze in oozie, kind of like her name Suzie…never mind, that didn’t work.” Roz’s shoulder’s slumped. “Why Suzie?”
Bookworm wrote: "Mind if I hijack your post Phil? Looking for a little feedback as well,Tales from the Wayfield Market
Chapter 1
“Roz, get in here”. "
Hi Bookworm: I read your first chapter. I see quite a lot of comic potential here. I like the way you provide ironic jokes that Roz keeps to himself--except for the one that escapes only to die a lingering death at the end of the chapter. Which implies Roz's wit isn't as razor-sharp as he thinks it is. Am I on the right track here?
I also make sarcastic jokes, comments, and even nicknames in the privacy of my head (not all of which are gems of wit). So I see a possibility of really identifying with this character.
I did notice a typo which needs fixing. In the sentence "The Room of Reckoning it was called, once, as a bad joke by one of the journalist [...]" the word "journalist needs an s.
Also, the nickname Roz led me to believe that the character was a woman. It appears that his physiology would dictate otherwise, but you should perhaps explain a little more clearly right at the beginning how he obtained this sobriquet. For instance, did it originate with co-workers who were trying to humiliate him? Did they say it so much he decided to tolerate it, even though it still rankles?
By the way, this reminds me quite a bit of Lynne Truss's novel about the staff of a gardening magazine: With One Lousy Free Packet of Seed. Do you know it?
Mod
I'm also curious about Roz's nickname. Is it an acronym for something even worse, like Reinhold Oral Zimmerman? Might be fun not to reveal the real name for a chapter or two.
By all means - continue, Bookworm!
Thanks for the book rec., Richard. I may get it for my gardener husband for Christmas.
ok this just happened to me a few days agoI just got back from the office and the wife insisted we go out on a drive so we did on our way back we stopped at a stall making and selling fresh sugar cane juice which i love by the way ... so i go over to the vendor and ask him for 2 large drinks but i notice as he pours the juice that he's using the same glasses over and over without washing them. Si i ask him: "r the glasses clean"
reply "of course they're clean the whole world's drinking from the same glasses hundreds of ppl ... they're clean enough for them"
i had anticipated as much so i asked him "arent u gonna wash the glasses?"
reply (made in a hurt and offended tone) "i just washed them this morning!!"
Shanawaz wrote: "ok this just happened to me a few days agoI just got back from the office and the wife insisted we go out on a drive so we did on our way back we stopped at a stall making and selling fresh sugar..."
oops i just posted this in the wrong thread ... now i feels stupid :)
Mod
Or drinking from...
Melki wrote: "S'okay. Probably just something you've been drinking.Or drinking from..."
lol ya diarrhoea has a knack for clouding the mind :)
Please, could we change the subject? I just had breakfast not too long ago!
Ya, no hijacking threads, that's just rude....back to me. My next installment.The Editor was quick with an answer. “Come on Roz, you went to Europe last summer. Remember the champagne debates?” The editor turned around and punched a couple of keys on his computer.
Roz’s face turned up, as he took a moment to remember the wonderful time he spent at the infamous champagne debates. “I do remember that wonderful summer. It was better than any summer of my youth, which I’ve heard are supposed to be the best. My youth summers were spent working as a parking attendant at the zoo. I was that poor kid who had the impossible job of trying to maneuver cars into straight lines in those big fields outside the zoo. And, of course nobody ever listens to you. Even with the reflector shirt on and the..”
The Editor broke up Roz’s reminiscing with a clearing of his throat. “I remember the bill, the wine bill you tried to put through as an expense. It wasn’t even champagne, at the champagne debates?”
“Oh, the wine there was great. If you remember, I brought some back for the office.”
“Some. If you are referring to the half bottle you left on the photocopier…”
“Exactly! And, if you’ll also recall I did have champagne. On the flight back from Europe.”
“The first class flight home! The expensive flight you went ahead and book on us. That’s the point Roz! Sending you anywhere, for some strange reason, seems to cost us an arm and leg. Actually, make that arms and legs.” The Editor ran out of air and had to take a deep breath.
Roz broke in, “I do have standards, which I may add, I live up to. But, if you’d rather I didn’t fly first class, I will consider suffering the ten hours in,” he gagged, “coach.”
