"The Golden Years"

This past week I've been working with my students on writing revisions using the genre of flash fiction. Typically flash fiction is 1,000 words or less; for our purposes, we are sticking between 500 and 750. In order to model for my students I created a piece of my own, and I enjoyed reconnecting with my inner writer.  One of my students, after hearing me read my first draft, asked me why I was a teacher instead of a writer #notsohumblebrag.  Now that I've polished my story, I thought I'd share.  It may still need a little work (I'm still not sure I'm happy with how I wrote the ending), but it sure was fun to create. Enjoy!

The Golden Years

“Mistakes are ok...but not here.  You’re fired!”

Fred started filling a cardboard box with his personal belongings from his locker.  He wondered if they had a room of boxes somewhere, ready to hand out whenever someone was let go -- something that happened a lot.  In his time at the company Fred only bothered to learn the names of a few co-workers, knowing there really wasn’t a point.  Every Monday a new set of employees paraded through on the official tour, and Fred always mentally tallied how many he thought would survive the first week on the job.  He was usually wrong; the ones he thought seemed tough enough to make it were often the first ones to crumble under the stress.

Fred was an anomaly -- he had made it past the first week relatively unscathed, which caught the attention of the managers.  They were surprised how quickly he learned things, since they usually wound up explaining simple tasks to the newbies over and over again. However, Fred wasn’t like the others.  He wasn’t looking to make a name for himself.  Nor was he young and brash, thinking the world owed him something just for being him.  No, Fred was content with life.  He didn’t want the responsibility or stress that came with leadership; he had played that game when he was younger, but as he entered his golden years he had a more relaxed approach to his days.  Now he was glad to leave work at work, and he made it through the days by looking forward to his quiet home and comfortable recliner.  He had perfected the art of flying under the radar, and he wrapped his anonymity around him like a security blanket.  

Although Fred kept to himself, his eyes and ears were always open.  He could walk into work and know almost immediately whether or not it would be a good day.  He could sense when management was about to come down with another unreasonable demand.  He learned how to brace himself for the rollout of a new product and all of the chaos that would surely follow.  There were days he thought about doing something different -- during slow moments he would picture himself lounging on a beach, his toes in the sand.  Those thoughts were always fleeting, though, and he would quickly return to reality.

One day, however, things changed.  Fred never even saw it coming; for someone so aware, he was completely caught off guard.  The day had started well -- things were relatively quiet, and one of the newbies actually followed directions and did some work. Fred went to perform a task he had performed a thousand times before when, for some reason, things went wrong…

Who knows?  Maybe he wasn’t paying attention.  Maybe his thoughts had returned to that lovely beach with the warm sand.  Maybe his foot slipped.  Whatever the cause, it didn’t change the outcome.

“FRANK!  What did you do?” shouted Anthony.  Anthony was a new manager who had spent his first month trying to establish himself as a firm leader.  Unlike past managers, who cared more about being well-liked than effective, Anthony was determined to distinguish himself and “his” company.  Fred couldn’t help but wince that Anthony still hadn’t managed to learn his name.

“Seriously?! I can’t believe this.  Other managers may have let this slide, but not me! You just cost us a lot of time and money.  If we’re going to take this place to the next level, we CAN’T afford screw-ups like this.  Mistakes are ok...but not here.  You’re fired!”

Bewildered, Fred looked around.  No one seemed to notice what was happening; most of the workers were completely oblivious, though a couple were silently grateful that they weren’t the ones facing Anthony’s wrath.  Sighing, Fred knew there was no point trying to argue -- Anthony’s mind was clearly made up.  Without a word he removed his nametag and apron and laid them gently on the counter, small reminders of his years of service.  He would find something else.  Surely there was a place out there that would appreciate his efforts.

Clutching his box, Fred pushed open the glass door and walked into the sunshine.  As he made his way home, the golden arches slowly disappeared behind him.  He couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation.  He had bought himself a fresh start for $250 -- or the price of that bag of frozen french fries he had spilled all over the kitchen floor.