Elves vs Elves: A Christmas Miracle

In the second decade of the twenty-first century, Sertraline, King of the high elves declared war on Santa’s workshop. The conflict was inevitable. You see, in the latter half of the twentieth century, advances in communications technology helped bring people from across the world closer together.

Humans, for example, interacted with both the high elves and Santa’s elves online. Though they bore the same name, the two races were very different.

The high elves were almost identical to humans except immortal, pretentious, and better looking. Santa’s elves were jolly little folk, not even half as tall as the average human. As far as Sertraline was concerned, the only thing the two races had in common was their pointed ears.

Elf on computer

Now, humans confused them constantly. They were always asking the high elves for cookie baking tips and handing them letters to Santa. Sertraline started dreading the Christmas season because it meant continuous misidentification. His people would spend hours writing blog posts and answering forum questions explaining the difference, but it never seemed to do any good.  The humiliation continued.

At last, Sertraline decided he had to take action. So he arraigned for a conference call with the queen of the Christmas elves. Sertraline was an elf of habit, so he joined the conference call using the same magical seeing stone he’d been using for the last three thousand years. The elf queen used Webex. She was a cheery little person with rosey cheeks and a long blonde braid hanging down from beneath her pointed, red hat. Her name was Cranberry Cedarpine the Amiable, but she insisted her everyone call her Cedar. She didn’t care for formalities.

When Sertraline explained the issue, she said: “It’s very considerate of you to want to resolve the confusion, but we don’t mind sharing our name.”

Sertraline explained in a long, elegant, and round-about way, that he did.

Cedar asked if Sertraline had considered changing the name of his people, to which Sertraline became indignant. The call ended with the elf king in a sour mood and nothing resolved.

He returned alone to his council chamber and paced back and forth, his brow deeply furrowed as he pondered the situation. Since Cedar was unable to see reason, it seemed the only thing he could do was declare war.

The king loathed the idea of the death and destruction that would result from such a choice, but the alternative was to be forever confused with the most annoying race of people on the planet. Because of them, the radio played the same five songs on a loop every day from November 1st through December 25th year after year. These cheery tunes bore through the skull and gnawed away at the mind. Sertraline had every radio in the palace destroyed years ago. Even so, he only had to hear one line from the window of a passing car and the whole tune would loop repeatedly in his head until he called out to Heaven, begging God for the sweet release of death.

He told himself he’d be doing society a favor by wiping the jolly, little folk off the face of the Earth. Still, he was conflicted, and debated with himself throughout the night. When morning came, he had an idea. He called Cedar again.

The king’s tone was grave. “Despite my attempt to resolve our differences peacefully, we’ve made no progress. Therefore, it is with a heavy heart, that I declare war on your people.”

Cedar sipped her hot chocolate, her cheery disposition unaffected by the king’s declaration.

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“‘Kay,” was her only response.

“However, to minimize the destruction brought about by our conflict, I propose we select champions from among our warriors and have them engage in combat. If my champions are victorious, your people will have to change their name. If your people are victorious, we’ll change ours.”

“If my people are victorious,” Cedar said. “We’ll continue to share the name.”

Sertraline rolled his eyes. “Alright, we’ll share the name. There will be three contests—”

“Poetry, baking, and craftsmanship,” Cedar interjected.

“I was thinking something more lethal,” Sertraline replied.

“That’s not very nice,” Cedar observed. She pulled a book out of her pocket and scratched a note.

“You brought this upon yourselves,” Sertraline stated. “If you do not accept, we will be forced to invade the North Pole.”

“Poetry, baking, and craftsmanship,” the queen repeated. “Take it or leave it.”

She ended the call.

Sertraline sent for his generals and ordered them to prepare their troops for battle. While the army was assembling, the king sat in his council chamber scowling as he meditated upon the gravity of the situation.

“Accept her terms,” a voice demanded.

Sertraline would have jumped, but he was too dignified for such expressions of alarm. He slowly turned to see the speaker, his golden locks fluttering around his shoulders. He sighed when he recognized her.

It was Alika, the justice fairy—an imposing, immovable, force of a woman. She had a habit of showing up at inconvenient moments and telling him not to carry out his plans. She’d been doing this for as long as he was king (which was a very, very, long time).

“This is not your war,” he replied gravely. It was his way of telling her to leave.

“It is the war of every person who will suffer the devastation of your conflict, elvish or no,” she stated. “Make an enemy of the Christmas elves and you make an enemy of Santa Claus.”

“Santa Claus is no threat to me,” Sertraline grumbled.

Alika’s expression became dark. “You have no idea what Santa Claus is capable of. If you proceed, only one race of elves will remain on Earth, and it won’t be yours.”

“What kind of a king would I be, if I allowed my people to endure such humiliation?” He cried. “What would you have me do?”

“I already told you what to do,” the fairy responded. “Accept her terms. Besides, do you really think the Christmas elves could defeat you in any of the contests she suggested?”

The king thought. The greatest poems in history were written by his people (usually off the top of their heads). Their craftsmanship was also unmatched. Everything they made was beautiful, functional, and insusceptible to decay. Sertraline had been using the same sword for the last two thousand years and he never needed to have it sharpened. He’d never thought of their culinary skills specifically in relation to those of other peoples, but this was likely because he refused to eat anything that wasn’t made by elvish hands.

“Those little people have no appreciation for true artwork,” Sertraline scoffed. “They will declare themselves winners in every category though our work is objectively superior.”

“What if I were to select three unbiased judges from among non-elvish races and let them select the winners?”

Sertraline thought.

“I’ll consider the matter,” he answered.

He waited twelve hours, then told Alika he would accept Cedar’s terms.


A short while later, Sertraline found himself, his family, his nobles, and the champions they’d selected, on the royal jet headed for the north pole. Elvish aircraft ran on a clean, renewable energy source they’d developed for their own use but wouldn’t share with humans because they were angry with humans for causing climate change.

When they arrived, they were greeted with cheers, red and green confetti, and cups of hot chocolate. Queen Cedar did not have a castle of her own, but instead, shared one with Santa Claus, the reindeer, and her thousands of subjects. Santa Claus was not present when Sertraline arrived. One of the little elves explained that he was speaking at a conference for holiday legends.

Sertraline and his entourage were escorted to the great hall. The king wasn’t sure where to focus his attention when he entered. He thought the walls were grey stone like those of most castles, but he couldn’t be sure because they were completely covered in greenery, tinsel, paper chains, and crystal snowflakes. A layer of Christmas trees bordered the entire room. It looked as though they had cut down a forest for the sole purpose of moving it indoors. Sertraline grumbled at their lack of respect for the environment.

“Don’t worry,” said a Christmas elf as though reading his mind. “They’re made of plastic!”

Sertraline sighed deeply. They’d end up in the ocean eventually. He was sure of it.

The Christmas elves all gathered on one side of the hall, bouncing up and down with excitement. The high elves gathered on the other side in silent anticipation. At last, Cedar herself came out to meet the king, trailed by a small entourage of little elves. She was even more adorable in person. Sertraline had to resist the urge to kick her across the room.

“You have beautiful hair!” She noticed. “It’s so soft and shiny, like in a shampoo commercial!” Her fellows all agreed—all the elves, both short and tall, agreed. Even by elvish standards, Sertraline had amazing hair. That’s why they made him king.

After exchanging greetings, Sertraline and Cedar parted and went to their places on either side of the hall.

Alika entered. The Christmas elves cheered all the louder at her arrival. She smiled slightly, then held up her hand to silence them so she could introduce the judges she’d selected.

The first was a kindly looking human elder. She fussed over the little elves that escorted her in and offered them mints from her purse.

Alika announced her as Miss Maggie of Milwaukee.

The next judge was a mermaid. She cruised through the door on a motor scooter. She was all bundled in a thick coat and snow pants (or snow pant, it only had one leg for obvious reasons.)

Alika announced her as Tivela of Atlantis.

The last judge was a fairy who clearly wasn’t phased by the cold weather. She was wearing a knee length pencil skirt and heels. She entered Santa’s hall with her eyes fixed on her phone. This was, of course, Eda the business fairy. Her previous engagement had been canceled, so she agreed to come judge the contest.

“Where you living these days, Eda?” Alika asked.

“San Jose,” Eda replied.

“Right,” Alika noted. “Our third judge is Eda of San Jose!”

The judges were seated and the first contest began. The contestants had ten minutes to write a poem of any kind.

The Christmas elves had a team of three champions, who all huddled together with pens, scratch pads, and markers.

The high elves only presented a single champion. His name was Acetaminophen. He was currently Sertraline’s favorite poet. He walked onto the floor and stood before the judges for the full ten minutes as though already prepared.

When the alarm signaled the end preparation time, the Christmas elves allowed Sertraline’s champion to go first. He spoke from the top of his head:

An elf-maid fair, afar did roam,

Without a care, for hearth and home.

Lured away by love deceiving,

Swift to obey a face so pleasing.

The headstrong child left unknowing,

Of heart defiled, love unflowing. 

For rejection came no better tutor,

Than affections of her human suitor.

The poem continued to recount the story of the unfortunate elven lady and the troubles that came about because of her human lover. After thirty-six verses, he left her for a mermaid and she died of grief.

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Elvish Deaths Twentieth Century

It was the most depressing poem ever recited under Santa’s roof. It made Sertraline feel miserable. He loved every word of it.

When at last Acetaminophen finished, the high elves clapped politely and the Christmas elves jumped up and down, yelling and cheering happily as though they’d forgotten he wasn’t a part of their team.

Miss Maggie was scowling as she viciously scrawled her thoughts in her notepad. Eda elbowed Tivela who was starting to doze off.

One of the three Christmas elves, introduced as Myrrhy, came forward holding a crumpled piece of looseleaf.

“Our poem is made of a series of limericks!” He explained, jittering with excitement.

Sertraline rolled his eyes. Limericks were a scourge on the art.

