The Curious Kidnapping Case of Who What—A Short Story Part Four

“How about the guy you saw leaving?” Dick asked.
 
“I didn’t get a good look. The sun wasn’t quite up yet.”
 
“Did you clean up already?” Shirley asked.
 
“’Fraid so. Sorry. I didn’t know he was a kidnapper.”
 
“Okay,” Shirley said. “You can go. She turned toward Dick. “I’ll call the forensic guys and have them tear this place apart. Maybe they can find something. Let’s head back to the office and see what Ralph turned up.”
 
As they climbed up the steps to their precinct, a man ran between them wearing a patrol cap, ski mask, a pair of running shoes and nothing else.
 
 Dick was startled as the naked man ran past. “Who was that streaker?”
 
Shirley smiled a sly grin. “I don’t know, but he isn’t from our precinct.”
 
Dick stopped walking and scowled as Shirley’s remark sunk in. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders. “Must be paying off a bet.”
 
Dick and Shirley walked into the cyber-lab where Ralph worked. “Ralph James, any luck with that remote garage door opener?” Shirley asked.
 
“The name’s Jones, not James.”

Dick was wide-eyed. “What? You told the Captain your name was James.”

Jones laughed. “Yeah, I know. I was just messing with him. He can’t remember names.”

Shirley laughed too. “That’s mean. I like it.”

“So anyhow,” Ralph continued. “it appears to be a standard garage door opener. This is great, because I can find him with this.”

Dick’s jaw went slack. “What? How?”

“Well, all remote garage door openers operate on a radio frequency.  All I need to do is reprogram the opener, so I can hack his computer using his Wi-Fi freq.”

“But don’t you need to know the frequency of the remote?” Shirley asked.

Jones laughed. “No problem. Remotes have a limited number of frequencies; ten or twelve. I’ll just try them all until I find the right one.”

Dick was doubtful. “But if the remote is so common, there must be millions of them,” Dick said.
“About 25 million of this brand and model, to be exact. But we know he was here in Miami, so he must live in a 200-mile radius.

Shirley shook her head. “Even so, you’re going to hack into thousands of home computers. That will take time.”

“Not so. I just screen for key words on all computers. Words like crime, kidnap, Smyth, 711, etc.
“But won’t that take hours?” Dick asked.

Ralph smiled. “No. There, I’m done. There’s your guy.” He handed Dick a print out. “His name is Hugh Watt.”

Shirley raised her eyebrows. “Who?”.

Jones answered, “The perp.”

Dick shook his head. “The perp what?”

“Not what, Watt,” Jones answered.

Dick shook his head again. “Watt what?”.

“Hugh.”

“Who what?” Shirley asked.

“Affirmative.”

“Affirmative?” Dick asked still confused.

Jones answered, “The perp’s name is Watt, Hugh Watt.”

“How should we know?” Dick asked, somewhat annoyed. “We asked you to find out.”

Ralph held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll write it down.” He wrote the name on a piece of paper and gave it to Dick.

Dick and Shirley both read it aloud, “Hugh Watt.”

It was Dick’s turn to raise eyebrows. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

“Anyway,” Ralph continued. “he used MapQuest this morning to get directions. I just reversed the directions. Here you go. Go get him, Tigers. Oh, you may want to call the news. I may have opened all the overhead doors in a 250-mile radius.”

Shirley asked, “Anything else?”

“Yeah. Dick was right about that pollen… well half right. It was pollen, and it does come from an island, but it’s inhabited-- Haiti. I think the perp smuggles drugs from Columbia to Haiti and then in country.”

Shirley frowned. “He’s probably on the run by now. I’ll put out a BOLO to arrest him.”

“Let stake out his address in case he returns,” Dick suggested. “We might get lucky. What about that number on the remote?”

The End of Part Four

Dick looked at Ralph who returned his look with a nod of his head. Dick grabbed the telephone from Bill. “Look jerk off, quit calling or I’ll have you arrested for interfering with a police investigation.”
 
“And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?” The caller asked.
 