“That is not the point! I didn’t really have a point, because now that I think of it, the article you wrote on the debates was outstanding, some of your best work. Actually, I guess I have point. That article was lacking something, something like passion. I feel you are losing that grassroots passion you used to have for this magazine and the natural life. I’m hoping this assignment brings back that fire.” The Editor looked Roz hard in the eye. “You know I’m picking you over every other journalist in this building. You know why? Because, you always write up great articles, even when the topic seems less than newsworthy. You’re credo is true, Mr. Wells – you dig deep.” A forced smile took root on The Editor’s face.
Mr. Wells, oblivious to this suspicious change in tone, leaned back in his chair. “Well, that’s true.”
“That is why I need you on this assignment. Now, it doesn’t sound like much, but, my journalistic spidey-senses are screaming out that there is something newsworthy there. If there is, I know you’ll,” The Editor used the finger quote symbol to really bring home the saying, “’dig deep’ and find it.”
Roz put his hands behind his head, lacing his fingers together. “Ah, go on.”
The Editor did. “Ok, I’ll agree that you are the best thing around here.” His forced smiled seemed even more forced, it that were possible. He spun around to face his computer. “I’m sending you a link to a website I just found. I came across it accidentally while wasting one of the many hours a day I do cruising the world wide web. There is a lot of the typical stuff we cover; local, organic, natural food. There is also a really heartwrenching video raging on the factory farming type deal.” The Editor pointed to his computer screen. “This,” he started jamming his finger into the screen, “is a great website. Whoever designed it is a master, a genius. And, I have a feeling this guy, Lars, is going to start creating a lot of buzz. Right now, it’s a mosquito level buzz, but, I know with a great article we can turn that into a big fly buzz. That really loud buzz. From the big flies? You know, the ones I’m talking about? Let me think, they are sometimes on the green bins, well at least on mine. But, only when I put really bad meat in there. Which I know I should freezer until the day the green bin goes out, but, really who freezes?” He took a big breath and continued. “Anyway, you interested?”
“In turning this into a green-bin-meat-fly story? Hell yes! If anyone can do it, Roz Wells can.” Roz leaned his head back, enjoying the moment, and promptly tipped the chair over.
Mod
@ Melki: Thankfully I read this last night! Reminds me of the Simpsons episode where Homer buys the expired shrimp on sale and gets salmonella. @ Bookworm: Great characterization! The Editor (putting him in caps is a nice touch) is critical and glib by turns. Roz is self-centred and defensive. And I love the clunky pun on Wells and the pratfall at the end!
Typos (sorry, I'm a grammar nazi):
-- I think "My youth summers" should be "My youthful summers."
-- "...you went ahead and book on us...": add -ed to "book."
-- "I guess I have point": insert article.
Thanks for the critical comments on the spelling - I'm not being sarcastic, if it's coming across that way SORRY.I though capping The Editor worked really well too. I'm glad my characters are coming across the way I hoped. As for the explanation on the Roz name, that I'm sure you are all dying to know...it was a cheesy play on words with a bit of foreshadowing. His name is Roz Wells, kind of like Roswell that town in New Mexico (or Arizona...one of them states) where the UFO stuff happens. I am considering Melki's suggestion of adding to the name, ROZ being an acronym for some hilariuos name like Richard Ozzy Zeke.
Bookworm wrote: "Thanks for the critical comments on the spelling - I'm not being sarcastic, if it's coming across that way SORRY.I though capping The Editor worked really well too. I'm glad my characters are c..."
The only reason I correct the typos (besides my OCD about it) is that it's vastly harder to proof one's own work than it is to proof someone else's. Thanks for taking it in the spirit in which it was meant.
I like the connection Roz--Roswell. The surname could also suggest H.G. Wells, which would fit in nicely with your idea!
Richard keep correcting, it's benefiting us both. You and your OCD thing, me and my less than stellar grammer.Chapter 2
“You Lars?” Roz asked the back of a large man while he picked up a square shaped piece of soap and started to examine it.
