[stylist] Flash fiction

[Atty Rose]

I joined the Daily Science Ficion newsletter and am working on a story for 
it. I've discovered that writing flash fiction is a great exercise in being 
concise.

I'm going to try and get it under 500 words, which for a novelist is 
sweating it out. LOL

If it is worthy enough I shall share it here.

Prosperity to all,

Atty

----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Chris Kuell" <ckuell at comcast.net>
To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Sent: Friday, March 21, 2014 10:02 AM
Subject: [stylist] to tell or not to tell


>a 1700 word story loosely related to the recent discussions on this list.
>
>
> Maybe Next Time
>
> Chris Kuell
>
> The pleasant receptionist tapped lightly three times on the office door, 
> opened it a few inches and said, "Excuse me, Mrs. Carlisle. Your nine 
> o'clock interview, Robin Simms, is here."
>
> Robin detected no response from within the office, but the receptionist 
> told her to go on in.
> "Thank you," Robin replied, and then said in a lower voice, "Forward."
> A few steps inside the small room, Robin stopped next to a large desk. 
> Taking a deep breath, she smiled and said, "Hello, I'm Robin Simms."
>
> No sound indicated the presence of Mrs. Carlisle. Robin subconsciously 
> checked the top buttons on her blouse. All OK.  Then she ran her fingers 
> through her hair, which seemed perfectly in place.
> "Hello?" she tried again.
>
> A pensive, two-pack a day voice a few feet in front of her said, "I'm 
> Nancy Carlisle."
>
> Robin stepped forward, hitting her thigh lightly on the wooden desk. She 
> put out her hand and Nancy Carlisle accepted it weakly, as if touching a 
> dead fish. An awkward few seconds followed.
>
> Robin said, "Pleasure to meet you." In a lower voice, she said, "Sid, 
> chair."
> Her dog walked her two feet to the left and stopped. Robin's probing 
> fingertips encountered the rough cloth of an office chair. She sat while 
> commanding Sid to lay down, and pressed her skirt neatly across her lap.
>
> Another painful pause ensued. The tick, tick, tick of a clock was clearly 
> audible.
>
> "Are you blind?" asked Mrs. Carlisle. The woman's voice was on the verge 
> of incredulity.
>
> "Yes I am," Robin answered matter-of-factly.
>
> "You didn't say in your cover letter or resume that you were blind."
>
> Now the tone was moving towards aggressive. Less than sixty seconds, Robin 
> thought, a new world record.
>
> "I didn't mention I was five foot four, or a Methodist either. With only 
> one page, I prefer to just list my skills and qualifications."
> The words spilled out before Robin could stop them. She clamped her teeth 
> shut to extinguish any more sarcastic comments.
>
> "Well, don't you think it would be appropriate?" Mrs. Carlisle spat back 
> at her. "Not only have you caught me unprepared, I just, ahh, we, ahh, 
> don't have any jobs here that would be appropriate for a, ah, visually 
> handicapped person."
>
> The old human resources training was kicking in, ever careful to be 
> politically correct.
> Robin unclenched her jaw and said, "I'm blind. Let's just say it like it 
> is. I apologize for catching you off guard, it wasn't my intent to put you 
> off balance. If you have my resume, you can see that I have a perfect 
> background for the financial analyst position you advertised in the paper. 
> My blindness is not an issue; my skills and work ethic are."
> She took a breath, hoping that had come out all right.
>
> "Is that a guide dog?"
>
> Oh boy, here we go with the amazing dog questions. Let's change the topic 
> from my skills to the puppy.
>
> "Yes, this is Sid. He helps me get around."
>
> "Where did you get him--one of them guide dog schools?"
>
> At least the woman was curious. Maybe things would lighten up and then 
> they could proceed.
>
> "Yes, I got him at a school in New York," Robin replied.
>
> "How much did he cost?"
>
> Well, she scores two points for directness.
>
> "I didn't have to pay for him. The school has endowments and grants to pay 
> for the dogs and training. From what I understand, they cost about twenty 
> thousand dollars."
>
> "Tax payers money?" Mrs. Carlisle snorted, followed by a short rumbling 
> cough.
>
> Robin didn't take the bait. She said, "I don't know," and left it at that.
>
> Another awkward pause filled the room with tension. Robin felt a droplet 
> of perspiration rolling down her back. It was hot in this suit. This 
> wasn't going well, and part of her just wanted to runaway. Yet, she really 
> needed this job, hell, any job at this point. This one was perfect though. 
> The position was for an assistant financial analyst, for which Robin was 
> actually over qualified. She had a bachelors degree in business, with a 
> minor in accounting. Their office was only a block from the bus line, so 
> at least transportation would be manageable. She crossed her fingers, 
> which were folded in her lap, and silently prayed the interview would 
> improve.
>
> A rustling of papers came from Mrs. Carlisle's desk. More silence, tick, 
> tick, tick.
> "Who did your resume for you?"
>
> Irritation, like tinder as it first begins to ignite, began to burn inside 
> Robin.
> "I did it myself."
>
> "How? Shouldn't it be in Braille or something?"
>
> Robin gave a short chuckle, her turn to be amazed.  "I have a computer 
> equipped with speech software at home. It allows me to do word processing, 
> surf the Internet, use spreadsheet programs--most anything a sighted 
> person could do."
>
> More shuffling of papers. Sid got up, panting and wagging into Robin's 