Myrrhy tore the paper into three pieces and handed one to each of his teammates. Then they lined up behind him. He cleared his throat and read from his paper:

There once was a fellow named Petey,

Who was nothing but wicked and greedy.

For his covetous soul,

He earned nothing but coal,

And spent the year hopeless and needy.

He high-fived both his teammates, then stepped aside to let the next elf speak:

There once was a boy named Dwayne,

He was conceited and vain,

Consumed by his pride,

‘twas alone that he died,

So stubborn he’d live so again.

The second high-fived his teammates, then stepped aside allowing the last elf to speak:

There once was a boy named Phil,

Who served others with goodness and skill,

Giving all that he had, to make others glad,

Was an excellent use of freewill.

Miss Maggie smiled as the last elf tucked the paper back into his pocket.

“That was very nice,” she said.

Alika gave the judges a moment to collect their thoughts and then called upon them one by one.

Miss Maggie explained that she was voting for the Christmas elves because Acetaminophen’s poem perpetuated an offensive stereotype. Tivela also voted for Myrrhy’s team because she’d slept through most of the first poem. Eda was torn, but in the end, settled upon the Christmas elves because: “They kept their target audience in mind.”

So the Christmas elves were declared winner of the first contest. They exploded with excitement, bouncing and hugging each other, and crying tears of joy.

Sertraline scowled. Fairies, humans, and mermaids seemed to lack appreciation for true art. But two contests remained and he felt certain the high elves would be victorious in the end.

The baking contest began. The teams were to mix their ingredients in the hall and proceed to the kitchen when they were ready to use the oven (with Alika escorting to ensure no one was cheating).

The high elves supplied a single champion for this contest also, and the Christmas elves a team of four. The Christmas elves never seemed to do anything alone. Sertraline was sure they had a hive mind.

Each side worked similarly in their respective areas. The only difference in method was that the Christmas elves used an electric mixer and the high elf used a spoon carved from the wood of an ancient elm.

When the contest was over, the Christmas elves presented the judges with a wide variety of cookies—sugar cookies for Miss Maggie, biscotti for Eda, and salmon cookies for Tivela. (These looked and tasted like salmon.)

The opposing champion presented organic, gluten free, GMO free, sugar free, flattened white octagons. The judges tried the Christmas cookies first since they looked more appetizing but were pleasantly surprised when they tried the octagons. These were light, fluffy, and subtly sweet.

Miss Maggie surprised the crowd by voting for Sertraline’s champion because she appreciated the health benefits his cookies offered. Eda also voted for the high elves because the demand for healthier alternatives to traditional desserts was growing and she thought their cookies would appeal more to modern populations. Tivela voted for the Christmas cookies. She liked the fishy taste.

Sertraline smirked. The little elves cheered just as they had before and Sertraline’s smile turned into a scowl. He wished that, just once, they’d remember this was war.

The last contest was craftsmanship. The two teams had one hour to make something of their choosing. Sertraline’s team was made up of three of his finest silversmiths. They were opposed by five Christmas elves.

The teams provided their own supplies. The high elves brought molten silver in a crockpot along with all their smithing tools.  (It was a magic crockpot able to maintain a temperature of 2000 degrees Fahrenheit.)

The little elves had a bin full of wires, plastic, and other odds and ends. They also had a whiteboard and millions of sticky notes.

The high elves set to work at once. They were making something they’d made a thousand times before, so they were able to skip the planning phase and get right to work.

The little elves spent the first fifteen minutes talking among themselves, writing on stickies, and adding them to the whiteboard in neat little rows. Then they broke off and worked individually.

Three were typing away on laptops, one was assembling something from the materials in the bin, and the fifth was moving sticky notes around and calling for standup meetings every so often.

When at last the timer announced the end of the contest, it was the Christmas elves who were prepared to present first.

They gleefully handed Tivela a shiny touch screen tablet, explaining that it was completely water resistant, and could withstand pressure up to ten thousand feet below the surface of the sea.

Tivela was delighted. Most technology companies didn’t take mermaids into account. (At that very moment, her latest cell phone was sitting in a bowl of rice). Her amazement only increased when they turned on the tablet to see that the elves had programmed an online portal for submitting Christmas requests. Popular items were suggested and could be ordered with the click of a button.

The portal also had recommendations for donating to charity in the spirit of the season. They were all environmental charities focused on cleaning up the oceans and protecting endangered wildlife.

It was sleek, intuitive, and no attempt on Eda’s part could produce a bug. The Christmas elves explained that they tested it thoroughly. Eda was especially impressed with their planning, execution, and attention to detail.

The portal was even in compliance with accessibility laws, so Miss Maggie could see everything on the screen.

The high elves presented a pendant. It was designed to capture the beam of a full moon, so it could be used again during travel on moonless nights. It was one of their most popular items before the late 1800s when the flashlight was invented. Sertraline still used one.

“Oh!” Miss Maggie said. “This looks just like the one I got in Heathrow airport. That was a keychain though.”

Tivela thought it would be an excellent tool for night fishing, but Eda was less than impressed. She thought the cost of production was too high and doubted anyone would buy one when they could get a flashlight for less than a dollar.

The high elves countered saying that artificial light was useless for keeping goblins away.

“My husband is a goblin!” Miss Maggie gasped indignantly.

“My ex is a goblin,” Tivela noted. “How much do you want for this?”

Since this contest would determine the winner of the entire event, Alika called for a quick recess so the judges could deliberate.

Sertraline wasn’t worried. His people were clearly superior. They only lost the poetry contest because Acetaminophen offended one of the judges. (Humans were so sensitive.) He assured himself that if they defeated the Christmas elves in a baking contest, they could defeat them in ANY contest.

It was an agonizing fifteen minutes.

At last everyone was called back to their seats.

The vote was unanimous. The Christmas elves were declared the winners of the entire event.  

Sertraline was in shock.

The contest was over, the little elves victorious. They threw a feast for their guests without a single sugar-free item available.

The elf king wandered the perimeter of the room in silence, staring vacantly as he nibbled the corner of a sugar cookie. It was sweet, too sweet, like Cedar’s personality. He hated it.

He took another bite then patted his hips to make sure they weren’t expanding.

Around the hall the high elves were talking with their small companions. There wasn’t a grim face among them. They were all sitting together making Christmas ornaments, gifts, and paper chains.

As Sertraline patrolled the room, he even saw the rival teams sitting together talking and laughing, their enmity forgotten. Acetaminophen was sitting with Myrrhy writing poems for the insides of Christmas cards. Sertraline’s craftsmen were listening to their Christmas counterparts explaining Agile Methodology, and the baking rivals were talking about how they could combine the flavor of Christmas cookies with the health benefits of elven bread.

“Perhaps you have more in common than you think?” Came Alika’s voice.

Sertraline ignored this and instead grumbled: “What did they do before the birth of Christ?”

“Don’t bring that up,” Alika said. “It’s the one thing that makes them upset.”

Sertraline thought of the humiliation his people would continue to face as a result of the outcome. He considered organizing an invasion, but when he observed the happy conversations taking place around him, he doubted his people would support it.  

“How can I allow my people to continue enduring such disgrace?”

Alika glanced around the room. “I’m beginning to think the issue isn’t as important to them as it used to be.”

The elf king glared. “Who are you to tell me what is and isn’t important to my people?”

Alika raised an eyebrow and asked with a hint of a smile: “To your people or just to you?”

Sertraline went red in the face, then breathed deeply so his color returned to normal. He excused himself and left Alika, grumbling under his breath.


Some of Sertraline’s people enjoyed their visit so much, they chose to stay in the North Pole and work for Santa Claus.

And when the children of Para Sympan opened their gifts that year, some were made by the hands of Christmas elves and some were made by the hands of high elves (though I suppose technically, they were Christmas elves now too).

The new alliance increased the confusion of non-elvish people, but for the most part, the high elves no longer cared. They were proud to be associated with a people so kind and talented as their shorter brethren.

Except for old Sertraline. He returned to his palace as sour as he’d ever been and sat in his council chamber munching sugar cookies until the dreaded month of December was over.

Davy of the Sound

Dave was rushed to the Mackerel Valley Emergency room.

He’d been walking across the bridge on his way to work when he was mugged, brutally beaten, and tossed over the railing. If that wasn’t bad enough, some idiot left a wood chipper parked under the bridge. As Dave fell toward the open funnel, he instinctively peddled his legs in the air as if doing so would propel him upward. So he landed with his left leg extended below him and his right leg bent up behind.

Luckily (though I suppose luck is relative in this case), the wood chipper jammed before it could consume Dave above the knee, and his right leg was spared entirely. A kindly road worker managed to pull him out, tie a tourniquet around the bleeding stump, and drop him off at the hospital waiting room.

He hopped over to the triage desk and signed himself in. The receptionist told him to have a seat and that she would call for him shortly.

44406493_2200083070239885_4686612418690809856_oHe was a terrifying sight, dripping blood, covered in bruises, and one eye swollen shut completely. He tried to ignore the anxious glances of the people waiting around him. They were mostly hacking plague victims, though there was one kid zipping across the room unhindered by his broken foot.

“David Jones?” Called the receptionist. Three hours had passed since Dave had taken his seat. He hopped eagerly back to the triage desk.

The receptionist handed him a clipboard and asked him to fill in his medical history and insurance information. By this time, he was a bit woozy from blood loss, so he’d trouble recalling all the details. To make matters worse, his attacker stole his wallet leaving him without his insurance card.

“You understand if we can’t file with your insurance, you will be responsible for the cost of your own treatment?” The receptionist explained when she handed back the clipboard.

Dave was slightly distracted by the agonizing pain shooting up from his leg stump and throbbing through his head, so he just nodded.

He returned to his seat and waited a second eternity until, at last, a nurse with a wheelchair entered the waiting area and called his name.

“Hi, I’m Carrie,” she introduced cheerily as she helped him into the chair. “I’ll be taking care of you today.”

