Hey. Hola. Kia Ora.
So, I forgot I had this blog thingy. I’m pretty much the laziest wanna-be writer ever. I think I’m romantically in love with the idea of writing or being a writer. I like the idea of just chilling in a robe, smoking a pipe and wondering off to my office to write the next Harry Potter or something, but, I find being horizontal, napping, and overeating slightly more appealing. However, since I’ve last written a thing I’ve had some major life changes. Namely, I live in an entirely new country. I live in New Zealand AKA Middle Earth. Turns out there’s no Hobbits here. Which is a bummer, but they more than compensate by being the most gorgeous country on earth. Beaches and Mountains and Hills, oh my! Being from Bumblefuck-flat-as-fuck-corn-fed Indiana, this is pretty much the most drastic adjustment one can make. But with these life changes, came unemployment. I pretty much sold off everything I had and just went for broke over here. While I’m on the job hunt, I’ve found that I have a fair amount of down time so I thought I might give another crack at this blog deal. With my terrible grammar, typos and all.
Which this lead me to pondering. What in the world am I gonna write about? Alas, Google led me to this: http://30daychallengearchive.tumblr.com/post/832610035/writing-prompt-30-day-challenge
So let’s have a go at this, eh?
WRITING PROMPT 1: Day 1 —Select a book at random in the room. Find a novel or short story, copy down the last sentence and use this line as the first line of your new story.
All was well.
He sat there and nodded empathetically as the boisterous southern man exclaimed, “And you know what!?!? This hotel room, that I paid my $29.99 to stay in didn’t have the HBO on it! How am I suppose to see my dragons and boobies!?! And that free breakfast in the morning was nothing but cereal! I demand my money back!” The Customer Service Agent put on an Oscar worthy apology performance seemingly as an unknown orchestra played, “Full House”/ 90’s family sitcom background music to embellish the retort of, “Sir, I am so unbelievably sorry that you had to endure such depravity. I’ll file my report right away and have this looked into for you!” Internally he was thinking, “Maybe a zombie apocalypse wouldn’t be so bad. Can someone just have Robert Kirkman or George Romero play God today?” The man had been worked into the ground as an onslaught of angry customers yelled at him constantly demanding free things for nothing.
Thus is the life of working with the public. Anger and an entitlement over nothing. The man was dead inside, or so it seemed. Until she walked into his life.
Pale and quirky she blindsided him. In nights of loneliness. They would stay up talking about everything and nothing. Politics of orange haired aggression or who would be cooler to hang out with a pizza or tacos? (The answer is Pizza. Because of course he would have an awesome stereotypical Mario-like accent, and would probably be best friend’s with the Ninja Turtles.)
They would laugh.
They would learn.
They would love.
All of this through a 13″ glow of a computer screen and the magic of satellites and cables. For as big as the World seems the magic of hitting, “Call” on your screen made it so small for those hours. She was both there and distant all in one.
“My room smells like vegan farts and the bed is as hard as 4th grade math. When Trump is President he’ll kick these Indians out of the Hotel business? I can’t wait! Give me my money back! … Now!” The self-important white man vociferated. “I, sincerely apologize you didn’t like your stay, but I’m seeing here you stayed a week?”
“Give me your manager now!”
In that moment the man pondered, “Why am I even doing this?” He stayed for the paycheck, but life here was pointless. She was there. He was here.
He dropped the headset as racism and hate vomited harder than a girl on her 21st birthday out the speaker.
He looked at his room in his house decorated with rad pictures of bands and quirky art. His instruments aplenty. His video games strewn across the floor. None of this made him happy. It made him distracted. It made him cope. But they weren’t her. They were just things.
Those things turned into paper that rested in his bank account. That bank account turned into paper that led him to the sky. He handed that ticket to the lady behind the counter as she led him to the walkway. He sat and for a very long time as he flew through the sky.
Hunger. Well, that’s pretty standard. He’s always hungry.
Worried that he stunk.
“Have I gained weight? I totally look like the Grinch. She’s gonna be so let down”
“Will she think I’m just too weird?”
“Will everyone there understand me?”
He walked out of the plane on to the tarmac. And he saw her staring at him through the gate. She smiled. He smiled.
All was well.