This week, Taylor gave me the task of telling her a story as my Wednesday blog post. While I could have taken the time to write or share something interesting, I instead presented the option of posting a story we came up with some months ago. Unfortunately, much to your soon-to-be disdain, that is the option I went with.
Bryan paced back and forth, a bit nervous about how he was performing at his new job. Upper management was sending mixed signals. Sometimes, he would have a variety of tasks to complete, other times he would have absolutely nothing to do. This switch could occur all within an hour, if his boss felt up to it. At what point in life would one have the leisure of telling others what to do without much thought or process, he wondered.
But as the clock ticked closer and closer to the end of the work day, he couldn't help but feel that the ticks themselves were going slower and slower, as if they were making a conscious effort to stay away from five o' clock, post meridiem. Finally, as if his steps themselves were the ticks, Bryan swiftly and silently sat at his new desk and sent a distress call out.
"Taighler," he typed, maneuvering his fingers like each one was a small acrobat, "I'm super bored right now. Let's play a game." He set his phone down softly, trying not to draw any attention. The sudden vibration of a returning message caught him by surprise and he picked the phone up again, hoping no one noticed. Thankfully, no one did. Or they just didn't care.
"Okay, let me Google something," she replied. It would have to be something that the two could play on their phones, since they were across the country from each other. "Okay, let's tell a story one line at a time."
Reading the message, Bryan rolled his eyes at the phone screen, making sure Taighler could feel the disdain. "You have a weird definition of 'game'."
"You're such a hater. Sheesh," she messaged back.
She was right. Bryan was a hater of the idea. But at this point, anything would have to do. "Fine," he replied, "let's play."
Before long, the two were engrossed in what would be an epic tale.
THERE ONCE WAS a boy, who spent his days trying to find the perfect spot for a lemonade stand. He lived in a bad neighborhood and was afraid to sit outside of his own house, so he decided to set up in front of someone else's house on his way hom from school.
One day, while lugging his stand several miles to this stranger's house, the boy couldn't help but notice something quite odd sitting at his spot. There was a gopher, leashed, and tied to the tree. What could be the meaning of this? Curious, but cautious, the boy approached the gopher with astounding stealth, hoping to catch something interesting. But, then suddenly a loud, booming voice shouted from the front porch -
"Hey kid! What are you doing?! Don't touch him!". The boy was startled and confused. He darted back behind his stand, shaking from the sheer volume of the voice. His eyes shifted back and forth, looking for the source of the voice when, to his utter bewilderment, he found it: following the trail of the leash, his eyes slowly grew wide at the sight of another gopher at the other end.
Menacingly, the gopher began to walk towards the boy. He had no idea what to do - he'd never dealt with gophers before! His mind spun and in a split-second decision, he decided to pour a glass of lemonade and offer it to the gopher.
"Lemonade? Do I look like some plebeian to you? Put that away!" the gopher said, rejecting the lemonade with a flick of his paw. The boy recoiled in fear, now completely lost and at the mercy of this vile vermin. At this point, he was really regretting picking this spot for his lemonade stand. Then, he saw a classmate of his walking down the street towards him. He called out his name and when his classmate saw him, he smiled and approached.
"Are you selling lemonade?" his classmate asked.
"L-..lemonade?" Could his friend not see the gophers? This had to be some kind of sick mistake. After all, who would ask for lemonade when their friend was being accosted by the woodland equivalent of a biker gang?
"Yeah. What's with the gopher?" The boy couldn't understand how his friend was staying so calm. He started to doubt that he had any chance at a future of masculinity. But he could no longer keep it in him. It was too much. Scared, he shouted.
"I don't know but please help me!" His friend said nothing. The boy turned around and all he saw was the small gopher tied to the tree. Was everything a dream? The boy pinched himself. When that did nothing, his friend slapped him.
"Why are we hitting you?" This had to be a joke. He turned to run away but when he did, he turned straight into the big scary gopher, who also slapped him. Then he woke up. It really was a dream.
I'm not sorry at all. You're welcome for wasting your time.