“Could I get something for the pain?” Dave asked.

“Of course,” she replied. “Just as soon as the doctor admits you.”

She wheeled him through a labyrinth of hallways and parked him in a treatment room. Actually, it was more like a nook than a room. It had three white walls and a curtain where the fourth wall and door should have been.

She tossed him a clipboard full of paperwork and asked him to fill it out.

“I already filled this out at the front,” Dave explained.

“Oh, reception doesn’t share that information with us,” Carrie replied. “You’ll have to fill in this one for me and then reiterate everything verbally when I come back in.”

“But!” Dave began.

Carrie disappeared behind the curtain.

Dave was having trouble holding the pen in his trembling hand, but he somehow managed to redo everything before Carrie reappeared. He handed her the clipboard.

Carrie flipped through it, took a sheet from the bottom, put it on the top and handed the whole thing back to Dave.

“Please sign the document saying that you declined to take a pregnancy test,” she asked.

“But I’m a man,” Dave protested.  

“Yes, but since the Medical Equality Act was passed we have to treat all patients equally when providing medical treatment,” she explained. “Now we can’t treat you until you’ve signed that.”

“If I sign this, will you give me something for the pain?” He pleaded.

She nodded. “Of course.”

He signed the form, she took the clipboard and disappeared. If the physical torment wasn’t enough, the TV in the upper corner of the room was playing soap opera reruns and he couldn’t reach the off switch.

He watched helplessly as Jessica agonized about whether to stay with her current boyfriend, the incredibly sexy Dr. Jamie Dreamheart, or get together with her late husband’s long-lost identical twin brother.

The nurse returned about thirty minutes later.

“Oh, you’re dripping blood!” She observed. “Let me grab some towels.”

“Wait!” Dave called, but she’d already stepped out.

Another thirty minutes passed and she returned with the towels and threw one of the floor beneath his leg stump. She put a paper bracelet on his wrist.

“Alright, Dave,” she said. “Let’s get an IV started, then we can get those pain meds going!”

Dave managed to mouth a thank you.

“Which arm do you prefer?” She asked. 

“Any, please!”

“Oh you’re easy!” She smiled and started tapping the crook of his arm. She frowned and tapped a few more times then poked her head out of the room.

“Rita?” She called. “Can you come look at this?”

An older nurse, presumably Rita, entered.

“I can’t find the vein, Rita,” Carrie stated.

Rita brushed her aside and started tapping viciously up and down Dave’s arm.

“Hmm…” she mumbled. “How about this one?” She pointed to his forearm.

“No,” Carry replied. “He’ll bruise.”

“I just lost a leg,” Dave moaned. “I really don’t care about—”

“Let me go get the butterfly needle,” Rita said and swept out. About thirty minutes later she returned with new equipment. It took about twenty-seven pokes, but they managed to get the IV started.

“Alright, Dave!” Carrie smiled.  “The anesthesiologist is just finishing up with someone else and she’ll be in to discuss your pain management options.”

“Can I at least have an ibuprofen?” He pleaded.

Carrie thought. “I’ll have to ask the doctor.”

“Wait!” Dave cried but she’d already swept out of the room.

She swept back in thirty minutes later.

“Hi Dave! So the doctor says you shouldn’t take anything until we are finished running our tests.”

“TESTS?” Dave cried.

“Yes, he’s ordered an X-ray, a CAT scan, and blood work.”

“Why?”

“Well we want to make sure we understand what’s wrong with you before applying treatment.”

“I’ve lost my leg!”

“I know,” Carrie sighed. “But we need to make sure nothing else is wrong with you.”

Dave didn’t have much blood left but the lab team managed to squeeze a few drops out for the tests.

After several hours of imagining, the anesthesiologist caught up with him. She wheeled a cart through the curtain into his treatment room.  

“Let’s discuss your pain management options,” she began.

“Give me anything,” he pleaded. “I trust your judgement.”

After confirming Dave wasn’t allergic to nylon, shellfish, eye of frog, or dragon’s blood, Dave finally experienced sweet relief.

Carrie wheeled Dave up to ICU where he received a permanent room, a welcome pamphlet, and a bucket sized water cup with a giant bendy straw. He also got a new nurse—a chipper man named Fred.

After covering Dave’s chest in suction cups and clipping a monitor to each of his fingers, Fred explained that the best thing Dave could do was try and get a good night’s sleep. Sleep sounded wonderful, and Dave managed to doze off despite being completely entangled in wires.

About thirty minutes later, he awoke to the grip of a blood pressure cup.

Fred was standing next to him in the dark.

“Go to sleep, Dave,” Fred whispered. “I’ll just be poking you here for a couple of minutes, don’t mind me.”

He took Dave’s temperature, adjusted the heart monitor clip on his finger, and left the room. Just as Dave was dozing off for the second time, an alarm sounded in the room.

ENT! ENT! ENT!

It continued unceasingly. Dave looked around. What was it? Was he dying? Where was Fred?

He pounded on the nurse call button until Fred stumbled into the room.  

“Oh dear, is that IV machine going off again?” Fred grumbled. He adjusted Dave’s IV.

“This is a finicky one,” he explained. “Try holding your arm straight upward and hopefully it won’t go off again.”

Unfortunately, it did happen again, and again, and again, every twenty minutes all night long. At last, around 7:30 Dave managed to fall asleep only to wake two hours later when the door to his room opened. In walked a jittery, red-headed man in a collared shirt and lab coat.

“Good morning, Dave! My name is Doctor Randy Webb and I will be taking care of you!”

Doctor Webb cheerily explained the tests revealed trauma, lacerations, facial and bodily injuries, and the absence of a limb.

“That’s what I said at triage,” Dave complained.

“Oh did you?” Dr. Webb replied. “You know they really never tell me anything around here.” He shook his head. “Well, we are going to have to do surgery on your face and your leg. What’s left of it anyway.”

Dr. Webb laughed.

Dave did not laugh.

“What does that involve,” he grumbled.

“You know, I’m not sure,” Dr. Webb answered. “You’ll have to ask the surgeon. He’ll be here around 11:00 to talk to you.”

“But—” Dave started.

Dr. Webb’s watch beeped. “Alright, great talking to you,” he said glancing at his wrist.

“But!” Dave repeated.

Dr. Webb swept out of the room before he could answer.

A little later someone called a nutritionist came into the room and gave Dave a plate of slightly dried microwave pancakes.

Dave clicked the TV on and started gobbling them up. The same soap opera that tormented him the night before was playing. It was a stupid show, production was cheap, the acting was bad, the characters were shallow. He sat watching it for the next two hours until the surgeon entered followed by a small army of medical students.

Dave jumped and clicked the TV off as quickly as he could find the remote.

“Um, hi,” he said.

One of the students rolled a white board to the end of Dave’s bed.

The surgeon drew a diagram of Dave’s face by making a circle, a dot for one eye, an X for his swollen eye, and a happy curve for his mouth. He started explaining what they were going to do. Dave could only understand a few of the words he was saying, such as incision, puncture, and remove.

The surgeon asked if he had any questions.

“…um… how long will it take my eye to heal?” He asked.

The surgeon laughed. “I actually don’t know. You’ll have to ask the Ophthalmologist that.”

“Opht-what?” Dave asked but the surgeon and his students were already pouring out the door.

So it continued. Experts came in and out throughout the day, there was a different one for every question.

Dave was glum. There was one doctor on his soap opera. Dr. Jamie Dreamheart. He could do ANYTHING: deliver babies, heart surgery, facelifts, treat STDs, (spread STDs) there was no medical question he couldn’t answer.

Dave went into surgery early the next morning. When he awoke, the surgeon came in to speak with him. Again Dave didn’t really understand what he was saying, but he seemed pleased with himself. Dave decided to take this as a good sign.

He finished by saying, “When we get you back to your room, Fred will show you how to take care of the cavity.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Dave asked.

“Where we removed your eye,” the surgeon explained.

“REMOVED MY EYE?” Dave exclaimed.

“Yes,” the surgeon replied. “I am afraid cutting it out was the only thing I could do.” Despite his words, he did not seem regretful. In fact there was a gleam in his eye and the corner of his mouth twitched as if he was trying to conceal a smile. “Don’t worry, most insurance plans cover fake eyes!”

The days passed and with them came specialists, surgeries, pills, and IV alarms in an endless flurry. Fred was his nurse the entire time. The man never ate, never slept, never sat down, yet was always in a good mood. Dave wasn’t sure if he should admire Fred’s endurance or worry that a man so sleep deprived was medicating him.

When at last the surgeries were done and the stream of specialists exhausted, Dave received a visit from the billing department. The representative was a woman with a perpetually bored expression and a clipboard piled high with pamphlets. When she introduced herself, Dave was relieved that he’d managed to find his insurance information through the online portal. He gave it to her and relaxed as she left the room.

A little while later, she returned to inform him that his insurance wasn’t going to cover his medical bills because he hadn’t pre-notified them before checking into the hospital.

“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO NOTIFY THEM!” Dave cried. “I DIDN’T PLAN ON GETTING MUGGED!”

“I’m sorry,” the billing lady said. “You can pay in installments if you like. It looks like you are going to owe about eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

Dave snapped.

He sprang out of bed on his good foot and ripped himself free from the monitors and cords. Then he hopped to the window like a madman as the billing lady frantically called for help.  He threw open the window and leapt toward freedom.

Fred entered with security just in time to see him disappear.

But poor, unfortunate Dave did not escape that day. You see he came down onto a lighting rod that impaled him directly through the heart. He was taken to surgery where it was determined he needed a new heart.

Dr. Webb just happened to have a heart available. It belonged to one of his former patients, a certain CEO by the name of Scott Allen. It was horribly diseased but the best Dave could afford without insurance.

