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|The hardest easy job ever (standard:humor, 650 words)|
|Author: Greggo||Added: Apr 16 2002||Views/Reads: 1944/1||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Getting writers block when you're not even a writer, isn't that that the worst?|
I was fired from my job when my boss noticed a porn site on my computer screen. I explained how I was browsing for office suppliers when out of the blue this explicit page appeared. I was at a loss for explanations. I never really enjoyed working there, hell, I never really enjoyed working! That incident was a month ago now and I'm still looking for myself. In the newspaper there are only two job postings: the janitor position at the local high school and a cashier position at McDonalds. Wow, I could really use a break. I think it's time for a change of scene; I've always wanted to see Mexico. I would walk or hitchhike all the way south and bask in the summer sun while sipping margaritas. I made a decision right then; I picked up the phone and dialed the number given for the high school job. I just realized that I don't really like margaritas. A cranky voice answers the other end. "Hi, I'm calling in response to your janitor position in the paper...What do you mean it's already filled, I read it the paper today!" I had to hang up on that crabby voice after she informed me that the position was advertised in last week's paper. Apparently I don't own today's newspaper. I always considered myself too good for McDonalds so you can imagine my surprise when my hand began dialing their number. I shuddered when I envisioned myself serving Big-Mac meals to my former boss or the worst-case scenario: my ex-girlfriend. The phone was slammed down immediately after that nightmarish thought. Phew that was close! What to do, what to do? What this town needs is a strip club. Actually we already have three but speaking as a guy, you can never have enough strip clubs. On second thought, what if there were so many clubs that they were short on exotic dancers and they decided to use ‘experienced' dancers, I.E. Women like my mom. Ah, I was wrong. There may already be too many strip clubs; I better look into it! What this town does need is something. Damn, I'm so deep sometimes I scare myself. I will write a novel, that will do it. Why not? All I have to do is sit and write. Ha! I've finally beaten the system, how hard could it be to write anyway? Holy shit! It's hard to write! After 10 drafts I cannot seem to get an opening sentence. "Another jug of draft?", the waitress asks but I finally decline her offer. I'll just stare at the page and see what comes up............ okay, new idea. I'll just put writing aside and let my subconscious work for awhile. When I woke up, the waitress was staring at me, probably figuring how a guy my size could drool so much and not dehydrate. The following day I conjured up my first storylines. Say a guy walks into a bar and orders a rum and Pepsi...the End. Damn! A best seller. Now all it needs is plot and characters and dialogue and setting and all those other things that I never learned in English class. Who ever said writing was easy? Oh wait, that was me a couple lines ago, never mind. Where's that number for McDonalds again? All right, Chapter One: Whatever happened to predictability? Ah! I'm rewriting the words to the Full House theme song, I think suicide is the next logical progression. Here we go... back to writing, not suicide. Chapter One, oh wait, what if I write Chapter two first and then it will be so much easier writing chapter one, as I'll already know what's going to happen. Chapter two.... Damn again! I have writer's block and I'm not even a writer! I know, maybe I don't mind margaritas as much as I thought I did. Off to Mexico! fin. Tweet
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