“Listen you a-hole, I’m a police detective with the Miami PD. Stop calling this number.” Dick disconnected. Before he could speak, the cellphone rang again. He held up three fingers to remind Bill. Shirley tapped Ralph on the head, and he gave a thumbs up. After three rings, Bill answered.
 
“Good morning, this is Tom Billingsly and I represent the End All Insurance Company. Is this the Smyth residence?”
 
Dick grabbed the telephone before Bill could say another word and yelled into the phone, “That’s it. I’m sending a squad car to arrest you.”
 
The voice laughed. “Better send a boat. My real name is Singh and I live in India. Have a nice day.”
 
As Dick disconnected, a small girl ambled into the living room. The Smyths jumped up, rushed over shouting, “Kaitlin!” They hugged their daughter.
 
After everyone settled down from all the excitement, Dick and Shirley sat down with Kaitlin. After a few preliminary questions, Shirley asked, “Why didn’t your abductor call your parents?”
 
“He tried, but every time he called, the line was busy. Finally, he gave up and decide to wait until tonight.”
 
“He?” Dick asked. “Only one perp?”
 
“Yeah.”
 
“How did you get away?” Shirley asked.
 
Kaitlin laughed. “My kidnapper was so stupid. He ordered pizza. When the pizza arrived, he gave me money and told me to pay the pizza guy. I opened the door, paid the guy and ran home.”
 
“Wow,” Shirley said. “And how far was that?”
 
“Oh, not far. Five blocks maybe.”
 
“What?” both Dick and Shirley said as they jumped up. “Do you remember the address?”
 
“Sure. It was 711 just straight down this street.”
 
“What!” Shirley yelled. “He held you captive in a 7 Eleven?”
 
“No, you idiot,” answered Kaitlin. “Not a 7 Eleven; the street address is 711.” Kaitlin looked at her mother. “Well don’t just stand there, bitch. Get me something to eat, I’m starving.” She looked at her father. “What are you looking at? Go run my bath. That place was filthy.” The Smyths jumped and did as they were told.
 
Shirley started issuing orders to mobilize the other detectives and police officers. They drove down the street with sirens blaring. At the house, Shirley ordered police to cover all the exits and windows around the house. The house was a non-descript house with a for sale sign posted in the front yard. Once everyone was in place, Shirley stood behind a Swat team member with a weighted battering ram ready to smash in the door.
 
“Wait one,” said Dick. He turned the doorknob and the door opened. “Wasn’t locked.” Dick and Shirley rushed in with guns drawn. The house had no furniture. A noise in the kitchen drew their attention and they rushed in. In the kitchen stood one man wearing gloves and holding a squirt bottle of cleaner in one hand. “Freeze!” Dick yelled.
 
“Whoa, Whoa,” the man yelled, dropping the squirt bottle. “I’m not armed. What’s this all about?”
 
Shirley took out her handcuffs. “You’re under arrest for the kidnapping of Kaitlin Smyth.”
 
“No, no,” protested the man. “It wasn’t me. I just got here a few minutes ago. It must’ve been the man who left here as I pulled up.”
 
Dick patted the man down. “Who are you?”
 
“I’m a contractor. I get hired by people to clean up after them. I remove any traces of DNA and fingerprints. I was hired by some guy to clean this place.”
 
Shirley holstered her weapon and put her handcuffs away. “Never heard of that type of contractor. It doesn’t sound legal.”
 
“No, no. It’s legit. I’m on Craig’s List. People contact me by e-mail and pay me by Pay-Pal -- mostly husbands and wives cheating on their spouses. I don’t do crime scenes. If I see blood, I’m out of there.”
 
Dick put his pistol away. “Okay, who hired you? Can you describe him?”
 
The man put his hands down. “No. I never met the guy. I just had his e-mail address, but he did pay in advance.”
 
END of Part Three

“I can make you some coffee” Mary said. “It’s Kopi or civet coffee, very expensive. It comes from coffee beans eaten by the Asian palm civet and defecated.”
 
Shirley and Dick made faces. “No thanks,” Shirley said.  “I had poop for dinner. What I need now is regular coffee.”
 
