slice of life

The Custodian

/ Karina Pinella / 19 Comments
Image: Pixabay

Image: Pixabay

The clock strikes five. All the worker bees in Suite 320 suddenly come to life, shutting down their computers, tossing their empty coffee cups. Others lock up their drawers as if afraid somebody might steal their company-issued office supplies.

“Bye, Henry.”

“Have a nice weekend, Linda.”

“TGIF!”

Farewells among colleagues are exchanged; they give and accept their goodbyes like eager squirrels storing away their nuts for winter.

Less than five minutes later, the whole office is cleared. Sounds of rolling wheels break the silence as the little man behind a gray trash barrel comes in. As Head Custodian, he rips up all the computers, along with the desks and pitches them into the bottomless barrel. He has determined this last batch of worker bees does not work hard enough. They will not have a place to work when they return on Monday morning. He wheels away to the next floor to decide on the fate of the group in Suite 420.

Half Breed

/ Karina Pinella / 3 Comments
monkey boy

Image: Wikipedia

While eating a banana pizza, Roscoe watches the foibles of his favorite character in a sit-com. He licks his hairy fingers clean after eating and gets up to relieve himself in the corner of his room. As he finishes, he hears the familiar turn of the key on the steel door of his Plexiglass room. Time for another exam, he thinks.

“Hey, Roscoe, ready for your check-up,” the broad-shouldered man says as he corrals Roscoe out of the room.

They walk down a short corridor and go inside Dr. Shroeder’s “Fun Room,” as Roscoe has been told to refer to it.

“Nice to see you looking bright and relaxed this time, Roscoe.” A tall, slender woman, Dr. Schroeder smiles as she takes Roscoe by the hand and leads him to an unusually long indoor playground monkey bar. “Let’s see you swing across the length of the bar twice.”

Roscoe is excited to impress Dr. Schroeder of his athletic prowess, as he starts to show off.

Dr. Schroeder is joined by her associate, who asks, “How is our monkey boy doing?”

“Please don’t refer to Roscoe that way,” says Dr. Schroeder, somewhat taken aback. “I consider him as a human boy.”

“Just make sure you give him a full body shave whenever you decide to go public with your experiment,” replies the associate.

Afterwards, the associate leaves Dr. Schroeder, who is left thinking not for the first time if she would ever reveal Roscoe is her son.

Ballsy

/ Karina Pinella / 23 Comments
Image: Pixabay

Image: Pixabay

“I’m not here to bust your balls. I’m here so we don’t get our balls busted,” the new CEO assured his employees.

Six months later, he saved the shareholders $6 million by letting go 3,000 workers.

Outside the building, sitting on a park bench were two former employees, Sam and Hank. Sam snorted, “Our CEO sure had us by the balls.”

Hank responded, “Yep, he had the balls to make us believe that if we juggled our schedule to fit his deadlines, we’d be having a ball in no time.”

“Turns out he thinks we dropped the ball.” Sam rubbed his eyes so his friend wouldn’t see them misting.

“Got that right. It’s one new ball game these days.”

Sighing, they both stood up and left, scratching their balls.

The Ugly Sweater Chronicles: Unraveled

/ Karina Pinella / 16 Comments

[A trilogy of “seamy” stories about the lure of ugly sweaters. 3 of 3; see 2]

Image: Pixabay

Image: Pixabay

Detective David LaFoote, along with his new junior partner, Detective Tobias LaFitte, shoulder their way in through the door. They look around the studio apartment, struck by the multitude of paper types pinned to a big bulletin board on the wall. Beneath all the newspaper clippings, invitation cards, and business letterhead is a large map of the metropolis. Different strands of colored yarn, connected by pins, point to specific locations on the map. Suddenly they hear a gasp and see a man cowering in the corner.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” the man whines. He is wearing a green sweater with a big snowman on the front, grinning back at them. “I’m taking what’s been due me for years . . .” He rubs his nose, as he asserts himself.

“Save your breath, buster. When I was growing up I was told to crochet my own sweater. I got a ball of yarn, while my classmates had their ugly sweaters already made.” LaFoote shakes his head, marveling at how his deeply buried memories so readily surface.

