“Trace, I just don’t have sympathy for anyone complaining that they don’t like their job. A lot of people don’t like their jobs.”
“You’ve been unemployed for too long.”
“No shit.”
“Look, I know a lot of people don’t like their goddamn jobs but they still manage to get out of bed in the morning and at least fake it. It’s a little different when –”
“Ahh, the plight of the over taxed creative mind.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t fit you well.”
“I’m sorry. Are you going to order another drink?”
“Yeah. Can you do me a favor this afternoon?”
“Mmm-Hmmm. What d’you need?”
“My hands are all fucked up from psoriasis today. Can you swing by the hotel and make my bed and maybe wash some dishes? I’ll give you twenty bucks.”
“You don’t have to pay me. But why don’t you just take the Do Not Disturb sign off the door and let the maids in?”
“That’s what I’ve been getting at. I can’t do that. I took on this stupid fucking job because two of my magazine assignments got bumped. I know, I know, I know, you don’t want to hear me complaining about work when you can’t find any but this is a really fucked up job, the kind of work I promised myself I wouldn’t do anymore.”
“Okay …”
“My room is full of sex toys. About sixty packaged pieces. Vibrators, dildos, lotions, gels, you name it, I’ve got it. It looks like a goddamn sex shop blew up in there and there’s simply no room to store it all. The shit is just laying out in the open until I figure out what to do with it. I’m writing an infomercial for New Vibrations. It’s a quick thousand bucks.”
“And you have the sex toys why?”
“They sent over five boxes of their product.”
“Is this considered a job perk?”
“If I was a chick, yeah.”
“So, what’s the infomercial all about?”
“The premise is teaching potential or existing clerks in retail stores everything they need to know to successfully sell adult toys to customers.”
“You ever work in an adult store?”
“Of course not. But I met with the marketing director of the company – he’s the one who brought all the toys over to my place this morning – and I have pages and pages of notes and a pretty good outline. All I have to do really is script it.”
“Doesn’t sound that difficult.”
“It shouldn’t be. But it will be.”
“Why?”
“Because I burned out writing this shit years ago. That’s why I don’t do it anymore.”
“But you’re doing it again.”
“I need the money.”
“You’re taking a wrong turn again, Trace.”
“No shit. Can you do me one more favor?”
“What?”
“I need to swing by the Ninety-Nine Cents Store on the way back to the hotel.”
“What for?”
“Batteries. They didn’t bring any goddamn batteries.”
[...] Seriously, guys and gals, go read these short stories. Today’s is here, and the entire Trace archive is here. They are great entertainment, and as an added bonus, Rodger has let the cat out of the bag – Trace is Rodger, to some extent. That makes the stories even better, from my perspective…they are a window into how Rodger’s brain works, and I love finding stuff like that from a blogger. I don’t do nearly enough of it for you, dear readers, but then again, I want you to come back here on occasion, not run screaming to another corner of the ’sphere. [...]
That picture looks like one of my kid’s light sabers. Gives a whole new meaning to “May the force be with you.”
Holy crap. Do you still have fixe boxes of sec toys? Do you know how much those things cost? Can I have some, if you don’t want them?
Oh, that’s a great ending, too. But I got distracted by the boxes of toys. Sorry.
Ahem. Assuming this wasn’t like last year or something, too. It’s too bad we don’t live closer, RJ… our schedules are probably pretty similar.
[...] Previously in this series: Trace in Toyland and The Rum Diary. [...]
[...] Further Reading: Trace in Toyland [...]