The telephone rang. Dick held up one finger at Bill while placing a head set on his head. “Don’t answer until the third ring.”
 
Bill sat with his finger posed above the talk button. On the second ring, he answered. Dick and Shirley rolled their eyes.  “Hello, this is Mr. William Smyth.”
 
A male voice asked, “Is this the Smith residence?”
 
“No, my name is Smyth, not Smith. You have the wrong number.”
 
Dick jumped to his feet and made a stretching motion with his hands for Bill to continue the conversation.
 
“Hang on for a minute,” said Bill, covering the handset with one hand. He looked at Dick. “What?’
 
Dick repeated the hand motion. Bill shrugged his shoulders. Dick mouthed the words, “Keep talking.” Bill shook his shoulders again. Dick whispered, “Keep talking.”
 
Bill nodded his head. “Okay, I’m back.”
 
“Okay, Mr. Smyth,” the voice on the other end said. “can I call you Bill? My name is Tom Billingsly, and I represent the End All Insurance Company. Would you mind if I ask if you have life insurance?”
 
Bill sighed. “I’m sorry. Could you call back later? I am in the middle of something right now.”
 
Dick held up a note on which he wrote. It might be a trick. Keep talking. Bill saw the note and nodded. “On second thought, I do have time. Want do you want to know?”
 
“Well, sir,” the voice started. “Have you thought about what would happen to your family should anything happen to you?”
 
Dick made a circular motion with his hand, indicating to keep talking. All eyes were now on Ralph in the dining room. After a few minutes, he gave a thumbs up. Dick strode over to him.
Ralph whispered, “He checks out. He’s calling from the End All Insurance Company.”
 
Dick strode into the living room and grabbed the telephone from Bill’s hand. “Look you jerk. You are interfering with a police investigation. Hang up.” The voice stopped talking and hung up. Dick looked at Bill. “And what is with you? I said let it ring three times. We need time for James to start tracking the call.”
 
Bill answered. “I’m sorry. I thought you meant on the third ring, not after.”
 
Shirley said, “It’s okay. You’re nervous. We understand.” She removed the garage door opener from her pocket. “Does belong to either of you?” Both Smyths looked at the opener and shook their heads. Ralph sauntered over and handed Shirley a cup of coffee.
 
Dick took the opener and examined it. “Look, there’s a number on the back. Looks like a serial number. Maybe we can trace it.”  He turned it over in his hands. “It looks like pollen on it. I think I recognize it.”
 
Shirley chuckled. “You recognize the pollen without a microscope?”
 
“Yeah. It comes from a rare bush that is only found on a remote island in the Caribbean. The island has no inhabitants.”
 
“How rare?” Shirley asked.
 
Dick handed the opener back to Shirley. “So rare it hasn’t been discovered yet.”
 
“That’s pure bull shit.” Shirley walked over to Ralph and handed him the door opener. “See if you can find out anything about this. I think the perp may have dropped it in the driveway.” Ralph nodded his head.
 
The telephone rang again. Dick held up three fingers and Bill nodded his head. After the forth ring, Bill answered, “Hello, this is William Smyth.”
 
Shirley was standing behind Ralph and looked down at him. His eyes were closed, and his head was bobbing up and down. She tapped his shoulder. “Ralph!” He removed his head set and looked at her.  “Are you tracing this call?”
 
“Oh, shit. Why didn’t someone tell me?” Ralph flipped a switch and gave a thumbs up.
 
The voice on the telephone continued, “This is Tom Billingsly and I represent the End All Insurance Company. Would you mind if I ask if you have life insurance?”
 
Bill sighed. “You just called a few minutes ago.”
 
End of Part Two

Dick Andrews and Shirley Kelly, Miami police detectives, laid sleeping in bed when their cellphones rang. Both stirred and Shirley sat up in bed, pulling up the covers to cover naked body. A glance out the window told her it was still too early for their alarm. She began to frantically search for her cellphone.

Dick rolled over. “Don’t answer that!”

Shirley shook her head. “We have to. We’re on call.”

