...at the social security office...
Author's Introduction:
This is a cross-post from the linebyline community here on LJ. Line by line is a community that challenges it's members to write a poem, story or some sort of creative writing thingy using a line the moderator(s) give you. This line was "...at the social security office..." I threw this together completely on the fly. Hope you guys like it. The story sort of got away from me.
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It was a Monday. A particularly hot Monday as a matter of fact. By nine-thirty in the morning it was already eighty five degrees Fahrenheit and most weather reports had reported that it was likely to get even hotter before noon. It was an unpleasant day most places.
At the social security office on Melvil Dewey Avenue it was the kind of miserable day that could have inspired horror movies if it weren't too hot to think. By the time the doors had opened there was already a group of at least twenty people waiting to be helped. By eight-thirty seven it was standing room only. It was when someone pointed out that the air conditioning had shut down that Lydia began wondering if perhaps that God was sending a sign to her that he did, in fact, exist and was upset that she hadn't been to church in eight years.
At eleven fifty-seven AM, three minutes before her lunchtime, she was wrapped in a sauna-like humidity that clung to her like a sleeping bag she couldn't unzip herself from. She sat with her hand rested against her cheek, partially listening to the angry triad from a man wearing a red, green and yellow Hawaiian shirt. She occasionally sipped soda from an aluminum can that had stopped being cold ten minutes ago.
"Would you like to speak to my manager?" she asked in a forced sing-song voice and a pleasant smile that she hopped wasn't revealing how tightly her teeth were clenched.
"No, I want you to help me..." the man said and was off again. When he paused again she put on as sympathetic a face as she could manage and reached for a pamphlet and a business card, handing it to the man.
"I'm sorry, sir, I really can't help you with that, but if you call this number during standard business hours they may be able to answers any questions you have." she said. The man snatched the pamphlet and business card and stormed away. Lydia closed her eyes and pinched the root and bridge of her nose with her right hand as a man approached next.
This is going to be trouble, she thought to herself. The man's hair was black and slicked back and he wore a dramatic black cape over a batman t-shirt. "Hi, my social security information is under the wrong name. It's being delivered to Vladimir D. Impaler." he said as he approached.
"As opposed to...?" she asked without looking up.
"Vlad D. Impala." he said and gave a pleasant smile "My dad was a Chevy."
"Of course. Very funny, sir, but if you don't have an actual problem-" she began
"You care nothing for vampire automobiles!" he screamed and stormed out.
What happened next was a bit of a blur. She remembered standing up at her work space and swinging her can of cola in a circle over her head and screaming "I'm making it rain". After that she grabbed the small black, metal mesh container by her desk and rushing out into the waiting area and shouting that everyone was now getting paid in paperclips, tossing them about as she did so. She closed her eyes and leaned back in back of the police car and basking in its AC with a sigh and an pleasant smile until a knock on her desk caught her attention.
Her eyes snapped back open. The police car was gone, the air condition was gone, the angry man in the Hawaiian shirt was still there looking at Terry, whose knock had yanked Lydia out of her daydream.
"Go on lunch, Lyds." Terry said to her.
"Thank you." she said to Terry and stood up.
"She wasn't even listening to me!" the man said to Terry and pointed accusingly at Lydia. By then Lydia was halfway to the door. Minutes later she sat in the ugly plastic chair of a near-by burger joint, enjoying the breeze from it's constantly humming air-conditioning. A young man in a white short-sleeved, loosened black neck-tie and Geek Squad name badge at the table next to her.
"Crazy day, eh?" he said to her.
"You have no idea." she said to him and sipped from a vanilla milkshake.
This is a cross-post from the linebyline community here on LJ. Line by line is a community that challenges it's members to write a poem, story or some sort of creative writing thingy using a line the moderator(s) give you. This line was "...at the social security office..." I threw this together completely on the fly. Hope you guys like it. The story sort of got away from me.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
It was a Monday. A particularly hot Monday as a matter of fact. By nine-thirty in the morning it was already eighty five degrees Fahrenheit and most weather reports had reported that it was likely to get even hotter before noon. It was an unpleasant day most places.
At the social security office on Melvil Dewey Avenue it was the kind of miserable day that could have inspired horror movies if it weren't too hot to think. By the time the doors had opened there was already a group of at least twenty people waiting to be helped. By eight-thirty seven it was standing room only. It was when someone pointed out that the air conditioning had shut down that Lydia began wondering if perhaps that God was sending a sign to her that he did, in fact, exist and was upset that she hadn't been to church in eight years.
At eleven fifty-seven AM, three minutes before her lunchtime, she was wrapped in a sauna-like humidity that clung to her like a sleeping bag she couldn't unzip herself from. She sat with her hand rested against her cheek, partially listening to the angry triad from a man wearing a red, green and yellow Hawaiian shirt. She occasionally sipped soda from an aluminum can that had stopped being cold ten minutes ago.
"Would you like to speak to my manager?" she asked in a forced sing-song voice and a pleasant smile that she hopped wasn't revealing how tightly her teeth were clenched.
"No, I want you to help me..." the man said and was off again. When he paused again she put on as sympathetic a face as she could manage and reached for a pamphlet and a business card, handing it to the man.
"I'm sorry, sir, I really can't help you with that, but if you call this number during standard business hours they may be able to answers any questions you have." she said. The man snatched the pamphlet and business card and stormed away. Lydia closed her eyes and pinched the root and bridge of her nose with her right hand as a man approached next.
This is going to be trouble, she thought to herself. The man's hair was black and slicked back and he wore a dramatic black cape over a batman t-shirt. "Hi, my social security information is under the wrong name. It's being delivered to Vladimir D. Impaler." he said as he approached.
"As opposed to...?" she asked without looking up.
"Vlad D. Impala." he said and gave a pleasant smile "My dad was a Chevy."
"Of course. Very funny, sir, but if you don't have an actual problem-" she began
"You care nothing for vampire automobiles!" he screamed and stormed out.
What happened next was a bit of a blur. She remembered standing up at her work space and swinging her can of cola in a circle over her head and screaming "I'm making it rain". After that she grabbed the small black, metal mesh container by her desk and rushing out into the waiting area and shouting that everyone was now getting paid in paperclips, tossing them about as she did so. She closed her eyes and leaned back in back of the police car and basking in its AC with a sigh and an pleasant smile until a knock on her desk caught her attention.
Her eyes snapped back open. The police car was gone, the air condition was gone, the angry man in the Hawaiian shirt was still there looking at Terry, whose knock had yanked Lydia out of her daydream.
"Go on lunch, Lyds." Terry said to her.
"Thank you." she said to Terry and stood up.
"She wasn't even listening to me!" the man said to Terry and pointed accusingly at Lydia. By then Lydia was halfway to the door. Minutes later she sat in the ugly plastic chair of a near-by burger joint, enjoying the breeze from it's constantly humming air-conditioning. A young man in a white short-sleeved, loosened black neck-tie and Geek Squad name badge at the table next to her.
"Crazy day, eh?" he said to her.
"You have no idea." she said to him and sipped from a vanilla milkshake.