The strapping fellow turned around. He was big, even his beard was big. He gave Roz a hard stare. “Nope. I’m not Lars. Not the Ice Man.” Then a bright toothy smile sprouted up through the beard. “I’m Chuck. Chuck the soap guy. All natural soaps. I see how you could have been confused. The piece you have there does look an awful lot like an ice cube.” His large paw of a hand reached out and took the cube and gently placed it back on the table. “The Ice Man, Lars, is down the row. Spot forty two if I’m not mistaken. Look for the man in the parka, he wears that thing all year.”
“Thanks.” Roz turned in the general direction Chuck had pointed, now looking for spot numbers. But, not finding any. He sidestepped a man carrying too many potted plants, which were blocking his view, and started slowly walking. He casually pulled out a personal recorder and pushed the record button. “Roz here. I am in the Wayfield market starting this vitally important assignment our dear editor has graciously given me. Uh, did you catch that eye roll personal recording device? Well my eyes did a big roll, and what did I see? Just a few cumulus clouds which I should be standing on right now because I am so above this! Reminder to put that cloud quote in my resignation letter. Well, back to my important assignment. I’m looking down a typical farmers market; a few ramshackle stands, with a lot of tarp, a few beat up pick up trucks, and lots of…well actually… very colourful delicious looking vegetables. I’m following some directions given to me by Chuck. He is some soap guy, all natural and handmade I think he mentioned. I’m hoping for contact with this Lars guy in mere seconds. And, hold on. Note: pick up some of that wonderful looking swiss chard from, what’s that sign? Springfield Farms. Ok, remember that, swiss chard from Springfield Farms. I’m hearing someone mention it was fresh picked this morning. That sound great. I have that old recipe from…never mind this actually. Scratch that last note, I’m becoming too involved here. I’m supposed to be in and out. Stick to the article. Oh, this thing is still on. Well, reminder, stick to the article.” Roz turned the recorder off with a flick of his thumb. Then he stopped short in front of a very rustic looking stand. His eyes wandered up to the sign - H20°. “Like, H two Oh. I get it. As in water?”
Another bearded weathered face, so common in the market, grabbed Roz’s attention. “Not quite, not quite. It’s actually, ah, H two zero degrees Celsius. Ya, get it? Ya, water it freezes at, ah, zero degrees. I make ice. It’s, ah, pretty clever name I think.”
“You Lars?” Roz asked without any emotion.
“Yes sir. Lars, some call me Ice Man Lars, at yer service.” Lars politely raised his battered looking straw hat.
“Wonderful. Just wanted to make sure, since I was told to look for a man wearing a parka?” Roz let out an uncertain laugh. Which was met with a similar uncertain look from Lars. “Ya, um, the soap guy Chuck mentioned that? Sorry, I had no intention to offend…”
“I could have guessed that was Chuck.” Lars started to chuckle, mostly to himself.
Roz, relieved that his remark did not turn Lars sour, continued, “that Chuck. Seems like a real funny guy. I’m Roz, Roz Wells, by the way. I talked to you on the phone the other day? About doing an article for the Eastern Natural Local Organic Food Magazine about your ice business?”
“Oh yes. Your that Roz then eh?”
“Yes, that Roz.”
“Is that Roz with an R?”
“Yes, with an R.” Great, these hicks can almost spell, thought Roz. There was an extended moment of silence with Lars and Roz staring awkwardly.
Roz broke the silence. “Is that going to be a problem?”
need some feedback thanks NimbilityAaron T Knight
You are in a parking garage watching two men standing
some distance from you. Although you are too faraway to hear, a conversation is definitely going on between them. One of the men is a policeman the other is a young man with brown hair and a moustache slightly taller than average. He is gesturing with his hands as he talks to the officer. When he is finished, the policemen nods his head and walks away from him toward his patrol car.
An ordinary every day occurance easily forgotten. Nothing there worth another thought. Boy, are you wrong.
This young man is the notorious Myles Metcalf wanted by all of the police agencies in the Western world. His picture and a physical description are on flyers posted in public buildings everywhere. He is a fugitive, suspected of being the mastermind of the criminal activities committed by people working for the world’s largest charity organization. And the Internal Revenue Service is after him for being a tax dodger.
You dismiss the young man from your mind. He can’t possibly be Myles Metcalf. You have seen his picture on the TV news many times. Whenever something noteworthy has happened in the federal court trials of known felons in the charity organization case his picture is shown.