Dick sat up on his side of the bed. “I thought you said you put your phone on vibrate.”

Shirley gave him a dirty look. “That’s how much you listen. I said I have to turn off my vibrator so I can charge it. Get up and answer your phone – we both have calls.”

Dick rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Make sure you have your own phone. We don’t want the Captain to know we are dating. What the hell time is it anyway?”

Shirley picked up a cellphone from the nightstand and handed it to Dick. “Here’s yours.” She looked on the floor and found her phone.

Both answered their phones, listened and said, “I’ll be right there.”

Dick quickly dressed as Shirley headed for the shower. “I told you not to answer it.”

Dick and Shirley drove to the location given by their Captain, a large house in an upscale residential suburb of Miami and arrived just as the sun was dawning. On the walk up the long driveway, Shirley spotted a garage door opener and bent over to pick it up.  Dick couldn’t resist from admiring her butt. “Stop looking at my ass!” She pointed the remote at the large double car garage and pushed the button; nothing happened.

Captain Tim Barnaby met them in the spacious hallway as they entered the house. He motioned for them to follow him into the living room. A very distraught couple sat on the couch wearing robes. Tim said, “This is Mr. William Smith and his wife Mary. Their daughter was kidnapped last night or early this morning. Her abductors left a note saying they would call later. I want you two to take point on this case. Dickhead, you handle the ransom demand and pay off from here. Stacy, you try to find the kidnappers.”

“Dick or Richard,” Dick said.

“What?” the Captain asked.

“You called me ‘Dickhead.’ My name is Richard or you can call me Dick for short.”

“Sorry. Freudian slip.”

Shirley interjected, “And my name is Shirley, not Stacy.”

“Since when?” the Captain asked.

“Since I was born.”
​
“Whatever. Let’s get to work.” Tim turned back toward the couple. “Okay, Mr. Smith, the kidnapers should call any minute with their ransom demands.”
 
Bill said, “Smyth. The name is Smyth, not Smith. Smyth and please call me Bill.”
 
“Whatever. Anyway, Jones here is our computer tech.” Tim pointed to a young man seated at the dining room table in front of a computer. “He’s a Greek.”
 
“James,” the tech said. “You always call me Jones, but my name is Ralph James. And it’s ‘geek’, not ‘Greek.’”
 
“Whatever. As I was saying before I was interrupted, ...James here will trace the call, but you need to keep the kidnappers talking for at least one minute. Are we clear?”
 
“I think so,” Bill replied.
 
“Good. Mr. Smyth, I promise we will get Kathleen back.”
 
“Kaitlin. her name is Kaitlin,” Mary Smyth said.
 
Tim raised his eyebrows. “That’s what I said.”
 
Bill tilted his head. “No, you said Kathleen.”
 
“Give me a break.” Tim turned toward Dick and Shirley. “Any questions?”
 
Dick took out his smart phone and clicked on the recorder.  “How did the kidnappers get Kaitlin out of the house without making any noise?”
 
Tim held up a washcloth. “Chloroform.”
 
Shirley stepped closer for a better look. “Are you sure it’s chloroform?”.
 
Tim held out the washcloth. “Here, take a sniff and you tell me.”
 
Shirley held up her hands in surrender and took a step back. “Oh, no. I’m not falling for that trick… again.”
 
Tim raised his eyebrows but decided not to pursue Shirley’s remark. “I have to get ready for a press conference. Keep me informed.” He turned on his heel and marched out the door.
 
Shirley looked the Smyths over. Bill Smyth was a short, slender man with glasses. He reminded Shirley of an accountant. Mary reminded her of a trophy wife. Her perfume permeated the air. She wondered how she found the time to put on make-up and do her hair when her daughter was kidnapped. She turned toward a small group of police officers standing in the dining room. “Canvas the neighborhood and see if anyone saw anything. Also, check all the security tapes within a 100-mile radius and see what comes up. Check the ATMs while you’re at it and get me a cup of coffee.” The police officers mocked her by slapping their foreheads as if they had never thought of that.
 