“I’m really sorry to hear what happened to you, but at least you were given some colorful material to knit something new. All I ever received when I was growing up was a picture of an ugly sweater from a mail-order catalog.” The man is now raving on and on.

“Spare me any more sob stories. You’re going down.” Detective LaFoote motions to his partner and speaks with authority. “Book him, Danno–for burglary and grand larceny!”

“Um, David. The name’s LaFitte.”

“Can’t you just be Danno for today? I’m really feeling like the 5-0 right now,” says LaFoote, harkening back to his grade school years of adoring the original “Hawaii Five-0” series on Friday nights.  LaFoote strides away, glad but weary from the long hours of finally cracking open the Ugly Sweater Serial Stealer case.

[To see the first story, see 1.]

The Ugly Sweater Chronicles: Ripped Off

/ Karina Pinella / 18 Comments

[A trilogy of “seamy” stories about the lure of ugly sweaters; 1 of 3]

Image: Pixabay

Image: Pixabay

The air is full of excitement. Tomorrow is Ugly Sweater Day and everyone is looking forward to it. People are staying longer in the water dispenser talking about their sweaters.

“My sweater has one big boob on one side, covered with a green pom-pom. Beat that!”

“Yah, that’s ugly. But mine has the body of a penguin on the front, right under the neckline.”

Snatches of conversation followed by guffaws can be heard in every corner. Darren sits at his desk, working, but obsessing on how he still doesn’t have an ugly sweater to wear for the big day. He went to Target over the weekend but the prices for ugly sweaters had been hiked. He’s not about to spend $35 for a sweater he wouldn’t wear more than once a year. Then, he remembers the discount department store at an outdoor shopping mall, which is a 15-minute walk from his office park.

When lunchtime approaches, Darren hurriedly heads over to the mall. He is forced to walk because his car is at the garage and not available until tomorrow. As much as he dislikes treading over roads with no sidewalks, he hates it even more if he doesn’t have an ugly sweater to wear the next day.

Having successfully reached the store, Darren goes to the clearance rack. He pumps his fist up in the air when he finds what he considers the ideal. After paying for it, he practically runs outside to get moving. The walk feels long because he has to retrace the terrible route that got him here. He clutches his bag as he tries to avoid being run down.

Suddenly, he’s knocked off his feet and lands on the small strip of dirt, off by the roadside. Did he get hit by a car? He feels as if he’s been punched in the back. What was it? As he raises his head, he sees two feet running off. He realizes that he’s been pushed. He feels around for his bag and sees it’s been stolen. Close to tears, he gets up, dusts himself off, and heads back to the mall. Tomorrow he will wear an ugly sweater, come hell or high water.

[See story 2]

Ham Hocked

/ Karina Pinella / 4 Comments
Image: Pixabay

Image: Pixabay

Everyone in the office was in a flurry. They all received the same white envelope with a blue seal.

“I can’t believe they’re going to do away with our tradition,” Dora says to Mary, whose office desk is just inches away from hers.

“You must admit that they were kind enough to give us advance notice so we can start saving for our holiday dinner now.” Mary waves the letter from their company’s President, copied to Human Resources and their holiday ham supplier, “Ham Hocks ‘r You, Me, and Us, LLC”.

Dora sighs as she rereads the letter to Mary:

Dear Valued Employee,

 As our company is known to be charitable and humanitarian minded, we will be donating on your behalf the holiday ham to those more in need. I am sure you feel the same as I that this is for a good cause. To save up to purchase your ham for yourselves this holiday, see HR to have additional deductions made from your paycheck.

 In keeping with the giving spirit, your holiday bonus will be donated to the company’s annual holiday party. We can all look forward to this year’s buffet spread including two meat choices of roast and ham, plus two desserts. As a bonus, two more raffle items can be added to our usual three door prizes.

 I look forward to seeing you all at the holiday party.