Appearnces are often far from reality when viewed superficially. So you are wrong about the young man in the parking garage speaking to the policeman. It is Myles Metcalf in disguise. He was wearing a brown haired wig and mustache to cover up his black hair and his blue eyes were hidden behind brown contact lenses.
You have no more information about Myles than is known by the general public. So you are wrong again. This young man has been set up and double crossed by a master criminal who is the brains of the International Hand Organization. Gabriel Mercy is also missing at the moment.
The incident in the parking garage was a close one for Myles. As he was exiting from his car his brown wig was caught in the front door when he slammed it shut. Some of his black currly hair sprang out from the portion of the wig stuck in the door. Electronic devices make no distinction between the owner of a car and an intruder trying to steal it. So with the car door slightly ajar from the wig the shrieking electronic alarm went off reverberating loudly in the parking garage.
Myles began to panic then realized he only had to slip out of the wig and unlock the car door. Just as he was about to slip out of the wig a policeman came around the corner in his squad car to investigate the screaming alarm. Now he couldn’t take the wig off revealing his real hair. Myles twisted around slowly to keep the wig in place while he put the key in the front door to free it.
While he was making this maneuver the policeman was watching him. He drew his revolver out of it’s holster convinced he was watching an attempted car theft. Myles had completed his little dance to free up the wig by opening the car door. As he squared up the wig on his head the
policeman came within ten feet of him, pointed his gun and announced,
“ freeze ! Slowly turn toward the car and place both hands on the roof. Do it now !”
The policemen went through all of the procedures required to check out a suspect. Satisfied with Myles’ credentials as “ Frank Madden “and proof he owned the vehicle he told him to lower his arms. He handed back the ID then looked at Myles quizzically,
“ why did your car alarm go off ? You have the key to the car. Is the alrarm faulty or something.”
Then using the gestures you had observed he pantomined his sleeve being caught in the door and he was attempting to unlock the door which looked suspicious. Ha ha. Satisfied, the policeman walked away.
Myles was damp with sweat. He had mixed emotions about the incident. Disgusted he had carelessly slammed the door of the car and caught his hair but relieved he wasn’t recognized by the policeman.
At the condo he sat down to watch the evening news. Only recently had he begun to watch the news broadcasts. He had an interest in current events at the moment. Suddenly his attention to the broadcast became intense. The commentator was saying,
“ Senator Canfield was given a twenty year sentence
today in Federal Court. After an exhaustive series of legal actions starting over a year and a half ago the sensational racketeering case is over. ( TV cameras show a gray haired man being led down the courthouse steps by two Federal
Marshals) This case is a culmination of a world wide fraud
and smuggling operation discovered two years ago. Senator Canfield is the last of the known conspirators to be tried in an illegal operation encompassing third world countries.
Two key figures are still at large, Myles Metcalf, the Treasurer of the International Hand Corporation that operated as a front for the illegal operations, and the CEO, Gabriel Mercy. Mr. Metcalf was the key witness in this case against the corporation but then he disappeared. Rumors have circulated his life might have been killed or he ran to protect himself. This scandalous case of racketeering won’t be over until these two key figures are apprehended.”
I would love to hear your responses to this short scene from my humorous novel THE FAMOUS UNION:But after a particularly unproductive day cluttered with nothing more than boredom, Bill Ferris finally had had it; he knew he had to get away, or else, so he ventured across campus to the college cafeteria for an early dinner.
“What’s the special today?” he asked the young coed who was on the ready to take his order.
“Buzzgetti.”
“What’s that?” asked Ferris.
“Buzzgetti.”
“What?” asked Ferris again.
“Buzzgetti,” said the young unsmiling coed, her face clearly demonstrating her growing impatience with the guy.
“Is that some type of local specialty. I’ve never heard of it,” said Bill Ferris.
“Buzzgetti,” the tortured young thing said, two octaves too loudly for the crowded cafeteria.
Bill Ferris, finally resigned to the fact that he was not about to get any further information from her, decided what the hell. “I’ll take a stab at it,” he said.
When his plate was finally handed over to him, Ferris sighed deeply, refraining purposely from uttering what he truly felt inside. What good would it do? What purpose would it serve? As he looked down at his plate of probably day-old spaghetti, most likely heated-over canned stuff, to boot, he was thinking that nothing around the place made any sense at all. The place had gone completely insane, crazy. Loco. It seemed more a lunatic asylum than a place of scholarly reflection and application.
