Story 485: When Meet-Cute Fails

(In a café, Protagonist 1 and Protagonist 2 sit at a table having hot cocoa)

Protagonist 1: (Smacks lips after an especially satisfying slurp) You know something?  I wanna have a meet-cute.

Protagonist 2: (Pauses before drinking) That came out of nowhere – what brought this on?

Protagonist 1: Well, my life is boring for one thing.  I go to work, do the same thing for more than a third of the day, deal with the same people and the same garbage, squeeze in errands, come home, eat the same bad dinner, watch the same meaningless shows, go to sleep way too late, repeat.  And weekends are extended nights.  And sometimes I meet up with you like this, but even that’s routine.  It’s boring!

Protagonist 2: Gee, thanks.  So what’s the other thing?

Protagonist 1: What?  Oh, no, that pretty much covers it.  (Slurps again)

Protagonist 2: And you think meeting some stranger’ll liven up your life, is that it?

Protagonist 1: Not just “some stranger”: THE ONE.

Protagonist 2: Yeech.

Protagonist 1: And I want it to be a meet-cute, so that way I’ll know it’s for real, and it’ll be so exciting and special, and my life’ll finally starting being awesome!

Protagonist 2: I repeat: yeech.  Maybe it’s fun to watch in movies and TV, but that’s all scripted – things never actually happen that way in real life.

Protagonist 1: Well, I’m just going to have to make it happen then, won’t I?  Starting with…. (Looks around the café until settling at the counter) that barista.

Protagonist 2: (As Protagonist 1 stands) Oh no, leave that poor person alone, don’t you remember when we worked in retail?  No one there really wants to talk to the customers!

Protagonist 1: Nonsense!  Some of them thrive on the interaction, and this one looks lonely.  (Walks to the counter)

Protagonist 2: (Mutters into the cocoa cup) Looks disgusted with life to me.

Protagonist 1: (To Barista, who is wiping down the counter) Hi there!

Barista: (Pauses in wiping and stares at Protagonist 1 with blank eyes) How can I help you?

Protagonist 1: (Leans on the counter in an attempt to be flirty; Barista stares at the spot being leaned on, which had been cleaned two seconds earlier) I just wanted to say, you made an absolutely delicious cup of cocoa.  You’re really good at the culinary arts, you know that?

Barista: (Returns to wiping, more vigorously than before) Thanks, but I didn’t make your drink; I was ringing up orders for the past hour while the others made the drinks, warmed up the sandwiches, baked the cookies, heated the soup –

Protagonist 1: (Stands up straight again) Oh, got it.

Barista: (Wipes harder, speaking to the counter) – sliced the bagels, toasted the bagels, buttered the bagels, refilled the milk, restocked the coffee, received the deliveries, cleaned the machines, mopped the floor –

Protagonist 1: (Having returned to the table and sat down across from Protagonist 2 again) Well, that was a bust.

Barista: (Going into the kitchen) – day in, day out –

Protagonist 2: Told you.  You can’t really form a sincere connection with someone in customer service while they’re working; they’re already at a disadvantage since they’re being paid to fulfill your every whim anyway.

Protagonist 1: Don’t make it gross.  It’s fine, I’ll think of something.

Protagonist 2: Whatever – have fun while I sit this out.

 THE NEXT DAY

(On a highway, Protagonist 1 drives to work)

Protagonist 1: (Singing the wrong lyrics while the radio plays) <And I, I don’t want to keep doooooing this, anymooooooore!!!!  Why – >  WHOA!  (Slams on the brakes when the car in front stops short, and is rear-ended by the car in back) Aw, nuts!  (Turns back sharply and sees a subjectively attractive driver in the other car, then signals to pull over) Ooh-ooh, this may be it!  (Pulls onto the shoulder, then tries to subtly fix hair in the rearview mirror and check breath as the other driver also pulls over, exits the car, and walks to Protagonist 1’s door) Stay calm, be cool, let the Meet-Cute commence!  “So sorry, that was entirely my fault” – “Oh no really, it was my fault, let me take you out to dinner to make up for it” – (Lowers window as Driver arrives) Hi there, so –