 Holiday wishes,

 Brent Grimbsy
President, CEO, MBA, BSC, NBC, DeET, LDA, MlPH

Insomniac

/ Karina Pinella / 9 Comments
Image: Pixabay

Image: Pixabay

Rich’s eyes water from fatigue, the bags under his eyes are dark from weeks of not being able to sleep through the night. The sleep specialist he had finally gone to see gave him specific instructions to reset his circadian clock. He cannot take naps and he has to stay up until 12:30 A.M. for the first week, and then get up at exactly 6:30 the next day. The amount of sleep he can expect will incrementally increase an hour each week until he can hold a six- to eight-hour straight sleeping pattern. Such a possibility inspires Rich to do all he can not to succumb to a quick nap on his recliner chair, where he has dozed off so many times. Before he gets too comfortable, he decides to go outside and take a walk. At 11:30 at night he can be assured of getting that extra hour of jolt.

Zing. Dodging a bullet from a drive-by shooting, he drops down to the sidewalk. Hurriedly, he gets up to cross the street before he runs into a group of drunken young punks who sound like they’re looking for a fight. He walks to the little patch of green they call a park in the area, breathing in deeply only to inhale smoke from a bum savoring the last tip of his cigarette. Quickening his pace, he goes further down a street he doesn’t think he’s ever been through. Always learning something new, he thinks, as a howl pierces through his thoughts. Sounds too close. He looks around. A few feet down he sees two glittering red eyes sitting atop a hairy animal face. Without further curiosity, he turns and tracks back to his home like he’s never done before.

Upon reaching his place, he opens the door and immediately shuts it. As he finishes locking the last of the three deadbolts, he hears someone clearing their throat. Slowly, he turns around. A very pale man with arched eyebrows smiles, revealing two particularly sharp teeth gleaming on either side of his mouth.

“How’d you get in here?” As soon as Rich asks, he simultaneously recalls going outside and not locking up because of the screech of tires and the shooting that followed.

“When the door is unlocked, it implies an invitation,” the man replies, walking toward Rich with arms extended, as if drawing him in. “As your guest, I thought I’d give you a gift.” He gets closer to Rich, who is paralyzed and mesmerized at the same time.  Then, all becomes dark.

When Rich comes to, he finds himself sprawled on his La-Z-y Boy recliner. “Oh no, I took another nap,” he says, getting up from his chair and heading to the bathroom. He washes his face and looks at the mirror. He notices two puncture holes on the side of his neck. He shivers. Behind him is a pale man whose grin is not reflected in the mirror.

Runaway

/ Karina Pinella / 5 Comments
run

Image: Pixabay

The rat scrambles. It runs toward the subway tunnel to escape its stalker, who keeps yelling, “I love you. Please don’t go.” Droplets of tears slide down the young runaway’s scabbed face. His world appears to crumble; he just wants something to care for since no one else cares about him.

The Unfortunate Seed

/ Karina Pinella / 5 Comments
cell

Image: Pixabay

Baby Toula is an ugly baby even her own mother can’t kiss, although she claims to love her, only because she came from her womb. That’s a womb its owner, Mama Lydia, did not know had become a receptacle to a hodgepodge of chemicals, such  as synthetic fragrances she’s inhaled and the artificially preserved lotions her skin’s absorbed from the time she was a little girl to the mature fruit bearer she has now become.

As with any unsuspecting person, Lydia paid no heed to what her body was accumulating over time. How did she know the sweet, cloying Vanilla Ice cologne contained something that was also the lethal ingredient in a bug spray? Or a window cleaner? She isn’t one to question things like that. To her 20-something life, it’s more about fun stuff–like tasting those delicious bon bons that come in unnaturally vivid colors. She simply thought that if others bought them, they must be fine. The companies that churn them out are household names, so they can be trusted. Their packaging says they are mostly natural and good for you.

Now, she rocks on her chair looking at her baby from across the room, because Toula repulses her. She has pustules on a face that should be smooth-cheeked. And what should be shiny, baby fine hair is more like a patch of raised bumps. Where her lidded bright eyes would have been are unblinking dots filled in with odd-shaped cells. How she welcomes a loud cry. Instead, there’s only occasional bursts of heaves that raise her hackles.

Lydia thinks Toula is an unfortunate seed, though not a bad seed like her older sister Lizzie, who grew up to butcher their parents. Lydia will have to make sure Toula doesn’t have access to any axes.