After several months, he was released from the hospital. Since he couldn’t afford prosthetics, he settled for a peg leg and an eye patch.Dave the Pirate

He returned home a different man, no longer the upright citizen he used to be. Scott’s diseased heart was filling him with evil desires. That night he illegally downloaded hundreds of movies.

This action filled him with such exhilaration, he decided to pursue a career as a full-time pirate. He flew to Seattle and stole one of Lake Washington’s historic sailing ships. He picked up a crew and started commandeering ferries on Puget Sound.

He’d put the terrified passengers ashore and leave to distribute their vehicles to sketchy used car dealerships in Tacoma.

The moral of this story is never buy a used car without first verifying it is ethically sourced.

Rouvin the Philosopher

The people of Helevina know very well that one’s ability to reason is directly proportional to the length of one’s beard. Now there was a man who lived in Helevina  a very long time ago, whose beard was particularly long. His face was especially stern because he’d wrinkled his forehead with so much thinking. His name was Rouvin and he was a philosopher. But Rouvin wasn’t just any philosopher, he was arguably the greatest philosopher in history.

He wrote about everything from the nature of thought, to the human soul, to God Himself. Though his teachings caused his students to gape, scribes to scribble furiously, and the kings of the world to seek his counsel, the only thing they brought to God was an amused little smile.

This, dear readers, is Rouvin’s story, and I regret to say, it is not a happy one. It begins when he was just a young man (though even in his youth he was bearded. In fact, historical evidence suggests he was born bearded). He lived in a little village on the eastern side of Helevina that overlooked the sea. It was here that he first learned to wonder, and the delight he experienced in wondering was so sweet that once he began he never voluntarily ceased.

Day in and day out he would watch the world, question it, contemplate it, test his conclusions, and finally put them on paper. He spent so much time doing this, he would have starved to death if it hadn’t been for a young lady from the village. She’d remind him to eat, remind him to sleep, and when she visited his home she’d clean it thoroughly and scold him for allowing it to fall into disarray. She was as practical as he was theoretical and as down to earth as he was absent minded. Her name was Sophia, and Rouvin was very fond of her. As long as she was by his side, all his temporal needs were cared for and he was free to think.

She was fond of him also, for she could see that he had a brilliant mind and their conversations inspired and enriched her. Together they were happy…at first.

As time went on, Rouvin was consumed in his work more and more. He became so engrossed in his thoughts on the social nature of man that he stopped conversing with Sophia. Then, so busy penning his work on the nature of human affection that he forgot to offer her any. While he wrote seven hundred pages about the nature of human emotion, he failed to notice her growing frustration.

All this took place over the course of three years, and toward the end of the third year Rouvin the philosopher began what is widely considered his greatest work. To this day, the work brings even the most stately academics into a state of uncontrollable sobbing for its sheer splendor. He titled it: On Marriage and the Nature of Love.

On the very day that he sat putting the final touches on this great work, Sophia decided to confront him. She was carrying a basket of his togas out to wash, when she noticed him sitting in his usual place scribbling furiously onto a scroll. She paused before him, silently reading his words.

She cleared her throat. Rouvin jumped, his pen flying from his hand. He looked up toward her bewildered.

“You have said that an actual thing is greater than the idea of a thing,” Sophia began.

The philosopher shook off his confusion and smiled.

“Quite so!” He replied both alarmed and delighted by her understanding.

“It follows then,” she continued. “That actual marriage is greater than the idea of marriage.”

Rouvin thought for a moment, then answered: “Why yes! That’s exactly right. I’m so glad that you are beginning to understand these things, my dear!” With that, he began searching for his pen. Finding it, he turned his attention back to his writing.

After a few moments, he glanced up. She was still standing there, staring at him, her brow furrowed and her jaw tight.

“Was there something else you wanted?” He asked.

Her hand clenched the handle of the basket so that it almost snapped in two but her expression did not change.

“I suppose actual clean laundry is also greater than the idea of clean laundry,” she stated.

“I suppose so,” he answered raising an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure why she was still on this subject.

“But since you seem content to live in the world of ideas…” she dumped the basket on his head and stormed out.

When she did not come home the following day, he went out into the village to look for her. His neighbors told him she’d left by ship to seek her fortune in Athens.

Now Rouvin was arguably the most brilliant man that ever lived. And while he’d answered some of the greatest questions in the universe, he could not make sense of Sophia’s behavior.

He spent many a long evening sitting alone among his scrolls, sipping wine, and contemplating this question. Indeed, he thought about it so much that his hair turned white and his face became frozen in a scowl. At last, he finally came to a conclusion and penned his most infamous work. If you asked your philosophy professor about it, I guarantee he will deny its existence.

The work is titled: On the Nature of Women. In this work, Rouvin concludes that women are so enslaved by in their emotions that they are completely incapable of reason.

Having satisfied himself with the idea that Sophia’s behavior was a result of her feminine nature, he decided to move onto other questions. Further, he resolved never to interact with a woman again. Of course, this was easier said than done, due to the inconvenient fact that women made up half the human population. And it only became more difficult after that fateful day when Lysander the Conqueror attacked.


If you ask a child what he wants to be when he grows up, he might say a doctor, a firefighter, or an engineer. When Lysander the Conqueror was a little boy, his mother asked him this very question. He answered: “I want to rule the world!” His mother laughed and patted him on the head. What she didn’t realize is that one day he would actually do it.

Lysander valued three things above all else: books, conquering (obviously), and his darling war horse Calla. He’d have married Calla if he could, but marrying horses was frowned upon in those days even for the ruler of the world.

The day Lysander invaded, Rouvin was so absorbed in thought he failed to notice the attack on his village until one of the conqueror’s warriors broke down the door. The man would have killed the terrified philosopher right then and there if Lysander himself hadn’t intervened. You see, when the invader stormed in, one of Rouvin’s scrolls came rolling out into the street. Lysander (being a lover of books and all) stopped killing people for a moment so he could read it. The work was called On Horses: Highest of Animals.

The conqueror rushed to the house. Luckily for Rouvin, the invading soldier, blade raised for the kill, paused mid-blow (it was the kind of hesitation one has when one is about to kill the protagonist of an incomplete story). It gave Lysander just enough time to burst in shouting: “STOP!”

Then catching his breath, he held the open scroll out toward Rouvin. “Did you write this?” he demanded.

The wide-eyed philosopher nodded.

“Wonderful!” the conqueror exclaimed. “You’ll come back to the capital with me and teach at the university! Every student in the empire will come to know that horses are the highest of animals! And we will add your works to my library! You will have wealth and power and fame and servants to do your bidding. Everything you’ve ever wanted will be yours!”

Rouvin agreed immediately because he was afraid of dying (also wealth and fame sounded pretty good). And so the conqueror took the philosopher back to Logus, capital of his home country. It was beyond anything Rouvin could have imagined (which is saying a lot since he spent most of the day in his mind). The many intersecting roads were paved with cobblestone, every building touched the sky. Greenery only appeared in places designated by city officials. Every pigeon was washed and combed before it could enter the street. And by Lysander’s decree, every warrior had to wear a brush on his helmet so he could dust the ceiling as he walked through a room.

Rouvin became quite comfortable in the city. He spent most of his days in the royal zoo. Lysander had a habitat for him there, complete with scrolls, togas, a beard comb, and five to ten half empty cups of coffee. A plaque in front of the exhibit explained that these were philosopher enrichment items.

When Rouvin wasn’t in his exhibit, he was in the library. Lysander the Conqueror had a magnificent library. It was the second largest building in the city. (The first was the temple of Lune, the god of vermin.) The books fueled Rouvin’s thoughts. In the few short years, the philosopher lived in Logus, he wrote more than he had in all years previous.


Now Lysander had a wife (he actually had many, but only one is important to this story). Her name was Amira. She was a princess taken from a distant corner of the empire. Unlike the conqueror’s other wives, she could read and would spend most of her days sitting cross legged on the library floor, absorbing one book after another. Lynsander found this amusing and when he was showing distinguished guests around his great city, he would often point her out.

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“Look,” he’d say. “There’s the Anamian princess reading again. Isn’t that delightful?”

She’s shoot him cold glares which he’d ignore.

Of course Rouvin saw her too, and would grumble to himself that they’d allow a woman in the library. Luckily, she was the only woman there and easy for him to avoid. At least until she stumbled upon one of his works.

It was his work on God. In those days, most people worshiped many gods, the people of Logus being no exception. They had gods for everything you can possibly imagine. They had gods of the elements (fire, water, earth, and air), gods of the weather (thunder, wind, hail, and the like). They also had gods of oddly specific things, for example, the dying llama god. They did not have a god for healthy llamas, nor a gods for similar animals like alpacas so their religion lacked consistency.

But after many, many, years of thinking, Rouvin had come to the conclusion that there was only one God and had written extensively on the subject in his work: The Creator of the Universe. Amira read it twice through and it fueled her curiosity. She began collecting and reading through Rouvin’s other works. His books inspired a thousand questions, she wanted to learn more, everything she possibly could. So when she spotted Rouvin in the library one day, she decided to approach him.

He was sitting at a table, completely lost in his work and did not notice her walking toward him. You can imagine is alarm when she plopped The Creator of the Universe on the table in front of him, and said: “I’d like to know more about your one God.”

Rouvin

His surprise turned to anger when he’d a moment to take her in. There she was, standing before him, a basket of scrolls perched on her hip. For a moment, he was swept back to his old home, to the laundry, to Sophia…

“Go away,” he hissed, turning his attention back to his scroll. 

She clenched her teeth. In her homeland, no one would have dared speak to her so. She was respected as a queen. She reminded herself that things were different here. She just another wife of Lysander and a lesser one at that. She maintained her composure.

“Please,” she insisted. “I want to know more about your one God.”

Go away,” he repeated.