But what a fitting end to his day, he also thought, as the tasteless special of the day churned around his intestines like worms squirming to their death on a sunburned sidewalk.
Bookworm wrote: "Richard keep correcting, it's benefiting us both. You and your OCD thing, me and my less than stellar grammer.Chapter 2
“You Lars?” Roz asked the back of a large man while he picked up a squ..."
Nice chapter, Bookworm! The recording device is a nice method to show the difference between what Roz says and what he really thinks. His sarcasm about the resignation letter etc. is a nice touch. Chuck and Lars are good minor characters, focussed on their little jokes and petty rivalries (rather like Roz).
Typos: "But, not finding any." This could be joined to the previous sentence, but that's optional. I would pitch the comma after "But."
"Farmers market" should be "farmers' market."
"Ok" should be "OK" OK?
And I assume "grammer" was intentional? ;)
Aaron wrote: "need some feedback thanks NimbilityAaron T Knight
You are in a parking garage watching two men standing
some distance f..."
Aaron, In general I really like this. It's very "nouveau roman" to use the second person. Have you read If on a Winter's Night a Traveler? It's nice the way you set up the reader to accept a theory and then crush it. But somehow you slip from second to third person and "you" disappears altogether. My advice would be to choose one perspective and stick with it. Second person is not so easy but you seem to know how to handle it--so I'd say keep forging ahead with that!
Mod
Melki wrote: "Richard, I think these guys need to start paying you for your services."Well, thank you kindly! Any contributions to the Feed Richard fund are most welcome!:-) Actually, I do a fair bit of this at work, but so far, not for works of fiction.
thank you richard for your comments on nimbility I will tkae a look. if you are interested I can download an ebook if you wish to explore further. this thing gets wild with reincarnation, army secrets and tales of NORAD let me know thanks aaron
Mike wrote: "I would love to hear your responses to this short scene from my humorous novel THE FAMOUS UNION:But after a particularly unproductive day cluttered with nothing more than boredom, Bill Ferris fi..."
Mike, I like this scene. The exchange between Ferris and the co-ed is very funny indeed. I'm sure we've all had similar experiences. But it's an appetizer. Hopefully it's better than Buzzgetti, but in order to get a better sense of what you're doing, I'd have to taste a little more of it! :)
Richard wrote: "Mike wrote: "I would love to hear your responses to this short scene from my humorous novel THE FAMOUS UNION:But after a particularly unproductive day cluttered with nothing more than boredom, ..."
I appreciate your comments. This is a scene that came to me as I walked in the morning. Most of my inspiration seems to come as I work out. Then I frantically run to my computer and put it into words before I forget it. This comes from my Kindle novel THE FAMOUS UNION, which is a humorous look at what happens to a once-proud institution of higher learning after the powers-that-be make theater-of-the-absurd decisions because of severe budget concerns. It is reminiscent of an actual experience I had several years ago while visiting in Alabama.
Thanks again Richard, I will be sure to pay you off sometime...perhaps in chicken carcasses? I have few in the freezer.Mike - Like the 'buzzghetti'...one idea, you could have another student (with a slight speech impediment) come up behind and explain to Ferris, 'buzzghetti is just psketti from yesterday'.
"worms squirming to their death on a sunburned sidewalk" PURE GENIUS!
Bookworm wrote: " I will be sure to pay you off sometime...perhaps in chicken carcasses? ..."worms squirming to their death on a sunburned sidewalk" PURE GENIUS! Thanks for the offer, Bookworm. I must say though, that for someone with such an innocuous profile pic you certainly have a dark side! I would have thought that "worms squirming" line would have sent you wriggling for cover! :))
Mike wrote: "Richard wrote: "Mike wrote: "I would love to hear your responses to this short scene from my humorous novel THE FAMOUS UNION:But after a particularly unproductive day cluttered with nothing more ..."
There's a reason why creative writing profs used to tell budding authors to keep a notebook handy. It's so that when inspiration hits at odd and unexpected times, one can record it before it is forgotten.
