"'Being productive' isn’t about getting more work done. It’s about making sure those 150 billion bits are spent as wisely as possible."
Sunday Microstory: Greek Coffee
Jewelry Store Customer:Can I pay for this necklace here?
Greek Sales Clerk:Of course! (Begins ringing up purchase.) This one is very beautiful. Very delicate. This is one of my favorites.
JSC:I know, it's really lovely.
GSC:(Patting her chest.) I'm sorry, I need a moment. My heart, it's racing.
JSC:Are you okay?
GSC:I had two Greek coffees this morning. You know Greek coffee?
JSC:Is that like Turkish coffee?
GSC:Much better, much much stronger. I have two of these in the morning and then a large Dunkin' Donuts and my heart starts racing. Like thump, thump, thump. I can feel it in my chest.
JSC:Do you want me to call for help?
GSC:Oh no, no no no. It happens every day. Plus, I have a wrong heartbeat. It skips, you know?
JSC:A heart murmur?
GSC:Yes! Are you a nurse?
JSC:No, but my mother is. She has a heart murmur as well.
GSC:And what does she do to stop the racing?
JSC:She switched to decaf.
GSC:Oh no, no no no. That is not possible. I cannot make Greek coffee decaf. It does not exist.
JSC:So will you give up coffee?
JSC:Well, otherwise you could hurt yourself. Have a heart attack or something.
GSC:It would hurt much more, I think, to give up the coffee.
1 Year and 11 Months
Above is a picture that my cousin’s daughter (now four) painted when she was just under two years old.
Chris was the unlikeliest of babysitters, but she had a great resume and her references were fan-fucking-tastic. She was twenty-seven, though her Care.com profile listed her as twenty-two, with two full sleeve tattoos, a lip piercing, and razor-edge bangs. But despite appearances, she managed to land at least three or four gigs a week, plus some weekend work when she could swing it. She was a bartender on the side, but that’s not what paid the bills.
The Goblin Arsonist
Today at work, a coworker brought in a deck of Magic The Gathering cards and attempted to explain the game to me for about fifteen minutes. I’ll be honest, I’d never heard of it before this afternoon, but apparently it’s a thing. I pulled a random card from the deck and – lucky day! – I got the “Goblin Arsonist”. So here goes…
He was well into his eighties by the time he burned down his twelfth building – not counting the old outhouse when he was eleven or the garden shed when he was twenty-four. More than two houses per decade in the same location and people would start to get suspicious, especially in a town the size of Ware. But this one was worth the risk. It would be his Sistine Chapel.
Here’s the story…
It’s quite simple, really. Every day I’ll steal inspiration from some image or phrase or seemingly random object, and I’ll write a story about it.
It may not be a long story, or even a good story, but I’m okay with that. I hope that you’re okay with that, too.