Chris Andrews could not believe his incredible luck. He went to the art show looking for an expensive addition to his extensive art collection and met Judy, an art dealer. They seemed to click right away and when he invited her to see his new luxury condominium, she said yes. She was appropriately impressed when the valet drove up in his Porsche 911. Chris had a couple of excellent years as a hedge fund manager and decided to enjoy the fruits of his labors. If his luck continued tonight, he would be in bed with her in twenty minutes – tops.
 
“Wow!” Judy exclaimed when she walked into Chris’s new condominium. “You go first class all the way.”
 
Chris smiled. “It suits my needs.”
 
Judy stood close to Chris and patted his chest. “I’ll bet you have a lot of needs. Oh my gosh! Is that suit handmade?”
 
“Yes. It is a William Fioravanti suit. I would be embarrassed to tell you the price.”
 
“I’ll bet. Very nice. I like it. It has to be at least $5,000.” Judy stepped back to admire the suit, but she noticed Chris’s passion being to show through his trousers. She laughed. “Are you happy to see me or is that a rabbit in your pocket?”
 
Chris laughed. “A cliché but cute!” He put his arm around her and started to kiss her.
 
Judy pulled her head back. “What is that cologne? I love it.”
 
“Clive Christian No. 1,” answered Chris as he tried to find the latch on the back of her dress.
 
“I thought so. Over $800 a bottle and worth every penny.” Judy reached back, unhooked the top of her dress, and turned around for Chris to unzip her.
 
Chris unzipped her dress halfway when, “Oh, oh! My watch snagged on your dress. Hold still.” He untangled his watchband and unzipped her dress the rest of the way.
 
Judy turned around and looked at his watch. “Nice watch. Rolex?”
 
“Of course not. It is a Carrera.”
 
Judy started to untie tie his tie. “Silk tie. Nice touch of class. Dyed, not printed – 100% silk. Italian?’
 
“Good guess. It is from Napoli Coast - only the best.”
 
Judy removed his tie and folded over it a chair. She then helped Chris out of his jacket and folded it over the chair. She removed the pen from his coat pocket. “Montblanc,” she said half to herself.
 
Chris removed his shirt and handed it to her. Judy rubbed her hand over the shirt. “Egyptian cotton, of course,” she said. “Are these real diamond studs?
 
“Yes,” answered Chris, as he kicked off his Tanino Crisci shoes. “They match the white diamonds on the cufflinks.”
 
Judy slipped out of her dress. “They match your rings too. You are one classy guy. How much did this condo set you back?”
 
Chris looked Judy in the eyes. “I am not sure if I’m comfortable with this conversation. Why do you ask that?”
 
Judy put her arms around Chris and rubbed noses with him. “Because I like you and I might just stay the night. Undo my bra, will you?”
 
Chris stepped back and held her at arm’s length. “Now I am really uncomfortable with this conversation. I don’t like where this is going.”
 
Judy laughed. “I thought it was going toward the bedroom.”
 
“Judy, I am sorry, but I don’t think this is such a good idea after all. Let me call you a cab.”
 
“You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re joking, right?”
 
“Are you attracted to me just because of my money?”
 
Judy laughed. “What makes you think that? I think you are very handsome, but I would still be attracted to you if you had only money.”
 
“On second thought, the doorman will call you a cab.” Chris handed Judy her dress. “Good night, Judy.”
 
THE END

“Goodnight, hon. Love you.” Judy went through her nightly routine that always ended by her saying goodnight to her husband of fifty-two years.

“Love you too, babe,” answered Bob, as usual before turning out the light. He fell asleep quickly. In mid-dream he was awakened by extreme pain. What the frick! He opened his eyes. Okay, that hurts. My left arm must have fallen asleep. Ow! Ow! That hurts. What time is it?

He tried to raise his head to see the clock. Ow! Ow! My neck. Can't raise my head. He lay still for a minute, but the pain only intensified. It must be around two in the morning.

