Random 10 Story: Lost Job


Before Nate or Billy realized where he was, the four year old hurricane had leaped from the table to the floor and sprinted past Nate, who was laying out his seventh game of solitaire, and with arms spread wide soared off to the uncharted wilderness of the living room, oblivious to the newly overturned pile of cards he left behind him. Nate began reordering the cards into a neat stack, shot Billy a dirty look and asked if he could leave.

“No, man. You have to stay.” Billy pleaded, “You need this money, and it’s hard enough to convince people to hire you in the first place, let alone re-elect the deadbeat moron who left in the middle of the morning while he was supposed to be watching their darling.”

On cue, the darling disaster came hurtling back through the dining room. He had picked up a candlestick and was using it as a sword to torment his supposed caretakers. He stopped in the middle of the room, where the sunlight fell through the window. Posing in the golden section of the room, candlestick raised, he prepared to launch into his familiar refrain.


And he was off.

“Next time you call and say ‘meet me in the morning’, I’m going back to bed.” Nate shook his head and returned to the card game. Billy was looking over his shoulder, about to point out the red eight he could play on a black nine, when a horrific crash came from the living room. Nate actually got there first, and in a horrified whisper informed Billy, “We’ve got a bleeder.”

Really it was an almost insignificant cut to the forehead, but it was enough that it required a few minutes of pressure with a towel to stop the blood. Nate did not take this well. “Thanks for setting up this job, this is going to work out just great! Remind me never to have you set me up on a blind date, I’d probably end up with a hooker with a penis!” With the flow of blood stopped, the child rocketed away from Billy, chanting a new favorite phrase, “Hooker with a penis! Hooker with a penis! Hooker with a penis!”

This was the scene the parents came home to, their blood-smeared darling running around looking like he survived an attack by an axe-murderer, shouting a borderline obscene phrase as he trotted from room to room. Just to get the whole picture, to really bring it on home; occasionally he would pass by a shellshocked duo of would-be babysitters holding the couple’s best towels soaked in their child’s blood.

Lectures ensued. Blah, blah, blah, we put our trust in you, blah, blah, blah. Nate would later say he would rather eat a sandwich of razor blades than go back into that house. Fortunately, he never had to.

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