100 Word Stories

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Thirty-Nine, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

The topic this week was Day Job!

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

Tony

My eyes have become bloodshot staring at this living puzzle. Shift a room a couple of inches and the user’s psychological state shifts too. Enclose a space too much and the boss gets offended. Open it up and there’s a looming Orwellian/Hawthorne effect. Jesus, this office is too small to be driving me this crazy!

At least I don’t design homes. If a closet were too deep, the bathroom might not have a bath. Expand the size of the bathroom, and you’d shrink the living room. Or kitchen. Or bedroom!

I’d be too nervous to make changes. Way too nervous

Tom

My day job is playing Dr. Frank-N-Furter in a Furbee bar in mythic Connecticut. A happy tree friends version of Rocky Horror Picture Show. It’s really hot, not sexual, its damn toasty wearing a corset over a chimmunck suit. I truly believe the two greatest words in the English language are “Musical Theater” It’s a bit of a drag that the pay doesn’t quite meet the bills. Thank god for my night job in The City. Senior Account for Goldman Sack lets me channel that wild and untamed thing. Don’t feel it be it. Just be it and steel it

Zackmann

Say that employment office you sent me to isn’t a job office anymore. It has been massage
parlor for over two weeks now. When the clerk asked me why I was there she wasn’t really
listening. I said I was looking for a day job since I am a writer and everyone who reads my work
tells me to keep my day job. Yes, it was one of those massage parlors. Of course I enjoyed it
but I would have really liked to have had a massage. She said “Hey, Writer Guy come back for
the Happy Ending”.

AM Earley

Claire really liked her day job. Oh sure she had to make her deliveries between midnight and eight o’clock, but she saw more morning hours than office workers.

She was liked so much, that one of her clients requested that only she delivered to them. Even over the guys who have been there for decades. She finally asked the scientist who always received that cargo why they preferred her.

“The live specimens always arrived calm when it is you driving.”

“Well,” Claire thought, “if they are calm enough that I’ve never known they were alive, I’m going to continue singing every song in my I-pod.”

Steven the Nuclear Man

I guess it sounds easy. Maybe even fun. But it’s not. I can’t do
the simplest chores – fill out your check BEFORE the cashier’s done,
you douchebag!

I’m always busy. Hey – you! You park like a douche!

And I have to explain my job – no, ma’am, it’s not sexist because
douching was developed by our patriarchal culture. Douches aren’t
healthy for women.

Some days, I wish I could just make widgets all day.

“Quit bitching about your job! You’re a douche!”

You’re a douche!

At least I have job security.

TJ

Frank made a donut. Jen grabbed it on her way to the office, where she
designed a luggage rack on a 4×4. Mark dropped some mail off at her
workstation and turned up his headphones. He was listening to Wendy
argue with Bill on the radio, powered by a wind turbine designed by
Annie and built by Warren, which Rachel had negotiated the easement for
on Harold’s farm. Harold reworked his wheat field to accommodate it
and Jake took his harvest into town. Jane milled his flour and bagged up
some of it for Frank, who made … another donut.

Norval Joe

The masked crime fighter crouched atop the bank in the moonless dark.
He watched the bank robbers back thier unmarked van up to the glass doors of the entrance.
By day, he was an unassuming Pest Control Agent.
As the would be criminals gathered and placed the explosive charge on the door, he dropped lightly onto one of them and clung tightly. One by one, the remaining three tried to pull Flypaper Man from their accomplice and joined him in his sticky fate.
Eventually a policeman arrested the clump of men and carefully peeled each criminal from the super hero.

Katwood

Most people were relieved when the governments crawled out of their bunkers and reclaimed the world. Not me. While the governments planned and strategized, I grew up in a world where fighting zombies was a given. Now, there are “too many” zombie hunters. All the agencies say they can only have “mentally stable” people in their employment. Stability doesn’t matter, killing zombies matters. I can kill more zombies in a day than those buffoons could in a week. Yet I’m stuck taking out the trash as a day job, only being able to kill zombies in my off hours. Idiots.

Planet Z

My day job was to keep the world from blowing up.

I managed the antimatter flow at New Edison Power.

The plasma ducts vibrated in unusual harmonies, and I recorded them.

My night job is with the radio station.

You’ve heard of The Doctor Power Hour?

I’m Doctor Power.

I mix my recordings, weaving the whistles of release valves and other generator sounds into trance music.

The audience grew quickly, and I started doing weekend concerts to hundreds… thousands…

Instead of keeping it safe, I tuned the Generator for music.

It exploded.

Oh well. I still have my night gig.

Weekly Challenge 239 – Day Job