Gotta wake Judy. Bob opened his mouth but could not draw a breath. Something's on my chest. Can't breathe. Ow! Ow! Ah! Ah! An elephant is sitting on me. He tried to raise his arms, but the effort only increased the pain. Shit! I'm having a heart attack. Damn that hurts. Need to wake Judy. He tried to kick off his covers but, again, the pain stopped him.

Maybe it will pass.  He waited. That was his last thought.

Later that same day – the doorbell rang, and Judy answered the door. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying all morning.

“Oh Judy. I'm so sorry. I just heard about Bob.” It was Mary, the neighbor and best friend from next door. “How are you holding up?”

“I'm okay, I guess. I'm just... just numb.”

“I know, dear.” Mary hugged Judy. “What happened?”

“Heart attack said the doctor. He seemed fine yesterday. This morning when I went in to wake him, he was gone. Died in his sleep. He looked so peaceful.”

“Died in his sleep,” repeated Mary. “That's the way to go. Just close your eyes and don't wake up.”

“Thank God, he didn't suffer. He didn't feel any pain.”

​The End

Hackers Rule Television—A Short Short Story
​
Sometimes I get irritated at the TV programs that show how geeks can hack into anything in no time flat. It takes me forever to find anything on the internet and to download a program. Maybe hackers are that fast, but I think the screenwriters exaggerate. Here a little script to demonstrate what I mean.

SUPERCOP: Someone just tried to break into Fort Knox and steal all the gold.
SUPERGEEK: Any clues?
SUPERCOP: No, not really. He was stopped at the gate. He dropped this when he ran. Not sure what it is.
SUPERGEEK (Takes the item and examines it under a microscope): It appears to be a garage door opener. This is great. We can track him with this.
SUPERCOP: What? How?
SUPERGEEK: Well, all remote garage door openers operate on a radio frequency. All I need to do is reprogram the opener, and I can hack into his computer using his Wi-Fi freq.
SUPERCOP: But don’t you need to know the frequency of the remote?
SUPERGEEK: No problem. Remotes have a limited number of frequencies; ten or twelve. I’ll just try them all until I find the right one.
SUPERCOP: But if the remote is so common, there must be millions of them.
SUPERGEEK: 25 million of this brand and model, to be exact, but we know he just was at Fort Knox, so he must live in a 200-mile radius.
SUPERCOP: Even so, you’re going to hack into thousands of home computers. That will take hours.
SUPERGEEK: Not so. I just search for key words on all computers. Words like crime, Fort Knox, robbery, etc.
SUPERCOP: But won’t that take hours?
SUPERGEEK: No. There, I’m done. There’s your guy. (hands Supercop a printout.) He used map program to get directions. I just reversed the directions. Here you go. Go get him, Tiger. Oh, you may want to call the news. I may have opened all the overhead doors in a 250-mile radius.
​
The End

I have a story to tell. It burns inside my blood like acid trying to get out of every pour of my body. My brain boils when I think about it. It consumes me. It keeps me tossing and turning at night. It haunts my waking moments. However, I am a newbie, and I know it. I have a lot to learn about being a writer. Therefore, I decided to learn as much as I can about my new profession and to do so as quickly as I can. I don’t have the patience nor the time to take a writing class, so I decided to read magazines and explore the internet.

First, I subscribed to Writers’ Digest and The Writer magazines. I read every issue, cover to cover; even the article on poetry, which I don’t understand. In one issue, I read an article about the 101 best websites for writers. I checked out each one. If it had a newsletter, I signed up. If it had a blog, I subscribed to it. If it was on Twitter or Face Book, I followed it. I followed the treads of conversation and wrote witty and creative comments. Then I read an article about the 10 best blogs for writers. I registered for all of them and read every issue. Now, every day I get several newsletters, blogs, and prompts on writing and fill my day writing. I get absorbed at times and write late into the night.

The magazines recommended the Master of Fine Arts for writing program. It sounded good and I could even take the courses online, so I signed up for one. It was so much fun, that I started a second one. The magazines also recommended that I write everyday regardless of how much time I had. I needed prompts so I signed up for several websites that provide writing prompts every day. I write something daily on each prompt. I even started my own website where I can post my own stories once I write them. I also started a blog for my followers, if I ever get any. Meanwhile, I follow every author that I can on Twitter, Linked In, and Face Book.

