Showing posts with label party. Show all posts
Showing posts with label party. Show all posts

Thursday, January 2, 2020

Story 322: Welcome to the Roaring 20s (Again)


            (At an apartment on December 31, 2019)
           Host: (Wearing a flapper dress and opening the door to several guests) Hello, old sports, and welcome to our New Year’s Eve Party ringing in the Roaring 20s!  Please disregard this prop cigarette in my hand – you still can’t smoke in here.
          Guest 1: That’s OK – (Secretively pulls out a brown paper bag from inside a large coat) I brought the “stuff.”  (Winks exaggeratedly)
            Host: Thanks, just put it on the kitchen table.
           Guest 1: Oh-ho, where just anyone can see it?  What if we get – you know – (Looks up and down the hallway and stage-whispers) “raided?”
           Host: Prohibition doesn’t go into effect until mid-January, so we’ve still got a few weeks.
            Guest 1:  Oh.  I thought this was a speakeasy theme?
            Host: Then I would’ve asked you for a password to screen out the coppers, silly!
            (They join the rest of the party – someone takes off the record that was playing on a turntable and instead puts on one that plays “The Charleston,” so everyone starts dancing “The Charleston”)
            Host: (Bursting into the middle of the dancers) No!  No!  No!  Stop this madness right now!  There will be no “The Charleston” played or danced here, since there was no “The Charleston” until 1923 and this is the eve of 1920!
            Guest 2: Hey, you said this was a 20s New Year’s Eve Party!
           Host: The invitation clearly stated that this is New Year’s Eve 1920, so right now we’re still technically in 1919!
            Guest 3: (Mutters to Guest 4) Actually, we’re still technically in 2019.
            Host: Who said that?!
            (Later in the evening)
         Guest 5: (To Host while sipping absinthe) While I admire your dedication to historical accuracy, you must admit that strictly adhering to the pre-1920 aspect instead of the entire subsequent decade does rather limit the selection of music, dances, clothing, food, and pretty much anything else that made the 20s the excessive slide into the Great Depression we all know and love.  Right now, everyone’s still dealing with the shell shock and influenza pandemic that sprung from the Great War, which does put a bit of a damper on things, wouldn’t you say?
            Host: Your unsolicited opinion is duly noted.
         Guest 6: (Enters the apartment wearing a disco suit) Wassup, dudes, I am ready to boogie on down and go bananas all up in this joint, to the MAX!
            Host: (Crushes a champagne flute in a fist while pointing to Guest 6) Out!  Of!  My!  Sight!  Anachronistic!  Floozy!
            Guest 6: My bad, dawg.
            Host: Gaaaahhhh!!!
            (Midnight)
            Guests: Happy New Year!
            Host: (Collapses in a chair) Yay.
            Guest 7: (Sits on the chair’s arm) Thanks for the party – that was a lot of fun!
            Host: I guess, if you ignore “Welcome to 1920” and make this a “Welcome to Whatever Year You Want” mess, then yes, it was loads of fun.
            Guest 7: (Sips champagne) I suppose.  You do know that flappers showed up a lot earlier than 1920, but really didn’t become entrenched in American culture until the movie The Flapper was released almost halfway through that year, right?
            Host: (Eyes widen in horror) Whaaaaaat???
            (Someone starts playing 21st-century music from their cell phone’s speakers)
            Guest 7: Cheer up – you can try again in 2120!  (Leaves)
            Host: (Mutters) It’s barely begun, and my fun-loving decade’s already ruined.

Wednesday, January 2, 2019

Story 270: Have Yourself a Merry Little Stomach Virus; Or, The Time-Activated Gift That Keeps on Giving