And this time she did not ask again. She left without a word, the curiosity about the one God extinguished and replaced by a bitter lump. Then things got worse. The very next day she resumed her browsing, and stumbled upon On The Nature of Women. The bitter lump in her heart grew into a nasty resentment. And all her frustrations started boiling over. She decided she hated Logus, Lysander, and whole empire. She hated Rouvin, and his God, and all his works with him. It didn’t matter how beautiful and how true most of them were. In her mind, all were tainted by his work on feminine nature.


Shortly thereafter Lysander the Conqueror became a victim of a horrible accident. A knife fell on him while he was sleeping. Luckily, on the evening of his death, he’d written a note naming Amira’s son his heir. The people of Logus thought this peculiar considering Amira’s son was only two and Lysander’s youngest child. No one pointed this out though since Lysander also noted that anyone who questioned this should be thrown into The Pit of Death and Dismemberment.

Since it’s very hard to understand the babblings of a two year old, the nobles of Logus relied on Amira to interpret the words of their new emperor. She explained that the child’s first order was to throw Rouvin into the above mentioned pit. The philosopher was so horrified at hearing this that he immediately died of a heart attack. The people of Logus were very disappointed because watching victims fall screaming into the Pit of Death and Dismemberment was one of their favorite pastimes. (This was how people entertained themselves before HBO was invented.)

Amira’s son then declared that all the treasures of Logus be moved to Anamia and the capital be burned to the ground. People protested and war broke out. In the end, the city was burned and none of the treasures survived. The library, the university, and the zoo were all lost. Oh yes, and lots and lots and lots of people died. And it all happened because the greatest thinker in history, was so enslaved by his emotions that, during a critical moment, he lost his ability to reason.

Lethal Love

James had everything a young man could want, well, almost everything. He’d a full scholarship to Rouvin University where he was a straight A student. He had a paid internship at Tap Pro Inc, and was building out a plan for his own business. He’d a mother and father who loved him and a sweet grandmother he’d visit every other weekend.

Yet, even with all this, he felt himself incomplete. You see James was waiting to meet the one. The girl he couldn’t stop thinking about, the girl he’d do anything for, the girl who’d make his life full and rich.


Julie was a biology major. She worked as a barista at the campus coffee shop and spent all her free time (which wasn’t much) volunteering at a local wildlife rehabilitation center. She found her volunteer work most fulfilling, and hoped she could eventually get a full-time job working with animals.

There was only one thing missing from her life and that was Mr. Right.


Then one fateful day it happened. James entered the campus coffee shop and ordered a sixteen ounce cup filled with as many espresso shots as would fit. He’d a midterm early the next morning, and was preparing for a long afternoon of study.

He was standing next to the pickup counter scrolling through the study guide on his phone, when a beautiful voice rang out:

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“James!”

He looked up and saw her peeking out from behind the towering espresso machine. He noticed the curls of her auburn hair sticking out from under her green uniform cap. Her hazel eyes, the gentle curve of her face, she was like an angel.

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Julie noticed him too, his scruffy black hair, his untucked button-up and his deep brown eyes that seemed to swallow her soul.

In that moment, they both had the same thought: this must be the one!

James skipped all the way back to his apartment. He knew it was crazy, he knew it was reckless, but he also knew that Julie was the one. The person who’d make him complete. So he took the chance, he asked her to dinner and she accepted. It was like the universe was smiling down on him and everything was falling into place.

He moved his hand upward in a coffee drinking motion, only to realize he didn’t have his drink. He’d been so entranced with Julie, that he’d left it sitting on the pickup counter. Normally, such a revelation would have led to panic, but not today. How could he worry about a little caffeine deprivation when he’d found the one?

He spent the whole afternoon preparing for the date (researching to find the best dining options, buying flowers, ironing his suit again and again.) He wanted everything to be perfect. After all, he knew this girl was his other half. The person who’d complete him.

Julie’s heart was pounding. Butterflies fluttered in her chest. She’d lost her concentration. She forgot to put espresso in an old professor’s drink, and added it to a small child’s chocolate milk instead. She wrote the wrong name on almost every cup, even misspelling the name Ed.

Her fingers where unsteady, her mind was elsewhere. She hardly noticed the mob of angry customers swarming the pickup counter yelling obscenities.

A boy had asked her on a date–a real, live, boy. She’d never been sure of anything in her life until now. He was the one, her missing piece!

When her concerned manager asked her if she wanted to leave early, Julie fled the building. There was so much to do: shower, second shower, hair, make-up, call all her girlfriends for advice… She’d no idea how she would do everything in time!

When James came to pick her up that evening, they were both so overwhelmed they could hardly speak. So they didn’t. They just sort of giggled as they skipped hand in hand to the restaurant.

Unfortunately, neither of them realized they were skipping down the path to their own demise.


The next few weeks were blissful for the new couple. They spent hours gazing into each others’ eyes, whispering sweet nothings, and holding hands while spinning slowly through wheat fields.

Normally, James would have been horrified to learn that he’d failed a midterm (after all he’d never failed anything in his life), but he just didn’t care. What was one midterm to a man in love?

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Julie’s grades were also falling. She couldn’t focus on her books, and daydreamed through class. She even freed all the mice from the lab once with the gentle words: “How can I vivisect you, little friends? I’m in love!”

The mice then joined her in a musical number about her newfound feelings. It came to an abrupt end when her horrified professor entered.

James’ advisor reminded him that he needed to keep his grades up or he’d lose his scholarship. James noted this, then fled the meeting as soon as he was dismissed, eager to be with Julie.

This continued for weeks. Julie stopped volunteering at the animal rehab so she could spend more time staring at the clouds with James. After several missed shifts, the rehab asked her not to come back. She was disappointed at first, but then figured it didn’t matter as long as she had her other half.

Finally, James’ advisor regretfully informed him that he’d lost his scholarship. James was horrified and spent the next several classroom hours wondering what happened. He ignored all the calls from his parents, since he did not want to speak with them until he had a plan. He needed to find time to resume his studies and bring his grades back up but did not want to use any of the precious time he had with Julie.

He decided he’d skip the visit to his grandmother’s, at least for a couple of weeks until he was able to get his scholarship back. This led to more calls from his parents which he ignored.

Julie finally lost her job at the cafe and ran tearfully into the arms of James. Together they bemoaned the cruelty of the universe.

“Not to worry, my darling,” James reassured. “I still have my job with TP inc, when I graduate we can get married, I’ll support us both!”

Julie was overwhelmed with joy. She gave up all thoughts of being a biologist and spent every moment dreaming of being the perfect wife. She didn’t need her dreams, James would complete her!

James was shocked the day TP declared bankruptcy. He was so depressed, he didn’t even bother to collect his box of cubical ornaments and sticky notes. He’d no scholarship, no job, angry parents, and was months behind on his business plan. But he still had Julie, what more did he need to be complete?

Then it came to him. Julie was the only thing in the world that mattered anymore and he was going to show her that. He was going to do something crazy, something reckless, something illegal, something his parents would never approve of, and all for Julie!

He was going to spray paint her name on the underside of the Mackerel Valley River Bridge.

It was an old open spandrel bridge made up of three arches, each hopping over a different obstacle. The first obstacle was the Mackerel Valley Expressway, the central arch spanned Mackerel Valley River itself, and the third spanned the cleverly named River Road NorthWest.

It was a beautiful piece of historic masonry and James felt the only thing that would make it more lovely, would be the name of his beloved in radiation green. He planned to do it right in the center of the arch over the expressway where it would be most visible.

He arrived in the middle of the afternoon with a backpack full of paint cans. If you think vandalizing such a public place in broad daylight is a bad idea, you are absolutely right. However, James was new to being a rebel and frankly, he didn’t care if all the world saw him immortalizing that heavenly name.

The area was busy, cars zipped up and down the expressway and a group of workmen cleared away the brush from the roadside. James strolled past the workers, trying to act casual while keeping out of sight behind their heavy machinery. He ducked past a tractor, a cherry picker, and then finally began his climb up the bridge from the shadow of a wood chipper that was parked beneath.

The workmen were so engrossed in the chopping of trees and clearing of weeds, they didn’t notice James as he edged around the spandrel columns toward the center of the first arch.

But someone else did.

“James?” Cried a familiar voice.

James looked up to see the face of his other half staring down at him from over the railing.

“James, no!” Cried Julie. “You still have me, remember? And plenty of companies make pointless smartphone accessories, you’ll find another job! I promise!”

James was confused until he saw other faces peering over the railing, some with expressions of mild curiosity, others wide-eyed with horror. It was only then that James realized they all thought he was going to jump.

James laughed. It was a reckless, laugh that could only come from a man in love. “Oh Julie, I could never leave you! I’ve climbed this bridge for you!”

“But why?” she called.

“Because love is a crazy thing—a wild, uncontrollable thing! It should be proclaimed from the mountaintops, but since there are no mountains here, I’ve chosen the side of this bridge. I am going to paint your name here on top of the world!”

A few of the bystanders awwed, but most just grumbled and went about their business.

Julie pressed her hand to her heart. “Oh James,” she called. “My name would be incomplete without yours!” She climbed over the railing and began working her way down to him. She ignored the garbled warnings coming from the police bullhorns at the top of the bridge and the profanity of the workers below.

Finally, she joined him at his perch. Then, clinging to the masonry, they each spray painted the other’s name in such a way as to make a seasoned graffiti artist smack his face to his palm. Then, hand in hand, they began inching back around the columns toward the base of the bridge and safety.

When they made it to the last column, Julie gazed into James’ eyes.

“You complete me,” she whispered.

“And you me,” James returned.

He leaned in to kiss her.

But I am afraid this story doesn’t end with a kiss. You see as they reached for each other, James lost his footing and tumbled off the bridge. Instinctively, his grip tightened on Julie’s hand and she too slipped off her perch.

Together they fell straight into the open funnel of the wood chipper below.

And that is how James and Julie tore each other apart (literally and figuratively).

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Was that ending to gruesome for you? Clearly you haven’t read many fables. Sometimes fables have to be gruesome to effectively teach their moral. And the moral of this story is never park a wood chipper under a bridge.

