These are good, Sail, but they are making the penguin-shaped cookie jar in my kitchen a little nervous.

Hee. So sorry. I just picked an image and stuck with it. That way, you can either look at all three as a connected triptych or you can hold each one individually with a, just happens to be a penguin shaped, cookie jar. I promise, no penguin shaped cookie jars were harmed in the making of these drabbles.

Sail, you're on fire! More meetings, I say!

And now for something completely different...

"Cookie jar"

Her therapist claims she has impulse control issues. She doesn’t argue the point, same way she wouldn’t argue where the sun rises or the utility of a little black dress.

Once she wants, she doesn’t like to wait to have. Life’s too short, she thinks, admiring the view as the new guy walks out of her office, cheap suit too loose, trousers too long. He’s young; it’s probably his first.

When O’Brien catches them, she just smiles, tucks the kid back into his pants. It won’t be the last time she gets caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

Oh, I like that Amy. I'm always so literal, my cookie jars are never anything but cookie jars. Yours sound like so much more fun.

I like your two Sail Aweigh, and Amy's as well. I appreciate Sox's compliment, but comparisons in a context like this make me nervous - especially since I did the single sentence joke drabble cause I have been blocked on real drabbles for months. (Probably because I'm in a heavy round of self-editing right now. You may notice that the drabble was really just an exaggeration of a personal writing flaw I have to really watch out for.) I'd be flattered if a teacher wanted to use it to teach about run on sentences.

You may notice that the drabble was really just an exaggeration of a personal writing flaw I have to really watch out for

some call it a flaw. Faulkner called it money in the bank.

I love all of these. And drabbles are great for getting the lead out... no matter how you approach them.

Amy - I read yours the second time as an internal narrator ... not sure why - but it's a great voice.

I'm getting some feedback on my writing. Most of it is great, but one piece of advice really sounds wrong to my ear - involving dangling objects. But maybe my adviser is right. Here is an example, the first two sentences of a paragraph:

Such subsidies must be managed carefully. For example, they should only be paid if the job is done for a reasonable price.

Her response is "They who?". She wants me to say "subsidies" again. "For example, subsidies should..."

My feeling is:

1) "subsidies" is the only object that "they" could refer to. Therefore, not a dangling object - and clear to the reader.

2) Saying "subsidies" again in a sentence immediately following its use is repetitious. It makes what is already not the most exciting paragraph excruciatingly dull. A "dangling object" is the better choice.

So, am I right on this? Or is the use of objects in this way a bad habit I need to get over? (I tend to do stuff like this as paragraph transitions too.)

I kind of agree with her, though I think the construction of the whole thing could be streamlined.

I agree the whole thing needs streamlining. But having two opinions from people I respect convinces me she is right.

Oh well, having too high an opinion of my dangling objects is probably a natural male tendency.

Not a drabble, a potential essay for the CS book:

Battle Not With Monsters...

I've stated elsewhere that nothing will encourage your latent misanthropy like working customer service. And recently I had an experience that showed me that not only was what I said true, but I was not immune...in fact, had gone so deeply into misanthropy that I realized I am a hateful, mean-spirited person. I didn't like myself anymore. Not a bit.

While I was working at Human Resources Company, a company that handles payroll and benefit administration for a large number of other, small to medium sized companies, a lady called. She was older, as evidenced by the quaver in her voice, her painful unfamiliarity with the workings of the modern world...you get the idea.

Her problem was this: She had a check in her hand that she couldn't deposit or cash. The reason she had a check in her hand that she couldn't deposit or cash was because it was a payroll check made out to her son....who had died a couple months ago.

I coldly noted these facts as she spoke. I didn't notice that her voice was choked with tears, that she was frightened and frustrated and sad. In fact, as she was telling me her woes I was completing another task, jotting down notes on her phone call and thinking three steps ahead as to who would best help her out with this.

(In my defense, this was procedure, the finding who could help her best. This was a payroll issue and I was not in payroll. I was not qualified to help her, and indeed had no idea how to help her.)

The problem was compounded by the fact that the check was a few months old. Not only had he received the check before he died and not had a chance to deposit it, it wasn't found 'til a couple weeks after he died and, of course, was now made out to a dead man.

Older people tend to ramble, especially when frightened and frustrated and sad. But I had become hardened and bitter; so when she drifted off the immediate topic and into why she needed the money, i.e. to pay for her poor son's funeral expenses, I cut her off with a curt "Yes, ma'am. May I put you on hold?"

I reached payroll and related the problem to a very nice woman there who was immediately sympathetic. "Oh, that poor woman!" she said. "Transfer her over, we'll find a way to get her her money."

So I did. I transferred the call and turned back to the task I had been working on...

...and wondered why my stomach hurt.

I thought back on the call. She had been a perfectly nice old lady. She hadn't yelled, or called me names...why did my stomach hurt?

She was a perfectly nice old lady.

I was a shithead.

And that's why my stomach hurt.

Upon reviewing my feelings about the call I realized I had not been sympathetic. I had not been perfectly nice. I was impatient, rushed, unsympathetic, aggravated at her not being concise and staying on topic.

How would I have felt had the situation been reversed? In a cold and lonely time, how would I have felt if someone had acted the way I did? Colder and lonelier, that's how. This jerkoff on the phone was further proof that the world was a chilly, uncaring place and my pain was a brief, quiet note in a symphony of agony. Nobody cared about my little note of pain. And the symphony had become so prevalent that it was background noise...and nobody cared about the symphony either.

I was part of the problem.

I was a fucking scumbag.

I need to get out.

I smoked a cigarette and tried not to curse myself too much. I hadn't been rude, merely curt. I hadn't been dismissive of her problem, I had helped to solve it, right?

No. I had been rude. I had been dismissive.

Why?

Because it had been a rough day? Because I had had to deal with idiot after idiot, asshole after asshole, repetitive problems, repetitive whiners...because I hated my job and the business it was in and the people it dealt with and the whole human race and I hated myself.

Was I always like this? No. And, not to shift the blame entirely, but working customer service (continued...)