I find that I no longer have time to write the story that was burning in my soul, but it doesn't matter, because I forgot what I wanted to write.

The End

​I post this story every year for #Valentine’s Day. I’m sorry if you have read it. I like it because it is 80% true, only the names have been changes to protect me, I mean the innocent.

A #Zombie’s Valentine’s Day—A Short Short Story
 
I hate holidays. Not the ones with a three-day weekend, just the ones invented by greeting card companies. One year I forgot Valentine’s Day until the day it arrived. Usually, I order flowers online for my wife. After all, she is the mother of two of our beautiful children, and a third not so beautiful child. In desperation, I drove to the nearest box store.
The scene at the flower department was a disaster; flowers flung everywhere; stems bent, leaves torn and flowers missing petals. I searched desperately for a gift: a small bouquet, a potted plant, or even a single rose. Nothing.
Several other men in my predicament also searched in vain like zombies from the Night of the Living Dead. At some point, I bumped into the department manager. Her hair was in disarray, her blouse wrinkled and stained, and she wore no shoes. I asked if I could get a corsage. She gave me an exasperated look and shook her head.
I decided to use my well-developed technique that seems to help in desperate situations; I began to cry. She took pity on me, put my head on her shoulder, and patted my back. “Perhaps,” she said. “They can make you one in the back.” As I shuffled in the direction she pointed, I heard her shout, “Dead man walking!”
When I arrived at the rear of the store, the scene wasn’t much better. I saw two women making corsages as fast as possible. Both had Band-Aids on every finger. The trash was full of flowers ruined by blood from pricked fingers. As fast as one was made, they put it into a petite white box. When I asked if I could buy one, both women immediately stopped working, and looked at me as though I was the person in the elevator who farted. I was in trouble. The bigger of the two leaned forward.
“Do you realize how many local high schools have Valentine’s Day dances tonight?” I did not. Pointing to the stacks of white cardboard boxes, “We still have to make 150 more corsages, and have them ready for pick up in one hour.” I fell back on my proven technique and began to cry; my lower lip quivered, and tears collected in the corners of my eyes. She softened. “Oh God, not another cry baby!” she shouted. “Okay! Okay! You can have one.”
I returned home carrying the corsage like a cat with a prize bird and presented it to my wife. She looked surprised and uttered those words that every man loves to hear. “You remembered!”
THE END

If you were waiting for my blog yesterday, I apologize. I had a medical appointment in NYC, an 8 hour round trip. So, here’s my blog a day late. Enjoy.

Subtle Signs That You May Have Screwed Up

Sometimes we need help to tell us when we screw up. As a public service, here's a list of some of the indicators that you may have screwed something up:

1. Your pet gives you the silent treatment.
2. Your mother unfriends you on Facebook.
3. You GPS tells you, “Get lost.”
4. Your boss starts calling you Mr. or Ms. plus your last name.
5. Your dad cuts you out of his will even though he doesn’t have anything.
6. Your kids send you an e-mail stating that they found a sibling that they never knew they had.
7. You wake up and you’re not sure what town you are in.
8. HR wants to talk to you about your secretary.
9. The sex video you made is no longer on your computer.
10. The IRS left a message on your voice mail.
11. Your lawyer won’t return your calls.
12. The CFO wants to talk with you about your business trip to Vegas.
13. Your boss now calls you “Stupid.”
14. Some guy named Slasher leaves a message that the Don wants to talk to you.
15. The FBI would like to talk to you.
16. When you come home, your house is covered with crime scene tape.
17. You find a group of reporters waiting for you when you arrive at work.
18. Your car explodes in the parking lot.
19. You realize that you are being followed by a drone.
20. All your credit cards are declined.
21. Your computer is no longer user friendly.
22. Key to the executive restroom no longer works.
232. Your significant other called and said they can’t find your secret stash.

These less than subtle signs should tell you that there is trouble brewing ahead.