Scott the CEO

Scott Allen finally achieved his lifelong dream. The company he founded was about to go public. After a long career full of struggle and failure, success came in the form of a little finger protector for people who use touch screens.

A typical review from online retail sites looked like this:

Five stars: “The skin on my index finger was almost completely worn through from using touch screens all day until I found this handy thing! What a life saver!”

The company was called Tap Pro, Inc (TP for short) and in thirteen years they went from a one man operation with a single finger protector model to a multinational organization with a dozen products for every person in every imaginable scenario.

Scott invented the product by cutting the finger off one of his gloves. As Scott hired more engineers, the product became more practical. The newer models resembled a contact lens that stuck on the fingertip. They were sleek. They were sexy. All the cool kids had one.

It was 12:00am the day before IPO. After a long evening of celebrating with his colleagues, Scott returned to his office. His plan was simply to collect his briefcase and head home, but he was so intoxicated with his success (and also with alcohol), that he decided to flop into his chair and scroll through the product reviews one more time.

He pulled out his phone and drank in the words of his admiring public. To think he’d come from nothing, and was now a millionaire. It was everything he’d ever wanted. He sighed. He was a month short of sixty. His father died at… he tried to think… seventy-three?

He endured a lifetime of failure for what? So he could enjoy thirteen years of success?

“Oh how I wish I could endure as long as this great company of mine!” He bemoaned.

“Who are you talking to?” Came a voice.

Scott startled. He hadn’t realized he was speaking aloud. He looked wildly around the room before spotting her. She was standing directly in front of him.

She was wearing a suit with a knee length pencil skirt and heels so high they might as Screen Shot 2018-08-08 at 11.44.30 PMwell have been stilts. She’d a short power cut and modern glasses with thick blue frames. Her gaze was fixed on her phone.

Her appearance was flawless. There wasn’t a crease on her blazer, or a stray hair on her head. It was almost like she’d dry cleaned her clothes onto herself.

“Who are you?” He asked, bewildered.

“I am Eda the business fairy,” she replied, without looking up from her phone. “Didn’t you just make a wish?”

Scott squinted at her. “If you are a fairy, then why don’t you have any wings?”

“Fairies don’t actually have wings, Mr. Allen. Humans just draw us that way because…” She looked up, thinking for a moment. “I honestly have no idea why.”

Scott scrutinized her a moment more. “Okay,” he said. “If you are who you say you are, prove it! Do some magic.”

“How about I answer all your password security questions?” She suggested.

“Alright. Go on! Go on!”

“Your mother’s maiden name is Smith, you went to Mackerel Valley High School, and your first pet’s name was Fluffy1234. (Well, the numbers aren’t actually part of the name. You just added them to make the answer harder to guess.)”

Scott’s bloodshot eyes widened. He was amazed.

“So you really are a fairy!” He exclaimed.

Technology was not Scott’s strong suit and he could never find the time to take the quarterly cyber security training. So while Eda was a real fairy, she wasn’t answering Scott’s password questions by magic. She was looking at his Wikipedia page. (She’d guessed about the numbers at the end of Fluffy’s name.)

Scott was too excited to notice. “So this must be some kind of a fairytale, or, or maybe a fable!” He was ecstatic but collected himself enough to explain: “A fable is a short story with a mor–”

“Thank you, Mr. Allen,” she answered. “I am a fairy. I know what a fable is.”

“If this is a fairytale, then I must be the hero!”

“Hmmm…” thought Eda with a little shrug. “Protagonist, sure.”

“And I can wish for anything?”

“Well, anything business related,” she replied. “I’ll have to refer you to another fairy for other requests. And you said something about wanting to endure like your company or whatever, so do you want it or not?”

“More than anything!” Scott answered.

“Cool, I’ve got a meeting in five so let me just…” she tapped her phone a couple of times and flipped it around revealing some text and a signature line. “Check the box that says you’ve read and agreed to all the terms and conditions, then sign with your finger.”

Scott checked the box. He hadn’t read all the terms and conditions of course, but since no one ever does, he didn’t worry. He signed.

The fairy took her phone back and raised an eyebrow. His signature was illegible even when he used a ballpoint pen. A touch screen made it horrifying.

She shrugged and pocketed her phone. “We’re all set, Mr. Allen. Your health is now directly intertwined with that of TP, inc. When TP is doing well, so will you. If TP is doing poorly, you will also.”

“Wait,” Scott said. “…intertwined with TP? That’s not what I wished for!”

“It states very clearly in the terms and–”

“Right, right, of course!” He interjected. “Yes, clearly.”

He wasn’t worried. After all, TP was thriving. What could possibly go wrong?

Eda gave him a firm handshake. “Get some sleep, Mr. Allen,” she said. “You’ve got a bell to ring tomorrow.”

Scott pulled his car keys out of his pocket as Eda turned to leave.

“You’re not driving are you?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “Have you seen my phone?”

“You’re holding it, Mr. Allen,” she answered, pulling out her own.

“Would you look at that!” He observed with a laugh and a shake of his head.

Eda tapped on her phone a couple of times. “Go down to the lobby, Mr. Allen. In a few moments, a magical driverless car will arrive to take you home.”

Once again, Scott was amazed.


For the next year, Scott felt better than ever before. He woke without aches and pains,

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It took a lot of coaching, but Scott finally managed to master the defiant CEO smirk for his LinkedIn profile picture.

ran without losing his breath, and even resumed playing sports when he had the time.

His friends and family noticed he looked better but couldn’t determine what was different.

Stocks were rising, reviews were gushing, business was booming, and the company grew. Every employee from the vice president of accounting to the cubical cleaner’s intern was going above and beyond because they felt like they were part of something great.

Then one day, as Scott sat in a conference watching one of his executives present. He sneezed.

The sensation shocked him. You might think it strange that a sneeze would shock anyone, but Scott had gone a full year without sneezing once.

“…So as you can see,” the exec droned, pointing to a line chart. “This black line is going up and this redline is going down. This means my organization is doing useful things. Can we have more money?”

Scott was still staring into his hand. He sniffled. “Um… sorry, can you say that last part again?”

Unfortunately, things only got worse for Scott. Over the next few weeks he was plagued by sniffles and sneezes of all kinds. He found himself carrying dozens of tissue packets with him everywhere and entering panics when he ran out. A colleague suggested it was spring allergies. But Scott didn’t believe this because he’d never had allergies and it wasn’t spring.

He remembered his contract with Eda, but felt certain that couldn’t be causing the problems. After all, if TP was doing well, he should be also.

Then his personal assistant politely suggested that perhaps he was under stress and should take a vacation. Scott was delighted with this diagnosis and in short order found himself lying on a beach in Belize. He was reading a book he’d purchased at the airport newsstand. It was titled: Tried and True: Old School Tactics for Driving Your Modern Business.

With his ball cap, Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, and sandals over white socks, he was an abomination in the eyes of fashion. The salt air and warm sand didn’t make him feel any less sneezy, but at least he getting some R&R.

“Enjoying yourself, Mr. Allen?” Came a familiar voice.

Scott sat bolt upright. Strolling across the sand was Eda.

Scott would have been alarmed by her sudden appearance had he not been so distracted by her feet. She was wearing the very same pair of heels as the day they met, but they did not sink into the sand as she crossed the beach.

“You shouldn’t walk on sand in shoes like that,” Scott observed. “Heels are the leading cause of foot injuries in women.”

She smiled sweetly. “Thank you, Mr. Allen. I really don’t know how I’ve survived all these thousands of years without you around to tell me these things.”

Scott returned her smile, glad she appreciated his advice.

“But I didn’t come here to talk about my shoes,” she continued. “I came to check in on you. Heard you weren’t feeling so well.”

“I’m fine,” Scott sneezed.  

“Oh?”

“Of course,” he replied. “TP’s never been better and neither have I. Besides given our success, if something were wrong with me, you’d be in violation of your contract.”

The contract is perfect and the magic is working perfectly.” Eda replied. “If you weren’t feeling well, it would only be because something is wrong with your company.”

“Like what?” Scott asked. “I mean, hypothetically, if something were wrong with me?”

“This is a fairytale, Mr. Allen,” Eda replied. “And I am a fairy. If you’ve read any fairytales, you should know I can’t give you a straight answer about anything.”

“Why not?” Scott pressed.

She answered him directly: “Because then you wouldn’t learn anything. Also the story’d be to short.”

Scott was growing impatient. “So if something were wrong with me, what would you do?”

“I would—I will give you something that will help you learn the answer for yourself. Go back to work, Mr. Allen and you’ll understand.”

She tossed him a packet of tissues and was gone before Scott could reply. She seemed to  disappear into thin air.

Perhaps she had. She was a fairy after all, but more likely, she ran away really quickly while he blinked. I suppose we’ll never know for sure.


No one recognized Scott when he returned to work. It could have been that he’d traded in his usual grey suit for a plaid button up and jeans, but most likely it was the false mustache.

He had a brilliant plan. He figured the best way to learn what was really amiss at TP, was to lose his CEO status. He felt certain his employees were more likely to be honest with Gary from facilities than with Scott the CEO. Besides being from facilities meant he could wander all around the campus and no one would suspect anything. If anyone asked, he was doing a mandatory lightbulb inspection.

Scott was up on a ladder examining his first bulb, when he discovered Eda’s gift. He was on a floor with open cubes. There were thirty or so conversations taking place across the room, and Scott found that regardless of where the conversations took place, he could focus in and hear any of them.

He heard two salesmen standing by the printer, lamenting the outcome of last night’s game. He heard a woman from marketing on the opposite side of the room asking a peer if a particular shade of violet was in compliance with brand standard. He heard two IT support agents coming out of the elevator joking about how TP actually stood for toilet paper.

He scowled. It took just over a million dollars and a small army of branding experts to come up with the initialism TP. Had they no respect?

