Testing Turnips
There was a satisfying thunk against the far wall.
"Beat that."
The guy to whom this was directed looked up incredulously from what he was doing. "This isn't a competition, this is serious business."
"Be that as it may, I bet you can't beat that." She put her hands on her hips in that way she had. With a flourish.
"I'm not here for competing with you. I just want to do my job and make sure no one gets hurt." He gestured at the wall at that last sentence, and the pasty whitish mush on his hands was flung a little way down the giant hall and made little schlurping sounds on the smooth tile floor. He flinched for a second when a dollop looked like it was headed towards her left shoe, a workman-like black boot, shined to near luminescence, as per company regulations.
She simply followed the little droplet of mush as it hit the floor and skidded just past her foot. When it had come to a complete stop she gave a grin that only women can give -- one that said, "I may be smiling and looking cute, but there's a five in seven chance I'll kill you before this is all over." This look is the sole piece of evidence a recent article in the New England Journal of Medicine used to link women as having descended, at least partly, from praying mantises.
"Oh, all right." He heaved himself up from his knees, clutching a couple fresh turnips. With a small running start, he windmilled his arms and launched first the one in his right hand, and soon afterwards the one in his left. They sailed down the length of the hall, getting great height, and smashed, one after the other, into the base of the wall. The woman gave a satisfied smirk.
The man came on over the loudspeaker, "Okay, that's enough, thanks." And, in a softer voice, as though he was speaking to someone else in the booth high above the working floor, "That shipment of turnips can go. They pass."
disclaimer:
Enjoy this week's short and sweet one. Oddly enough, this short and sweet one's content nearly matches the title. Which may be a first (or possibly second) for us. Hooray for us!
We'll see you next week, when most of our staff will have returned from scouting out the new Sane Magazine office locations.
In the meantime...
Buy Something:
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A Book: Fenway Fiction
See you next week.
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