Round 1 challenge was: Write a 1000 word story in 48 hours with the following theme/setting/item Comedy, Amusement Park, Juice-box. Below is my submission. Quite a challenge, but still fun with the deadline and the random assortment of things to pull together.
Big Glenn doesn’t really want to be at the Park on Friday or any other day for that matter. His only motivations besides the paycheck, are avoiding the dreaded Yellow 311 and confiscating enough alcohol to drink the shift away.
They say Monday is the Moons day. Maybe that’s why people hate it so much. It could be that nobody wants to start out the work week thinking about some celestial body flashing its butt at them. Glenn secretly thought maybe that was the wrong kind of moon. But really, Mondays didn’t bother him nearly as much as Fridays, they were the bane of his existence. Worst of all the last Friday before school started back, what everybody at the Park called Green Friday. The Park owners thought the name was because of all the money they made. But really the workers picked it for other reasons. Mainly because the Park would be covered in a wonderful mix of vomit and cotton candy. Casting a never-occurring in nature green sheen over most surfaces by days end. Luckily, screams of lost kids and frustrated parents would easily drown out the rickety clanging of the rides and sounds of hurling. If there was a day on which he contemplated playing a severely bad game of chicken with a semi truck, this was it.
He rubbed his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers and a thumb as if desperately trying to squeeze out the last bit of the conversation he just heard.
He stood towering over the arguing men. He never really had a commanding voice and hoped the fact his words came from up higher gave them that listen to me now quality. Usually, he was right.
“First of all , I don’t think anybody can really discriminate against a Carnie. It’s not a race of people. They don’t come from a Carnie-land or have a Carnie skin color or accent, so you’re wrong. This guy just hates you because you’re kind of a dick Randall. And secondly, and more importantly, you aren’t a Carnie anyway. Just like you weren’t a psychic last week when you guessed that birthday, or a chef the week before for accidentally mixing pretzels in the cookie dough. You’re a park employee working at the only amusement park that would hire you. So do you really wanna argue over this prize and risk getting fired?”
Having just misread his “quote of the day” app, Randall squinted as he saw his chance to make that 99 cents worth it.
“It’s the principle Glenn. He looked it up on Google. I know it’s the only way he was able to win that game. I can’t let this one slide.”
The games wrangler adjusted his cap. Glenn knew this meant he was either about to use a word incorrectly or spout another quote that had no purpose in this situation.
“Because If a man doesn’t have his principles then he has nothing left but bearing arms. –Benjamin Franklin.”
At least he tried.
“Franklin didn’t say that. Nobody said that. Anyway, Randall, you work here. You don’t have any principles.”
Glenn took a breath. His mind popcorning about as little explosions of thought fired in rapid succession. Running through scenarios to end this argument and get back on patrol. It was just five bucks, and the longer he bickered over who was right and wrong, he knew some kid was out there sneaking into an entrance with enough alcohol to drop this day into the time machine and set it to “I don’t care mode”. Surely, somebody needed to confiscate it, for the sake of the children.
“I’m not a cheater and this idiot insulted me. I want somebody in charge or my prize.”
The man didn’t even sound mad. Glenn guessed his size and uniform were working in his favor again. The man’s head only came to his chest. His weirdly muscled arms clashed horribly with his pronounced belly which would easily be at home on the frame of a late second trimester mother to be. At least he was alone and Glenn was thankful the dumbbell master had no entourage boosting his ego.
Just as he had mostly planned a way to keep everybody calm, Randall chimed in.
“If I get one straight no cheating, winning shot, he can have it”
“Fine. Give it here.” Glenn reached and grabbed the ball. Tossing the more cube than sphere whiffle ball passed the metal rings. One shot, one win.
“Whoa! Not you!” Randall said standing in protest before remembering how big Glenn was.
“You said one shot, didn’t say by who.” Glenn smirked as he pointed at the prize.
“Either you give it to him or I do.”
Deflated, Randall jiggled his grabber and pulled down the cheaply made insult to toy designers everywhere.
The oddly smug and stoned face of the banana was covered by its dreadlocks as the man disappeared very pleased into the crowd.
The park workers shared an intense stare before a family walked up and ended the awkward standoff.
A chirp escaped from Glenn’s radio. Before he could pick it up his supervisor rattled off a message to the troops.
“We got a Yellow 311. Bumper Alley.”
He could almost hear the grin on Matt’s face. The replies came like auctioneer calls before he could react.
“I’m on gate duty!” –Jody
“Escorting a drunk!” –Dave
“Lost kid!” –That new guy with the tiny feet
All of them pros at dodging the bullet.
He stumbled to form a convincing lie but that one second was too long.
Matt pounced on his indecision.
“That leaves you Glenn, whatchu got?”
“I’m..banana…ball, hat… Dammit!”
“Great! It’s all yours big guy.”
He swore he heard the laughter before the channel went silent.
If he hated Green Friday then Yellow 311′s had to be his personal hell. He even tried it once after his first Green Friday when professional curiosity got the better of him. But he couldn’t figure out how they did it. Leave it to bored teenagers to find a way to fill a juice box with urine and tie it to the bumper cars.
Yup. No question about it, Fridays were the worst.