It occurred to Scott that listening to conversations this way might not be legal. He’d ask Eda to un-enchant him next time he saw her, but in the meantime, he’d just have to deal with it.

Scott moved on to inspect his next lightbulb and passed a closed office door. He heard voices from the other side and listened carefully. Sure enough, his ability to focus worked even through doors. He shook his head at the idea that Eda would give him such an unethical gift, then listened to the conversation taking place.

“I can’t do this if I have to go through Jason,” a woman’s voice said. “The man’s an idiot. If he had to approve everything I did, I’d get nothing done!”

“I know,” came a sympathetic reply. “Let me talk to him, maybe I’ll buy him a drink.”

“Great idea,” answered the first voice. “Give him enough alcohol and he’ll approve anything!”

Both voices laughed.

Scott moved on. While inspecting his next light bulb he heard a man and woman speaking by the coffee pot.

“Did you see the research department?” The woman asked.

“No,” the man smiled.

“They have their cubes all decorated! It’s amazing! Little bells made out of cups! Paper chains, everything!”

The man laughed. “Wow, they really went all out, didn’t they?”

“They sure did!” The woman replied. “Must be nice to have so much free time!”

The man responded with a smirk and an eye roll. “Come on, Maggie, you know research doesn’t actually do anything at this company.”

So it continued. In every hallway, in every lunchroom, everywhere all over the company Scott heard people speak similarly. Each team thought they were the hardest working, the smartest, and the only ones who actually cared about success. The entire campus was infected with toxic murmurs.

Screen Shot 2018-08-04 at 4.00.14 PM

A light bulb went on over Scott’s head (actually it was more of a fluorescent tube), and just at the same moment, he had an idea.


About a week later, all TP employees gathered for a company wide meeting. Scott ensured there would be a massive turnout by providing free donuts. He watched as they filed into the largest conference room in the building in search of the pastries disguised as breakfast food.

The topic of the meeting was company culture. In his presentation, Scott talked about how other companies were promoting a healthy workplace environment. How research proved that such efforts were good for business. He showed stock photos of happy business professionals having picnics and playing golf. He firmly declared that gossip was not part of the company culture.

His employees watched with eyes as glazed as the donuts they were steadily consuming.

He concluded by announcing that he was going to hire a vice president of employee relations to enforce a positive and productive workplace environment.

When the presentation was over, he returned to his office feeling pleased with himself. He was so confident that his allergies would cease, that he took all his tissue boxes to the roof and threw them off—an action he was bound to regret.

Scott was angry. It had been several months since the company meeting. TP’s profits continued to grow, they’d launched a new product successfully, and yet he was continually feeling weak and nauseous.

He hoped that Eda would turn up and set things right. But when weeks passed and she did not, he decided to make an appointment with his doctor.  

Doctor Randy Webb was an enthusiastic man who’s caffeine addiction was evidenced by his wide eyes, jittering hands, and seldom ceasing chatter. He listened to Scott describe his symptoms, then said with a bright smile: “Sounds like pregnancy! But that can’t be since you’re a man! It’s probably just cancer.”

He waited for Scott to laugh.

Scott did not laugh.

“So… anyway,” Dr. Webb continued. “We’ll run some tests. If you don’t hear from me, everything’s fine.”

“And if I hear from you?” Scott asked.

Webb’s expression became dark. “Pray.”

The phone rang in Scott’s office early the next morning.

“Hello Scott, how are you doing today?” Came Dr. Webb’s chipper voice.  

Scott wasn’t sure, so he lied in the customary fashion: “Fine.”

“Ah good,” Webb continued. “So, the test results came back and well… your cells are multiplying in all kinds of ways that they shouldn’t…”

“What are you saying?” Scott demanded.

“Remember how yesterday I made that joke about you having cancer? Well you actually do!” The doctor laughed. “Now isn’t that something?”

Scott hung up the phone. Before he’d a chance to reflect on his woeful situation, the door to his office opened.

In walked Eda, her gaze glued to her phone. Somehow she navigated into the room and gracefully around all the ill-placed furniture without taking her eyes off the screen.

“You!” Scott cried, leaping from his chair with such force it went spinning across the room.

“Hello, Mr. Allen,” she returned.

“Where have you been?” He snapped. “Did you know this would happen?”

“Know what would happen?” She replied.

“That I’d get cancer!”

“Cancer,” she mumbled. “Makes sense it would manifest itself that way, given the duplication of cells and all.”

“You did this to me, didn’t you?”

“I did nothing,” Eda replied. “You always knew this was a possibility, Scott. It stated very clearly in the terms and–”

“How can I have cancer when the company is doing so well?” He demanded.

She held up a finger. “One moment…” She tapped at her smartphone.

“What are you doing?” He snapped.

“Selling some stock,” she answered.

“If that’s TP stock I’ll have you arrested for insider trading,” he grumbled.

“It’s only insider trading if I possess material non-public information.”

“Ah! But you do!” Scott replied “You see, material means that a reasonable investor would care about it—”

“Thank you, Mr. Allen, I know what material means.” Eda explained. “And you expect any reasonable investor to believe that you entered into a magical contract with a business fairy?”

Scott frowned. “I suppose not… but I have cancer! Very bad, probably going to die! There, now you know something a reasonable investor would care about! Ha!”

“Maybe… There could be any number of outcomes,” Eda thought. “I probably should consult with law fairy first.*”Screen Shot 2018-08-06 at 9.34.38 PM

She pocketed her phone.

Scott laughed triumphantly.

“But I did not come here for legal advice, Scott.” She took a seat. “Let’s see if we can find a way to change your outcome.”

Scott fetched his chair and slumped down in it.

“Remember the vice president of employee relations you hired? Debra?”

“Of course, she’s the very reason I shouldn’t be in this situation,” he grumbled.

“On the contrary, Mr. Allen,” Eda replied. “I’m afraid Debra is the reason, well, one of many.”

“Get to the point,” Scott demanded. “And no more of this cryptic fairy non-sense, I want a straight answer.”

“Well, I suppose since were already twelve pages in, I’ll humor you.” Eda sighed. “You see, Debra started at TP under the assumption that your employee relations problems were due to the destructive policies put in place by Alley’s department.”

Alley’s department was HR.

“What destructive policies?” Scott asked.

“There are none,” Eda answered. “But there were at many of Debra’s past organizations. Thus her assumption.”

“Why did she assume? Why not just talk to Alley?”

“Well she discussed it, with Jerry.” Eda explained.

“But Jerry’s in finance.” Scott sputtered.

“Yes, but you see, Jerry and Debra are already acquainted. They used to meet up every year at Phoney Con before they came to work for TP. So naturally Debra mentioned her concerns to Jerry, while they were having lunch on Tuesday.

Now, Jerry cautioned Debra not to speak to Alley–”

“Wait, why not?”

“Because,” Eda explained. “How did Jerry put it… ‘Alley is a witch.’ Jerry then proceeded to tell Debra all about his horrible experiences working with Alley.”

“But, gossip is not part of our company culture!” Scott interjected.

“Now, now, Mr. Allen,” Eda replied raising a finger. “They are executives. They know that. Jerry wasn’t gossiping, he was just venting. After all it isn’t good to keep your frustrations bottled up.”

Scott made no reply as he tried to work out what Eda was saying. She did not wait for him to comprehend, just pressed on.

“Debra decided to handle TP’s gossip problem by creating the Employee Conflict Resolution Team to pinpoint where tension existed between departments and work to resolve it.”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with that,” Scott observed.

“Nothing at all,” Eda continued. “Except, had Debra talked to Alley, she’d have found that Alley already has a team doing just that—The Cross Departmental Collaboration Team.

Now the Cross Departmental Collaboration Team heard about the Employee Conflict Resolution Team and were distressed. Instead of trying to unify their efforts, the teams began to compete for resources. So the Employee Conflict Resolution Team refused to work with the Cross Departmental Collaboration Team. In the end, TP had two separate teams doing exactly the same work.

“So we just need to merge both teams or get rid of one of them,” Scott reasoned.

“I wish it was that simple,” Eda replied. “But you’ll find similar conflict blossoming all over the company. For example, you probably noticed the tension between John from research and Jamie from sales.”

Scott hadn’t, but he was beginning to think there was a lot he didn’t notice.

“John refuses to work with Jamie because Alley told him about a time when Jamie purposefully deprioritized her employee survey because she’d delivered bad news about his approval ratings as a vice president. And it gets worse, Sam from–”

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” Scott demanded. “I get the picture! No one is talking to anyone else, teams are duplicating, trust is crumbling…” He sat for a moment, finger on his chin, thinking.

“What if we restructure the entire organization?” Scott suggested. “We’ll start by making Debra head of HR.”

“Wait a moment,” Eda said. “Debra’s been nothing but toxic since you brought her in, why would you give her the entire HR department?”

“Because the only other option is to leave Alley in charge of HR and have Debra report to her. Then again,” he thought. “I could move Alley out of HR altogether and have her run something else.”

“Or you could fire Debra,” Eda suggested.

“Fire Debra!” Scott exclaimed. “Just like that?”

“Well, no, not ‘just like that’, give her a warning first and time to improve, then fire her if she doesn’t.”

“I can’t fire Debra!” Scott insisted.

“Why not? You’ve fired employees for similar destructive behavior, haven’t you?”

“Maybe,” Scott replied. “But not at the executive level. You can’t fire an executive for gossiping!”

“Why–” Eda began, but Scott cut her off talking almost as much to himself as to her.

“If you fire an executive for something that trivial, investors will start thinking you are in some kind of trouble!”

“But you are–”

Scott cut Eda off again. “Not to mention the fact that Jerry would resent me if I fired her. The whole staff would! As bosses go, I am pretty well liked and this would ruin my image.”

“You talk like you’ve never fired anyone,” Eda observed.

“Of course not!” Scott replied. “I’ve never made a bad hire!”