            (At a New Year’s Eve Party)
            Friend 1: (To Host) These parties are great and all, I’m just saying maybe once in a while we should have them on New Year’s Day, keep things interesting, know-what-I-mean?
            Host: …Yeah, no.  (Leaves to wash dishes)
           Friend 1: (Sips drink) It’s only 11:00 and no one gets me.  (Is handed a box) Oh, is this for me?  Thank you.  (Sets down drink and opens box; inside is a watch nestled in a pile of glittery tissue paper) What’s this?
            Virus: A timer.  To count down the hours until you feel the full effects of the stomach virus that you just caught, ha-HA!  Which is me, by the way; sorry I blew past the formal introduction there.
            Friend 1: (Stares at Virus, then at watch, then back at Virus) I’m sorry, I didn’t think I was that drunk yet – are you our Host’s new neighbor or something?
            Virus: (Pats the top of Friend 1’s head) Oh silly child, you’ll never even know what you did to let me in.  I’ve already gotten half the people in this place, and I’m now working on the other half – some of you guys are wily though, especially that one who keeps using hand sanitizer every 30 minutes.  Ironically, that only makes my brethren and me stronger in the long run.  (Looks up sharply) Dang it, someone else washed their hands after using the bathroom!  (Back to Friend 1) Oh well: the goal is always 100%, but we’ll settle for a 95% maximum, hm?  Cheers.  (Moves on)
           Friend 2: (Arrives carrying a tray of pizza rolls while munching on them and sees Friend 1 staring at the box) What’s that, a revenge gift from someone who forgot you last week?
            Friend 1: Close – apparently, I now have a stomach virus that will hit me in exactly… (Peers at watch) 47 hours, 17 minutes, and 35 – 34 – 33 –
            Friend 2: (Sets down tray and looks over at the watch) Oh, you got one of those; yeah, I saw a whole bunch of people have them tonight.  Bummer, dude.
            Friend 1: I see you don’t.
           Friend 2: `Cause I’m constantly washing my hands and I don’t hug or kiss anybody, ever.  And seeing as you’ve now been gifted, I’m not speaking to you for literally the rest of this year.  (Moves to pick up the tray)
            Friend 1: (Grabs Friend 2’s sleeve) Wait a minute –
            Friend 2: Don’t touch me, Afflicted!
            Friend 1: (Releases sleeve) All right, but please don’t leave me all alone, I’m scared!
            Friend 2: Of what?  It’s not even going to happen until later this week and it’ll just be a day of hurling your guts out, then it’s all over and life resumes like it never happened.
           Friend 1: Easy for you to say, you don’t have an appointment with the toilet in less than two days!
            Friend 2: I’ve already served my time; I shouldn’t have to again so soon.  Besides, what could I possibly do to help while you’re barfing, hold your hand?
            Friend 1: (Looks down and toes the floor) Maybe….
            Friend 2: Ew; look, when it happens, have some ginger or chamomile tea, call out from work if you can, and sleep the rest of it off, that’s really all you can do.  (Snatches the glass that Friend 1 is downing out of the latter’s hand) And stop drinking this stuff; it’s only going to aggravate it!
             Friend 1: (Sniffs) It’s absolute rot that I have to start off a brand New Year doomed.
          Friend 2: Yeah, well, I have to go into work early tomorrow morning, so we’ll be miserable together – happy?
            Virus: (Slinks by Friend 2) Hello there.  You wouldn’t happen to want to take a sip from your friend’s glass, would you?
            Friend 2: Buzz off, Bacteria!  (Tosses glass’s contents at Virus)
           Virus: (Sighs and moves on, muttering) I am a virus – honestly, we don’t even look anything alike.  And what am I going to do with all these extra boxes if my quota isn’t filled?!
            Friend 1: Guess I should get my affairs in order before the big day.
          Friend 2: Oh please.  Go have your pity party in the corner somewhere; I’m going with the other sheep to watch the ball drop.  (Picks up the tray and uses it to keep others away) Out of my way with your microscopic hitchhikers!

FORTY-SEVEN HOURS LATER

            Friend 2: (Answers phone) Hello?
            Friend 1: It’s almost time.
           Friend 2: For the love of – why are you still awake?!  Go to sleep and maybe by the morning it’ll have left.
          Friend 1: I’m afraid if I sleep I won’t wake up in time; I made an unobstructed path to the bathroom just in case.
            Friend 2: Well, goody for you.  Can I go back to bed now?
            Friend 1: All right, here we go: the watch says I have 5, 4, 3 –
            Friend 2: Arrrrrgggghhhh….
            Friend 1: – 2 – 1.  (The watch beeps loudly, ending with an ominous “HA, HA, HA.”) This is it.
            Friend 2: OK, all the best, bye!
            Friend 1: Wait!
            Friend 2: What?
            Friend 1: (Almost disappointed) Nothing happened.
            Friend 2: Well there you go: a literal false alarm, heh-heh.
            Friend 1: Although – mm – I feel weirdly hungry – but also oddly full –
            Friend 2: Yep, that’s it, don’t envy you right now, just ride it out, gotta go!
            Friend 1: Hold on, you can’t hang up on me now, what if I need you?
            Friend 2: For what?!
            Friend 1: Moral support.
            Friend 2: Just go to sleep!  Nothing more can be done for you!
            Friend 1: Ow, now you’re hurting my head.
           Friend 2: Good, `cause you’re hurting mine since I have to get up in five hours and it’ll take me at least one of those to fall asleep again!  Don’t even think about calling me until this is over!  (Disconnects)
           Friend 1: (Sets down the phone as stomach rumbles) I know – hang in there, buddy, hang in there.

TWO DAYS LATER

            (At a diner)
          Friend 2: (Watching Friend 1 devour a sandwich) You know, this may give you another stomach problem for an unrelated reason.
            Friend 1: (With mouth full) I don’t care: this is the first real meal I’ve had in over a day.  (Slurps water)
            Friend 2: So, did we learn anything from all of this?
            Friend 1: Yep: no matter what we do, the hand of Fate can always strike us down.
            Friend 2: What?  No, it was: try to keep yourself clean, and handle any illness you get with at least a modicum of self-respect, you big baby!
            Friend 1: Eh, different strokes.  (Starts destroying a brownie)
          Friend 2: And you should really work your way up to that.  (Is handed a box) What’s this?  (Friend 1 freezes mid-bite; Friend 2 opens the box and slowly pulls out a watch in horror)
            Virus: Got ya!
            Friend 2: NOOOOOOOO!!!!
          Virus: At last!  95%!  In your face, Common Cold!   (Continues making deliveries throughout the diner)
        Friend 1: (Resumes eating as Friend 2 stares at the watch that reads 47:20:13-12-11….) Guess the hand of Fate strikes again.  But don’t worry: it’ll all be over in a few days so just have some tea, sleep it off, and make sure you keep some self-respect.
            Friend 2: If I can ever prove that I got this from you, then I’m really not speaking to you for the rest of this year.