Along with friends, I am participating in a writing challenge over at Frankie’s Wining Room. Each piece is intended to stand alone, but if you (like me) enjoy seeing the chronological progression of things in writing, I recommend you read them in order. This is the first piece of flash fiction for Week 2. Week 1, Excerpt 1, is located in Illness, Achievements, and Challenges. Enjoy!

Photo owned and copyrighted by Katie Johnson. Photo credit: https://katierenejohnson.com/

Shuffle, scrape. Shuffle, scrape.

The footsteps of the old guy in front of me were really getting on my nerves. Couldn’t he pick up his feet when he walked? Sure, the paving stones had gaps between them, but they were flat and smooth for the most part. Except for that one spot they asked me to repair, and the section beside the walk that those idiots let go for far too long before calling me to work my magic.

Not that I really care for this type of job. I prefer wood. Sanding it, shaping it, honing it from a thing of raw beauty to elegant perfection. None of this fucking tile crap.

I send Steve to work on shit like this–except he up and walked off the job last Saturday. No notice, no warning, just looked at me accusing-like with big, round eyes when I asked him what he was thinking to say what he said to the lady on Hillgate Avenue. Seriously, what was he thinking? I had to field a call from her after he was done with her, in tears because Steve said the job was going to take twice as long and cost twice as much as the original estimate we gave her. I had to hurry up and tell her we’d do it at what we’d quoted her, in order to get her to stop crying.

I’ve tried to explain, over and over again, how critical it is to break it to ’em nice and gentle. “Treat ’em like your little sister,” I say, hoping they’ll catch the hint and get with the program. Every assistant I’ve ever had never quite seems to get it, though. Somehow, something always ends up going wrong, and I’m left to pick up the pieces.

Now I get to work this job on top of all the others. Doesn’t matter that he was right–the whole section needs to be torn out and replaced. Matching those bricks ain’t gonna be cheap. And it’s going to take twice as much time to git ‘er done than it would have, had Steve not chosen to  walk out in the middle of everything.

Seriously, Dude. Get your shit together. Crying ain’t going to solve anything. Neither will walking out without warning when there’s a job to finish.

The corner of my eye was itchy, so I rubbed it with the back of my wrist. It came away wet. I still can’t believe he stuck me with all this work, the bastard. Now I’m going to have to go through the interview process all over again. It’s hard enough to find a skilled workman who will stick around long enough to do the job–it’s even harder to find a man willing to work for me.

I blinked furiously, hoping to clear the moisture from my eyes before anyone noticed. Crying is bad for business. I couldn’t afford to let anyone see. I picked up my trowel and set to work on the task at hand, mentally reviewing all the places where I would need to post that help wanted ad. Good help is so hard to find.

*************************FIRST EDITING PASS*************************

Even editors need editors whenever they write something. For this exercise, I slipped into present tense whenever my character was thinking, but my character was narrating in past tense. It didn’t feel right. It was too confusing. And Shannon C. confirmed in her comment what I already knew in my gut, but I was too close to the piece I had written to see the issue as clearly as she did. This is a perfect example of the value that is inherent in having a second set of eyes review what has been written. Below is the edited version of my post from above, for your reading pleasure:

Shuffle, scrape. Shuffle, scrape.

The footsteps of the old guy in front of me were really getting on my nerves. Couldn’t he pick up his feet when he walked? Sure, the paving stones had gaps between them, but they were flat and smooth for the most part. Except for that one spot they asked me to repair, and the section beside the walk that those idiots let go for far too long before calling me to work my magic.

Not that I really cared for this type of job. I have always preferred wood. None of this fucking tile crap.

I’d send Steve to work on shit like this–except he up and walked off the job last Saturday. No notice, no warning, just looked at me accusing-like with big, round eyes when I asked him what he was thinking to say what he said to the lady on Hillgate Avenue. Seriously, what was he thinking? I had to field a call from her after he was done with her, in tears because Steve said the job was going to take twice as long and cost twice as much as the original estimate we gave her. I had to hurry up and tell her we’d do it at what we’d quoted her, in order to get her to stop crying.

I’ve tried to explain, over and over again, how critical it is to break it to ’em nice and gentle. “Treat ’em like your little sister,” I always say, hoping they’ll catch the hint and get with the program. Every assistant I’ve ever had never quite seems to get it, though. Somehow, something always ends up going wrong, and I’m left to pick up the pieces.

Now I would get to work this job on top of all the others. Didn’t matter that he was right–the whole section needed to be torn out and replaced. Matching those bricks weren’t gonna be cheap. And it was gonna take twice as much time to git ‘er done than it would’ve, had Steve not chosen to walk out in the middle of everything.

Seriously, Dude. Get your shit together. Crying wouldn’t solve anything. Neither would walking out without warning when there was a job to finish.

The corner of my eye was itchy, so I rubbed it with the back of my wrist. It came away wet. I still couldn’t believe he stuck me with all this work, the bastard. Now I’d have to go through the interview process all over again. It’s hard enough to find a skilled workman who will stick around long enough to do the job–it’s even harder to find a man willing to work for me.

I blinked furiously, hoping to clear the moisture from my eyes before anyone noticed. Crying is bad for business. I couldn’t afford to let anyone see. I picked up my trowel and set to work on the task at hand, mentally reviewing all the places where I would need to post that help wanted ad.

Good help is so hard to find.

Now it’s your turn. Leave a comment or send me a message to give feedback. Check out the writing challenge for yourself if you are curious to see how different individuals have approached the same material, or if you would also like to participate.

Until the next time…