Bookworm wrote: "Thanks again Richard, I will be sure to pay you off sometime...perhaps in chicken carcasses? I have few in the freezer.Mike - Like the 'buzzghetti'...one idea, you could have another student (w..."
Thanks. It popped into my head as I took my morning walk around my neighborhood.
Richard wrote: "There's a reason why creative writing profs used to tell budding authors to keep a notebook handy. It's so that when inspiration hits at odd and unexpected times, one can record it before it is forgotten." I used to jot down quick few word ideas or sentences on post it notes when they popped into my head...but, soon my wallet was overflowing (ie George K style from Seinfeld) with yellow paper that made no sense whatsoever.
I also have a secret folder at my desk full of office antedotes...don't worry, I use 'code names' for coworkers. Like Bookworm might be just Book or Booker T?
Bookworm wrote: "I also have a secret folder at my desk full of office antedotes..."LOL! Booker T, I know you meant "anecdotes" but I read "antidotes." As in: "just in case that shady-looking co-worker slips something into the coffee or the water cooler"!
I thought about 'antidotes' yesterday...OMG, I'm such an itiot! This webstite needs spelling check and word check too!Another installment...
“Ya, um, no not at all, just curious.” With that remark Lars went back to setting up his wares. “I’m guessin’ you’ll have a whole hockey sock full of questions for me then?” Lars made his way gingerly around some stacked up coolers of various shapes and sizes. “Come on around into my stall and start. Just don’t mind me settin’ up, I’m what ya call a multi-tasker. I can listen and work at the same time.”
Roz took up the offer and stepped over a small cooler and made his way behind the counter. He sized up the area and asked, “I’m going to guess these coolers are for the ice?”
“Righto,” Lars strained as he lifted up a big red cooler. He dropped it down on the counter and quickly produced a small placard to attach to the front. “In the reds we have distilled water based ice. Them blue coolers, they have the spring water ice. And, that old burgundy cooler with the tan stripe has the triple filtered rainwater ice.” He stopped working long enough to glance over at the burgundy tan striped cooler and beamed, “that’s my prime product there.”
“Pardon me? Did you say rainwater?” Roz had out a pad of paper and had quickly jotted down some notes as fast as Lars could spit them out.
“Righto! Did you know that rainwater is some of nature’s purest water?” Lars stepped over and picked up the retro burgundy cooler which was holding his precious rainwater ice and gently set it beside the blue cooler on the counter.
“I’ve never heard of rainwater being used for anything other than watering the grass,” Roz commented.
Lars turned to Roz with a slightly disappointed look on his face. “It’s just one of the many things, traditions you might say, that our modern society has lost. Especially in this age of mass produced, factory farmed food.” Lars let out a sigh, then turned back to his coolers which he was still setting up. He adjusted the tiny sign attached to the front of each cooler, then looked at the sun, then adjusted the sign again.
Roz slashed notes on his pad of paper while continuing to question Lars. “What was it that got you into all this? This, ice making.” Roz flipped a page on his note pad and lined up his pen, ready for whatever Lars came up with.
Lars appeared to be paying no attention to Roz. He continued angling the coolers and the small signs attached, then looking up at the sun, then angling again. After a few more nudges and tweaks he seemed satisfied. He turned back toward Roz and answered, “I guess ice has always been a part of my life. Um, I really liked to play outside in the winter and slide on the ice or play swordfight with icicles. That’s how I got this scar here above my eye. Ice made its mark on me. Never learned to skate though. But, that there, well that is a whole ‘nother story. You could say my favourite drink is iced tea and my favourite food is iced cream. I was just born with an affinity for ice?”
Roz attempted to steer the conversation back to the more factual info he wanted for his article. “Exactly how long have you been making ice?”
Lars pulled over a stool and sat down. “Um, I guess I’ve just always had my hand in the ice industry. It started at home. I’ve been making ice on my own since, well, I got my first ice cube tray - fifth birthday present. But professionally, um, well part of my first job was working with ice. At the Burger King. Ya, I’d have to scoop out cups full of ice and drown the poor innocent things in Coke or root beer. Sad really. Sad, that I was part of that machine, that awful machine! Shovelling out that overprocessed, inferior, unnatural ice.”
Roz seemed to have hit a nerve. Lars was breathing heavy, winded after his mini tirade. Quietly he continued, “I’m actually feeling a little embarrassed about that.”
