The Little Devil-Man

Boerie (real name I-An) is in his terrible two’s, testing us at every opportunity.

Lately I’ve been calling him Devil-Man.  There’s gotta be a story here….  Ideas?

Boerie’s performance

“I’m going to sing the Monday song!” He sang the song in the offkey way most toddlers do and messed up all the words.

This time he decided to add a little dance where he twirled around, off beat, of course.

When he was done, which was after singing it about 1.5 times, he ended the performance with a bow where he folded himself in half and put his hands on the ground.

He does this for one of the teacher’s helpers every day at Mi-Ah’s school. It’s a daily request and he’s building a fanbase.

TOO FUNNY!

Mi-Ah and the black pigs (an anectode)

“Come on!  Let’s look at the pigs!” Mi-Ah ran over to the pen where these 2 ugly, black, smelly, hairy pigs were penned.  They were being cared for by this organic restaurant.  You can smell BBQ smells emitted from the place all the time.  It actually smells pretty darn good!

“Oh, I don’t see them!  Where are they?  Sleeping?”  She’s bummed.  No pigs in sight.  “Varken-chyuh!  Varken-chuyh!” (That’s a phonetic translation of little piggie in Dutch.)

“Hey, Mi-Ah, I think I know where they are.  Maybe they were barbequed!  YUMMMMY!” I laugh wickedly.

“But that would be really OUCH for the pigs!”

“Who cares!  They taste good barbequed!”

Yes, I know.  I have a sick sense of humour.  But I don’t feel an ounce of guilt about it.  Especially after one of those rotten creatures splattered pig shit all over us as we stood near their gate one day.  The horrible thing shook itself like a dog and it sprayed us from head to do with the foul-smelling stuff.  Poor Mi-Ah’s pink coat had to go in the wash as soon as we were home.

The stories are not ‘final’

Each time I re-read some of these pieces of fiction, I think…. Geez, what a lot of crap I wrote!  I need to revise it, big time!  And I often do.  So if you have any critiques on any of them… Plot, dialogue, character, description, whatever, I welcome it.  It’s like I start becoming a bit blind….  I know there are problems because it doesn’t feel / sound right but sometimes I just can’t place it because I’m too close to it.

A very short story – The Letter

An attempt at another type of fiction here…  Something more grown-up.  Inspired by true events.  It’s American Thanksgiving Day and I got a lay-off letter at work.  So I made it into a work of fiction.  To be honest, I’m not sure what my theme was here.  Maybe ‘money doesn’t always buy you happiness’?

Do you have a minute?”  Dan stood there looking ten feet tall in front of me in his white shirt,  black pants and black tie.  He was clearly tense.

I looked over to Wendy next to me.  “Um, can we pick this up later?”  We were sitting there behind my computer working on this project plan that was driving us both mad.

Sure, of course.  See you later.”  She gathered her papers.

“But what about Harry?  Wasn’t he supposed to be in the meeting with us?”  I grabbed my mobile phone with sweaty hands.  My heart was pumping.  Even though I knew this meeting was going to take place, I was still freaked out.  I was told in advance not to worry.  That everything was supposed to be okay.  But something felt very wrong.

“Ehm…  I’ll tell you about it later.”  It was a terse response with a sidelong glance at Wendy. She got the hint, and as she left, she gave me a look that said, ‘hang in there’.

It was a brisk walk to his office.  When we arrived, I immediately shut the door. “Well, you know why we’re here.”  He was looking me squarely in the eyes.  Another bad sign.  “I spoke to Harry and it turns out we’re not going to keep you.  So here’s your letter.  It has the standard stuff.  You have two months notice.”

I numbly took it in my hands.  My eyes couldn’t focus on the page.  “You mean, you’re letting me go?  Even though I’ve been her over ten years?”

“Well something could come up over the two month period.  In fact, Harry said he wants to see you next week.  To see if there’s a place for you somewhere else.  I heard that Peter may be interested in having you.”  He was still looking directly at me.  “But I just can’t guarantee anything.”  He used his hands to emphase the ‘can’t guarantee’ part.

“I see.”  The emotion was building up inside me, but I rammed it down with a sledge hammer.  No way I was going to let myself make an ass out of myself by losing it in front of him.  Not here.  Not in this man’s world.

“I’m sorry it came to this.  It’s sad that it has to be this way.”  He looked down finally.

“Okay…”  I just couldn’t think of anything else to say. My brain had seized up.

“Well, here is the standard speech I’m supposed to give you…” He continued to speak but I didn’t register the words. I already knew the options as there were already so many who had been made redundant. I could either a) take the infamous ‘package’ which consistened of one month’s salary per year of service, or roughly one year’s salary in my situation, or b) join the purgatory they called the ‘redeployment center’ and get paid for 18 months with full benefits while I searched for a job. The hitch with option ‘b’ was dealing with these jerk career advisors breathing down your neck.

I realised Dan had stopped talking. There wasn’t much else to say, so I mumbled something unintelligible and left, clutching the small pile of papers against my chest.

When I returned to my desk, I sat down, staring blankly at the PC screen.  I started to SMS my friends to tell them the news.  I called my husband to break it to him.  Calls and SMS’s started flowing in to see how I was.  To say, hey, it’s not that bad.  That management is a bunch of bastards.  Asking what was I going to do.  Take the money and run? Or stick it out? I couldn’t take it anymore, so I packed up and left.  I just wanted to be alone.