> leg, indicating that he had to go. Oh, not now, Robin thought. Soft but 
> firm she commanded, "Sid, down." The obedient lab complied.
>
> "I'm impressed to see that you graduated college Ms. Simms, and I'm all in 
> favor of the disadvantaged matriculating into society. I'm sure you are an 
> intelligent woman. But realistically, this is a small firm, and each of 
> our employees is expected to contribute a hundred and ten percent. We 
> don't have the time or the manpower to have people helping you to do 
> whatever amount of work you might be able to accomplish."
>
> With those words, despair settled in on the young blind woman. That was 
> it, she had no hope. She was being dismissed, without an ounce of 
> consideration. This whole trip was going to be a waste of time.
>
> "Listen, Mrs. Carlisle. I graduated from college with a 3.6 GPA. All 
> regular classes, I didn't get any breaks. I've interned in the finance 
> department at Shultz and Sons for six months, and they will give me a 
> glowing recommendation. I have great computer skills, I won't need anyone 
> to help me. If I get this job, I can get adaptive computer software and 
> training in where things and how things are done. It won't take much, I 
> can learn everything in no time." Robin felt like her voice was a little 
> more pleading toward the end than she would have wished.
>
> "Who's going to take you to the bathroom?" Mrs. Carlisle asked.
>
> Robin sat, completely dumbfounded. Mrs. Carlisle couldn't have shocked her 
> any more if she said she was the love child of Elvis. Was this for real? 
> Do people like this really exist in the world? Unfortunately, Robin knew 
> all too well they did.
>
> "I've been going to the bathroom without any help since I was three. Who 
> helps you?" Robin wished she could see the agitation that she could sense 
> in Mrs. Carlisle's face.
>
> Mrs. Carlisle, however, was a trained professional and wasn't about to let 
> this blind woman get the better of her. She moved on.
>
> "We have our own computers here, with special software. What makes you 
> think your computer will work with it?" Her tone was as flat and cold as a 
> parking lot in winter.
>
> "I would use your computers, equipped with speech software either provided 
> by the state, your company or me. The software might have to be customized 
> to work with your programs, but if you are using either Axapta or 
> Navision, I already have the scripts and could be working in a few hours."
> These were the programs Robin used at Shultz. Amy Lopez, the woman that 
> installed JAWS and updated the appropriate scripts on her computer for her 
> internship could also do it here.
>
> Without losing a stride, the interviewer came in with her next question. 
> "How you going to read mail and paperwork?"
>
> Robin couldn't tell for sure, but she imagined Mrs. Carlisle was sneering.
> Sid was up again, rubbing against her and wiggling his backside. Robin 
> patted him on the head and said, "Sit for a little while longer boy, good 
> boy." This was not the time for him to "Park". He'd just have to hold it.
>
> She focused her attention on the hopeless Mrs. Carlisle.
> "That depends. Of course, e mail is a great medium for a blind person, and 
> as an added benefit it saves paper."
>
> A noticeable exhale came from Mrs. Carlisle, but Robin continued.
> "Printed text can usually be scanned, and then I can use the computer to 
> read it. I have a PDA with speech for my personal notes, and I can use 
> Braille for a variety of other note taking tasks."
>
> "I suppose that is all well and good," Mrs. Carlisle interrupted, "but 
> what about a handwritten memo? What if I write you a note to redo the 
> Smith calculations for 1994? How could you read it?"
>
> Now the bitch was just being confrontational. "You wouldn't have to leave 
> me a note. You could send me an e mail, or better yet, just leave me a 
> phone mail. It's not a problem that is insurmountable."
>
> Mrs. Carlisle made some sort of exasperated sound, which was followed by 
> three light knocks on the closed office door. It opened, and a cheery 
> voice said, "Mrs. Carlisle, Mr. Pastor needs to see you in the managers 
> meeting. He said it was important."
>
> Without excusing herself, or even acknowledging the existence of the 
> person in her office, Mrs. Carlisle got up from her desk and scurried out 
> the door.
>
> Robin was overcome with a feeling of depression and insignificance. This 
> was painful, and there was no point in continuing the charade. She got out 
> of her chair, and on an impulse reached out and felt the cool, smooth 
> surface of Nancy Carlisle's desk. She tapped it, a heavy, solid sound. 
> Feeling like a kid with their hand in the cookie jar, Robin walked around 
> the desk and sat in the comfy leather high backed chair.  She leaned 
> forward and ran her fingertips over the blotter, keyboard, Rolodex and 
> flat screen monitor. How could an idiot like Nancy Carlisle ever get such 
> a magnificent desk? What could she possibly do any better than Robin could 
> do, except see? And what gave her the right to treat Robin with such 
> disrespect, like a turd on the sidewalk?
>
> A devious smile crept across Robin's face.
> "Sid, come," she said. "Park."
>
> A minute later, Robin bid the friendly receptionist a good day as she left 
> the front of the building. What she had hoped would be her first real job 
> wasn't going to be happening here. Oh, well, she thought. Maybe next time.
>
>
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