The years of journalistic experience had taught Roz a few things about getting the most out of people. The best way to do that was with empathy. Something Roz was lacking as of late. Professionalism overrode his bad mood and Roz attempted to comfort Lars. “Nothing to be ashamed of. We’ve all been there. We’ve all done a lot of things when we were teens that we are not too proud of now. When I think back to the industry in the 80’s when I was there, working the fry machine, I’m sure I helped move a ton or two of those styrofoam containers. Remember them? Oh, they worked so well at keeping those burgers hot. I’m sure all of that garbage is still lingering in some landfill somewhere, slowly poisoning the water table or something. But, times were different back them.”
Lars had a look of confusion on his face. “Back then? I’m talking eight months ago!”
Roz stopped writing. “Sorry, your first job was eight months ago? I’m usually really good at guessing ages. I assumed you were a lot older, but, I must be wrong?”
Lars smiled. “Ah, nice of you to say. Uh, I’m 42. I’ve just been way too busy studying to have time for a job. I’ve been busy researching ice and all its qualities for, well, uh, over twenty years now.”
Roz stared; eyes bulged, jaw open. “forty-two,” he managed to mumble.“Like I said, uh, I‘ve been busy getting my degree in biology. Another one in chemical engineering, or at least most of it. A bit of a psychology degree, but, doesn’t everyone have one of those? And, not to be forgotten that tv repair certificate. Now, that was a tough one.
“You know, there is just so much to learn about water and ice and how it all comes together.” With that last line a look of serenity passed across Lars’ face.
After a couple of seconds Roz had recovered and continued his questioning. “So, now you have taken the leap out on your own? What was it that made you decide that this is what you should do?”
Sitting straighter than before, hand combed through his beard, Lars gave off the impression of being a wise old sage, contemplating who was from Mars and who was from Venus. A long second passed before Lars finally spoke. “That is one good question Roz.” The beard combing continued.
Staring intently at Lars combing his beard, Roz started to feel a bit nauseous.
The combing stopped and Lars answered, “well, as I mentioned before, I did have that there job at Burger King. Seeing, first hand, how that ice was being treated was heartbreaking. But, the real tipping point for me was my second job.”
“Second job?” Roz’s pen flew across his page.
“So, a few days after I started at the Burger King another opportunity came about. A position up there at Arctic Ice. You know Arctic Ice? The bags of ice you see in them glacier shaped coolers in your local grocery and corner stores. That’s them.
So, it turns out the Arctic Ice people was really interested in me workin’ for them, see? So, I go for an interview. Nice guy in a suit asks me some questions about ice and teamwork and a bunch of other things. Then I ask him if I can see the factory where I’d be working. So, we take a walk and I’m all of fifteen minutes in there when I have to leave. The conditions for the ice…” Lars’ voice is strained and it looks to Roz like tears are forming in his eyes. Lars croaks, “it’s just really hard to talk about.”
A restrained sigh comes from Roz, who is also slightly rolling his eyes. “Do you need a break?” Roz’s hand was not writing with fervor anymore, it was tapping the pen impatiently.
Lars takes a deep calming breath. Then another. Then whistles a little tune to himself. Then talks, “the production facility was hell! No, worse! No light. No windows. It was dank, dark, and depressing. The smell.” Lars gags. “Think about that kind of life. Right from conception these ice cubes are living in the dark, never seeing the light of day! Oh, and cramped. Just tray after tray, stacked on on top of the other. With just enough room to freeze. No extra. No interaction. No human touch, goddamm it!” The whistling to himself starts again accompanied by a self soothing rocking motion.
WTF, though Roz, being in the space conserving mood. “Need a break?” he asked with about as much compassion as if he were talking to an ice cube, instead of an ice man.
Another deep breath. “No, no, I’m ok now. Where was I?”
“My notes say WT, er, no human something.”
The Humour Club
Books mentioned in this topic
If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler (other topics)With One Lousy Free Packet of Seed (other topics)
Thrift (other topics)
It's great, Phil! I love Ray, his pubmates and Julia. Laura? Yeah, I want to slap her. I have GOT to know what happens next!
Your book, Thrift has just been bumped way up the queue on my TBR list.