I’m gonna use this feature of Substack because Notes doesn’t allow carriage returns and it drives me crazy. I don’t really know what this feature is, but here we go anyway:
Writing Prompt Location: Hell’s Waiting Room Protagonist is the receptionist With thanks to Laura from Hardy’s Books
“Ah, you added the apostrophe. Just as well, because I was about to fire you.”
This was Jack, my immediate boss, and a complete and utter fanny. As if my day wasn’t difficult enough without Jack and his incessant grammar policing. Yesterday it was when I’d written ‘alot’ without the requisite space. I should remember to wear my Dyslexia lanyard. Not that it would make any difference.
The waiting room was full. The only self-service check-in screen that still worked was out of paper—again—so it was chaos. Nobody knew their number in the queue. People kept coming up to complain, and I felt for them, I really did. Some didn’t even know where they were. It was up there in big letters—Welcome to Hell. Why don’t people read sign’s?
I leaned into the microphone: “Number 40. Calling number 40.” Nobody moved. Ah, of course. They don’t know their number. I pointed to someone at random. “Could you go through, please? Thank you.” Jack came back from the vending machine with one cup in his hand. Of course he wasn’t going to bring me one. Fanny. As he walked past, he said, “between you and I…”
“Ah, you added the apostrophe. Just as well, because I was about to fire you.”
This was Jack, my immediate boss, and a complete and utter fanny. As if my day wasn’t difficult enough without Jack and his incessant grammar policing. Yesterday it was when I’d written ‘alot’ without the requisite space. I should remember to wear my Dyslexia lanyard. Not that it would make any difference.
The waiting room was full. The only self-service check-in screen that still worked was out of paper—again—so it was chaos. Nobody knew their number in the queue. People kept coming up to complain, and I felt for them, I really did. Some didn’t even know where they were. It was up there in big letters—Welcome to Hell. Why don’t people read sign’s?
I leaned into the microphone: “Number 40. Calling number 40.” Nobody moved. Ah, of course. They don’t know their number. I pointed to someone at random. “Could you go through, please? Thank you.” Jack came back from the vending machine with one cup in his hand. Of course he wasn’t going to bring me one. Fanny. As he walked past, he said, “between you and I…”