Eda responded with stunned silence. Then finally said: “Don’t you have thirty years experience?”

“Almost forty,” Scott proudly stated.

“How did you get to be CEO?”

Scott responded by falling into his elevator pitch: “It began when I cut the finger off one of my gloves! Little did I know that this invention would revolutionize the smartphone accessories industry!”

“Right, you invented the product,” Eda said. She thought a moment. “Have you ever considered taking a more product focused role?”

“Change my role?” Scott was alarmed. “You mean, step down from being CEO?”

Eda nodded. “Sure, then you could actually create something. You like inventing things, and you must be good at it because consumers love your products.”

Scott was turning scarlet. The only thing he heard was: “Step down, Scott”, “You’re to old, Scott.”, and “You’re incompetent, Scott.”

Eda hadn’t said any of these things but that didn’t stop them from festering in Scott’s mind.

“I created this company!” Scott cried. “I caused its growth! It went public because of me! And you want me to step down?”

Eda was confused. “I don’t want anything,” she explained. “What happens to TP doesn’t affect me in the slightest. I am just making a suggestion.”  

“I’ve worked my whole life for this! And I am not going to surrender this company to anyone! Unlike you, I can’t just make things happen with a snap of my fingers! I created this company and there’s no one in the world more qualified to run it.”

He looked as if he was going to jump across his desk and strangle her. Eda watched his outburst with a slightly bored expression then glanced down at her phone for the time.

When he finished she said simply: “What you do is entirely up to you.”

Then she disappeared.

Scott decided to restructure the entire company. After this took place, he got a call from Dr. Webb recommending they try a controversial new treatment.

“In layman’s terms,” Dr. Webb explained. “We are going to remove the tumors and then implant them elsewhere in your body.”

“That’s insanity!” Scott exclaimed. “Has that ever worked before?”

“No,” Dr. Webb replied. “But we are absolutely confident it will work for you!”

The doctor did sound confident, and Scott was desperate, so he submitted to the treatment. Unfortunately, Scott’s health only deteriorated further. In fact, as TP’s employees shared their theories about what was behind the restructure, the cancer spread at an alarming rate.

Despite his failing health, Scott continued coming to work. His colleagues kept suggesting he go on leave, but the more they pressed him the more he insisted on staying. “I’ll quit when I’m dead!” He would say. TP was his and he’d surrender it to no one.

The gossip at TP soon turned to resentment and backstabbing. In fact, TP’s employees were so busy trying to take each other down, that they failed to notice a competitor was stealing away their business.

Scott was declared dead the very moment TP declared bankruptcy. For weeks afterward, employees, consumers, and investors wondered if this was a coincidence or if the combined forces of Scott’s failing health and failing business had driven him to end his life early. Some even went so far as to say Scott was murdered by competitors.

Scott’s autopsy showed that he was actually killed by a vicious autoimmune disease. This left Dr. Webb scratching his head and rambling to his peers: “It’s marvelous! Amazing! I’ve never seen anything like it! Here the man is already dying of cancer but in the end, it’s his own body that kills him! I’ve never seen a disease like this! It’s my new favorite! Can I name it?”

Although Scott’s body was in horrible condition, the hospital decided donating his organs was an excellent idea. In the very moment they were being harvested, TP’s former employees were out looking for work with other organizations.

And while all this was unfolding, Eda was on the deck of her new yacht, sipping margaritas and grumbling about how humans never really learn anything.

Maybe Scott didn’t learn his lesson, but that doesn’t mean you can’t learn from this fable.

The moral of the story is always read the terms and conditions.

Actually that’s not the moral. You’re smart, you figure it out. 

The Duel At Mackerel Valley Airport

Not one of the fifty thousand employees that worked at the Mackerel Valley International Airport were happy. In fact, two were downright miserable. Their names were Troy and Janice. They were gate agents and they hated each other.

The rivalry started shortly after they both began. By complete coincidence, they were hired at the same time, started on the same day, and assigned to adjacent gates. When they started working, their planes arrived around the same time, and were ready to board shortly after.

Janice picked up her intercom handset a moment before Troy and announced: “Welcome to Intermittent Airlines flight 1300–” 

But she was cut off by Troy’s announcement echoing through the speakers in his gate area.

​It was the standard Intermittent Airlines preboarding announcement:Screen Shot 2018-07-28 at 8.00.51 PM

“Welcome to Intermittent Airlines Flight 666 with service to Fish City, Pennsylvania. Because you were either too cheap or too afraid to check your baggage, we are going to have to do it by force. If you prefer not to have it wrestled out of your hands by one of our flight attendants, please come to the podium to surrender it peacefully. We will begin boarding shortly.” 

Janice finished making the same announcement a few moments later.

When it actually came time to board the flight, Janice was prepared. She started her announcement a millisecond before Troy started his. When he started to speak over her, she continued her announcement projecting as much as she could:

Screen Shot 2018-08-04 at 4.34.43 PM“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are about to begin boarding flight 1300 here at gate B17A.1 with service to San Mira Vista Mar, California. Please take a moment to locate the group number on your boarding pass. Here at Intermittent Airlines we board the rich first, followed by the slightly less rich, the disabled, and families traveling with small children.”

At the adjacent gate, Troy continued the standard announcement, glaring at her from behind his com unit, speaking as loudly as he possibly could in an attempt to drown her out:

“If you are in group two, excellent work! You had your finger hovering above the checkin button exactly twenty-four hours ahead of time! If you are in group three, you were tardy, and if you are in groups four or five we actually don’t have room for you on this flight. Please take out your anger at the nearest customer service station.” 

Both ended their announcement by asking passengers in group one to line up. The passengers knew something had been announced, and figured it was probably close to boarding time. So they all stood up and gathered in a confused mass in front of their respective boarding doors.

The passengers did understand when boarding began, not because of anything the gate agents said, but because the agents motioned to the closest person to come forward. The people behind followed in a massive stampede.

Both Janice and Troy were too busy glaring at each other to notice that their wheelchair passengers were being trampled on. In the end, everyone found their seats and Intermittent Airlines only had a few lawsuits to settle.

That first day planted a deep and raging rivalry between the two gate agents. Their hatred was so strong that they started purposefully making announcements over each other even when they did not have flights departing at the same time.

Troy would start a boarding announcement and Janice would jump in and gleefully say: “THANK YOU FOR CHOOSING INTERMITTENT AIRLINES! WE KNOW YOU HAVE MANY CHOICES WHEN YOU FLY AND THAT YOU CHOSE US BECAUSE WE WERE THE CHEAPEST OPTION!”

Troy would counter saying: “WANTED TO GIVE THOSE OF YOU IN THE BOARDING AREA A LITTLE UPDATE! THE FLIGHT HERE AT GATE B18A.2 HAS BEEN DELAYED DUE TO BIRD INTERFERENCE. THIS FLIGHT IS NOW DEPARTING AT 10:00PM OUT OF GATE G67C.1. START WALKING, YOU’VE GOT PLENTY OF TIME!”

As you can imagine, this rivalry lead to chaotic boardings and angry passengers. However, Janice and Troy were never fired or separated. You see, no one could remember if they were employees of Intermittent Airlines, Mackerel Valley International Airport, or the Federal Government. They also couldn’t remember whose job it was to find out.

Their peers all assumed this would continue indefinitely. The poor customer service agents despaired, thinking the stream of enraged customers would never end. Fortunately for them, it did end. Here is how it came about. 

About three hundred passengers were waiting across the adjacent gate areas that day. A few had pets in crates and one little old woman had an emotional support animal allowed on a leash. It was an evening flight, and a connection for most of the passengers. They were tired and especially cranky.

Janice started to announce boarding:

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen–” she began.

“TO THOSE OF YOU TRAVELING WITH US TO SAN MIRA VISTA MAR CALIFORNIA, THE WEATHER IS SUNNY, SEVENTY-TWO DEGREES WITH A STRONG CHANCE OF SMOG AND AGGRESSIVE DRIVERS!” Troy interrupted.

Janice spoke louder: “AS A REMINDER, THIS IS A COMPLETELY FULL FLIGHT! SO IF YOU ARE A WOMAN PLEASE SCRUNCH UP AS TIGHT AS POSSIBLE TO AVOID ACCIDENTALLY BRUSHING THE MOIST MAN FLESH SEEPING OVER YOUR ARMREST!”

The rivalry grew until the announcements were not only garbled beyond recognition but piercing.

The passengers started yelling and swarming the gate podium trying to snatch the com units away, but Janice and Troy clung on and kept speaking, desperate to win the conflict.

As this unfolded, the little old woman in the gate area started rocking in her seat, mumbling to herself, and stroking the fur of her feline companion. She was already so afraid of flying, and all the commotion was making her heart race.

“Oh dear, oh dear, I’m so dreadfully frightened, Max,” she kept mumbling while stroking his fur harder and harder.

Max was a good emotional support animal and sensed her distress. He decided he would put an end to the noise at once. In one great bound, he tore his leash out of the woman’s hand and charged through the crowd. People dove aside as he sprang past. He gobbled up Troy first and then turned on the petrified Janice.

You see, Max was a lion. You are probably wondering how a lion was allowed through airport security. Normally they aren’t, and a security agent did question it. However, his manager reminded him that Max was wearing an orange vest and therefore had to be allowed through.

When the lion had finished his meal, some of the passengers returned to their seats while others went to customer service to demand replacement agents so they could continue with boarding.

The little old woman, however, gentle stroked Max’s fur and said in a tiny voice. “You’re such a dear, Max. You always do know how to help me calm down!”

I am happy to say that the Mackerel Valley International Airport did eventually hire cheerful employee. His name was Elmer and he was a security dog. Each day he would happily patrol the security lines, his tail wagging, sniffing travelers, and saying in doggish: “I will find the drugs, master! And the explosives too! I do promise I will! I will find all the illegal things! I am so excited to find the illegal things!”

Elmer loved his job and he never had a bad day.