Driver: What’s the big idea, slamming on your brakes like that?!  I’m gonna sue you for negligent driving and attempted vehicular homicide; you better have insurance but I bet someone like you doesn’t, you irresponsible, stupid –

Protagonist 1: You obviously were tailgating me and that car over there is a witness.  (Driver turns to see a third car had pulled up next to them; the occupants wave at the other two, and Protagonist 1 waves back)

Driver: (Turns back to Protagonist 1) I –

Protagonist 1: (Takes out a phone) I suggest you get back in your car and wait for the police to arrive – I doubt there’s any real damage to either of our cars; my insurance at least will cover it; and then we’ll be on our way.

Driver: You –

Protagonist 1: And the helpful witnesses here are blocking you in, so don’t even think about leaving if, for some reason, you don’t have insurance.

Driver: (Face twitches a bit) I’m going back to the car.  (Returns to the car and collapses on the steering wheel to weep)

Protagonist 1: (Waiting while the phone rings) Well that was certainly a Meet-Ugly.  (Gives a thumbs-up to the other car’s occupants, who thumbs-up back)

 THE NEXT DAY

(In a bank, Protagonist 1 waits on the long line for the one teller available)

Protagonist 1: (Softly whispers) So bored, so bored, so bored –

(Suddenly, three people burst into the bank with faces covered in soft stockings and small weapons aloft)

Bank Robber 1: All right everyone, down on the ground, this is a robbery!  (Almost everyone else holds up their phones to film this) For the love of – (To Bank Robber 2) Take the phones first, then the wallets!  The rest of you, down!

Customer 1: (As everyone else lowers to the ground) Aw come on, you’re just supposed to take our money from the vault, not our money from our selves!

Bank Robber 1: You’ll get it back from The Man; meantime, gimme!  (Two of them start taking valuables from the customers and Bank Robber 3 gestures for an employee to open the vault)

Protagonist 1: (Smoothes hair back, then stands abruptly) I volunteer as hostage and sacrifice myself to save all these innocent people!

(Everyone freezes in confusion)

Bank Robber 1: What?  No; who said anything about hostages?

Bank Robber 2: Yeah, we’re in-and-out!  None of that taking-someone-home mess!

Protagonist 1: The police’ll be here any minute since that officer – (Points to one of the bank officers lying next to a desk) hit the panic button right as you all came in, so you need me if you want to get out of here in one piece!

Bank Officer: (Hisses at Protagonist 1) Hey!  Leave me out of this!

Bank Robber 1: (As the three resume the robbery) Cops aren’t going to get here for another… (Checks watch) seven minutes; we’ll be long gone by then; get back down on the ground and stop volunteering for danger, you nutter!

Protagonist 1: But who’s going to save you from your life of crime, and also teach you the true meaning of love?

Bank Robber 1: Huh?

Bank Robber 2: Yeah, we like our life of crime.

Protagonist 1: But wouldn’t it be more fulfilling if the stakes were higher?  You all torn between having to threaten and yet protect a helpless victim, and we’re strangers at first but then circumstances force us to learn more about each other’s pasts, and we bond despite our initial distrust and grow to care about one another, and then one day two or more of us suddenly realize that bond has deepened into something much more –

Bank Robber 1: Un – freaking – believable.

Bank Robber 2: Yeah – I think I saw that movie last week.

Bank Robber 3: (Running from the vault) Time’s up, we gotta go!

Bank Robber 1: Arrrrggghhhh!!!  (Points to Protagonist 1) YOU!  Just cost us half the cash literally lying around here!  (As the three back toward the exit) Can the rest of you we didn’t get to just toss your wallets over here, please?!

Customers and Employees: NO!

Bank Robber 1: Fair enough.  (The three run out the door and then exit the vestibule to the outside, where several police cars await them)

Lead Officer: Weapons and bags down, on the ground, hands over your faces!

