This is a curious one- it is the final, rather silly product of a process we undertook in a writing workshop, which I strongly suggest you try with people! We began by sharing 3 sentence stories with one another: beginning, middle, end. The next person took it (this is with few to no “to be” verbs, importantly**) and turned 3 into 9, starting and finishing at the same topical end points of the initial three. The following person (me…) then turned 9 into 27, fittingly, and the two initial endpoints were quite spectacularly breached. It is honestly just comedic, but this process, taken more seriously, is an excellent way to learn:
I folded tax returns into halves and violently shoved them in the paper shredder for no discernible reason other than that I could, but I nearly got sucked in to the damned thing from the violent rapping on the window a few inches behind me. Expecting at this point nothing less than a flash repelling mob performance from the great Mormon Tabernacle Choir itself, I crammed all of the papers into the machine and jostled myself around, and saw the upper torso of Jim from the marketing department lifting itself over the lip of the outer windowsill. For Pete’s sake, I traced a wire cable attached to his harness across the building gap, over the intersection and 21st street, around a billboard, all the way to a gaping hole in the side of an apartment building several blocks away! Upon realizing this I swung open the second story window (probably too quickly for his liking) and pulled him in, but boy did he weigh a lot. I had figured, that at most he had 30 pounds on me, but frankly I didn’t expect a 100-pound lead. To my surprise, another pair of arms emerged around his neck, one a little lower, handcuffed to his right arm. “What the hell?” I exclaimed, dragging Jim and the random Vietnamese woman into the second floor copier room. I panted and sat down to fan myself. “What up, dude?” he said, the woman sort of smiling through me, bearing a smile less more than a few teeth. Totally fazed, I let them carry out their business immediately, the 500-yard zip line fresh on my mind.
Later, around lunch, Jim walked by me as I shredded more paper, and I couldn’t help but notice the shady, half-naked Vietnamese lady fixed to his side like a post-it note. Jim simply winked at me, and removed his clothing, which I took in the same manner as before: I fled the scene with all haste. By noon, I had avoided them well, until I saw them half-sprinting, half-hobbling towards me through the parking lot as I went to lunch at the Wong-Fu-King Chinese Restaurant a block away. Save the many looks I received for the half-nakedness of my friends in tow, we eventually managed to secure a table inside the Wong-Fu-King Chinese Restaurant by bribing the hostess with Jim’s half-eaten bag of Doritos and a jar of Grey Poupon. What else might have fatted her fancy?
Midway into the meal, the Vietnamese wonder woman hastily grabbed a bowl of steamed vegetables from the center of the table, and flung them at Donnie, another co-worker who had joined us. No one exchanged words; no one likes Donnie anyway, so no one remarked on his standing up, kicking a flowerpot into the Fishpond, and karate chopping the hostess’ podium in half, all while swearing in some foreign language only he understood- typical Donnie.
Jim ordered another round of Mai Tai’s for the table, which honestly doesn’t make much sense given the time of day. No one goes to the Wong-Fu-King Chinese Restaurant to get drunk with Vietnamese Prostitutes at high noon. Well, Donnie might, actually. The ole Vietnamese prostitute with the absence of teeth ordered Lo Mein- big mistake. Three minutes later, Jim had fumbled it onto her glow-up, spotted, leather-infused bra. He responded to her complaints with, “Well, I’m not the one who thought deep-throating the key would be kinky!” to which I chirped, “It would be klinky.” No one laughed. The manger meandered over at the sound of some of these remarks, clearly enraged by Donnie’s recent hurricane of destruction, too. He told us bluntly, “I think you folks are in the Wong-Fu-King Restaurant.” We didn’t need a reaffirmation. Time to leave.