Bank Robber 1: Drat.

(Inside the bank, the customers and employees gather around Protagonist 1)

Customer 2: (Patting Protagonist 1 on the back) Great job, that was a brilliant stalling tactic!

Protagonist 1: …Yes, my plan went exactly as intended.

 THE NEXT DAY

(In a diner, Protagonist 1 and Protagonist 2 are having dinner)

Protagonist 2: Wow.  Sounds like your life’s gotten a lot more exciting lately; now I’m sorry I missed it.

Protagonist 1: I guess, but not really: everything reset back to zero afterwards, my life is still the same as it’s always been, and my meet-cutes have been absolute fails no matter how hard I try.

Protagonist 2: Yeah, that’s too bad.  (Takes a bite of the entrée and burns tongue) Ow.  You know, we had a meet-cute.

Protagonist 1: (Pauses mid-bite) What?

Protagonist 2: Back when we worked in the supermarket.  It was my first day, I had no idea what I was doing since orientation was only a five-minute video, and you came to my rescue with the cash register.  I never forgot it.

Protagonist 1: (Laughs self-consciously) Oh, that.  Well, you looked like you were struggling, and I felt bad for the new kid.  Turns out you also were fun to be around.

Protagonist 2: And we’ve been hanging out ever since.

Protagonist 1: Yeah....

Protagonist 2: Guess it got boring.

Protagonist 1: (Winces) Did I say “boring”?

Protagonist 2: A few times, yeah.

Protagonist 1: (Thinks for a bit) Does a meet-cute still count if one party takes a few years to realize that’s what it was?

Protagonist 2: I’m a big believer in “better late then never.”

Protagonist 1: Good, because apparently I take a while to figure things out.

Story 386: A New Account

(Background: I had written this for a short story contest and then realized I had misread one of the prompts and had to scramble to revise it before the deadline (which is probably why I didn’t advance to the next round) – I prefer this version over the one I submitted)

Cheryl would barely glance up every time a customer walked through the bank’s main entrance, but the one who just now came in gave her an unreasonable dread in the pit of her stomach.  There was nothing that stood out about this individual – face, hair, clothes, and shoes at first glance were all “normal” – but as he purposefully strode to sit in the waiting area there was an undefinable something that seemed a bit… off.

She thought back to the last time the bank had been robbed and all the training videos the employees had to sit through, but this customer did not quite line up with those scenarios so she felt unjustified in slamming the panic button – yet.

The customer was the only one seated in the waiting area and Cheryl was the only bank officer available, so she added her doubts to her all-day blistering headache as things to ignore, walked over to him, and smiled: “Hello!  My name is Cheryl – I can help you right over here.”  She held an arm out toward her desk.

The customer looked up at her and she immediately catalogued his sickly pale face, stringy hair, and a whiff of something that her unconscious brain screamed “SULFUR!”  But I wouldn’t know what sulfur smelled like unless it was pointed out to me, her conscious brain countered.  Her unconscious brain persisted in its decision as she led the customer to sit in the chair next to her desk as she sat in hers.

Wanting to speed this along, she immediately began working on the bank database instead of taking her usual 90 seconds to actually look the customer in the eye while she obtained some basic info: “So, what can we do for you today?”  Type-type-type-type-

“Well,” the customer said while dropping a heavy bag onto the desk, making Cheryl jump slightly in her seat.  “I’d like to make a deposit.”

“Oh?”  I’d bet all the coins I just heard jingling around in there that that bag didn’t exist until this moment.

“Yeah.  Actually, I guess what I really want is to open a savings account.  For all of this.”  The customer patted the bag, making the coins jingle some more.

“Oh.  OK.”  Cheryl settled into the familiar routine of creating a new account.  “If I may ask, is this from an inheritance?”

The customer chuckled in a way that Cheryl did not like at all: “You probably could call it that.”

Oh no, I’m smelling – SULFUR! – felony.  She stopped typing.  “Before we go any further, could I see some form of ID, please?  Driver’s license, passport photo, permanent resident card?”

“Oh, sure, um….” The customer patted a few pockets, then pulled out a paper driver’s license that had been taped up multiple times.

Cheryl stared at it for a few moments, then waited for her heart to start beating again before saying: “This expired….”

“Really?  Oh, shoot.”

“Almost 80 years ago.”

The customer looked thoughtful for a moment, then reached over to take back the license and stare at it.  “Has it been that long already?  Huh.  Time sure does fly no matter where you are in life, am-I-right?”

Mentally holding onto the evidence of fraud, Cheryl unobtrusively pressed the panic button while tamping down the internal panic as she realized no other employees or customers were within her line of sight.  “So – ” she had to clear her throat, “um, do you have any other forms of ID on you?”

“Nah, that was the last one I had.  Here, let me give you some of the backstory so you can help me figure out what’s the best type of account I can get for these beauties.”  The customer hugged the bag lovingly.

Cheryl tapped the button a few more times: “OK.”

“Sweet.  So, I came back from The War all messed up with what I saw over there – let me back up a bit: when I was over there, I was an ambulance driver and had to ferry soldiers and civilians who were shot up or blown up or ripped up or whatever up to the field hospital, and if I managed to get one in 50 of them there in time to be saved it was a miracle, know what I mean?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yeah.  Rest of `em went to Charon the Ferryman, and I got sick of it.  I mean, here I am, busting my behind driving people through literal hell trying to save them, and in the end that guy gets `em anyway AND the coin payment to boot.  For doing what, exactly?”

“…Ferrying them across the River Styx to the Underworld?”

The driver scoffed: “Big deal: a river with no currents, or even any other boats; easiest job ever.  Ferrying them across a river filled with mines, bullets whizzing past your head, bombs exploding all around you, and your passengers screaming in agony and begging you to help them, THEN he’d have a case.  So I came back from The War and figured, why not get a little of my own back?  I deserved it.”

Cheryl’s throat could not get any drier: “How so?”

“Well, when you’re in the middle of all that death – you never served in the military, right?  I’m not preaching to choir, as the saying goes?”

“No.”

“`K.  So when you’re in the middle of all that death and pain and terror, it changes you, and usually not for the better.  And I figured, if people’re gonna die no matter what anyone does, why shouldn’t I get a little something for, you know, helping them along?”

Cheryl gulped: “‘Helping them along?’”

“Right.  So, instead of letting Charon get all the reward, I figured I’d cut him off at the pass, so to speak.”  The driver started to open the bag.  “Get `em while they’re fresh, and instead of them having to wait around for whenever his nibs and ferry decide to show up, I give `em an express ride to the afterlife and keep the coins myself.  It’s worked out beautifully, and somehow adds zero mileage to my car – I only get a few out of the thousands who die every day, but it’s enough that guy’s sooooo miffed at the drop in business.  Too bad you got competition after millennia of monopoly, pal!”  The driver laughed hysterically while burying his hands in the bag of coins, too many to count.

All Cheryl could do was stare at the bursting bag while her head pounded; the driver suddenly yanked his hands out of the bag and checked his wristwatch.

“Ooh, look at me rambling on here – sorry, it’s been so long since I could really talk to anybody about all this, you know?”  Cheryl looked back up at his waxen face.  “Anyway, we’ve only got a little time left so I was hoping I could get your advice before we go.”

“‘Go?’”

“Well yeah, that brain aneurysm’s gonna get you in about five minutes, and I gotta get you first or else you’ll go straight to Charon and then where’ll my cut be?”

The bank’s walls constricted around Cheryl’s unbearably painful head and she could no longer feel her extremities.  The driver leaned closer to her.

“So I gotta ask you – ”

The scent of sulfur nearly overwhelmed all of Cheryl’s senses; from a distance through her tunnel vision, she heard:

“You recommend money market or high-yield?”