Day 114

Happy Towel Day! Sorry for the missed post yesterday. It was the final day of my certification, and I passed! Back to business as usual…

Prompt: a character or characters who made a place more interesting.


“That doesn’t make sense, Mitch. Batman doesn’t even have any real powers.”

“I’m not saying it makes sense, I’m saying that there’s a movie about it.”

“But why? Obviously, Superman would win. He’s got like every advantage and Batman doesn’t kill people.”

“I mean I think it would be hard, but Batman could win. He could make crazy kryptonite weapons.”

“Yeah but in the time it would take him to literally pull out the weapon, Superman could just punch him through the Earth.”

“No because once he got close to Batman, the proximity to the kryptonite would make him weak.”

“Okay, but here’s the thing. Weakened Superman is just a regular man, right? So all Batman has done is level the playing field. Superman could still win. He’d just need to get far enough away from Batman to laser his arms off or something.”

“Can you two please shut up?”

We turn and look at Kris. She rolls her eyes. “It’s like this every time we hang out. It starts out all normal and we’re just four besties getting brews, then you two start arguing about something so nonsensical. Can we have one normal happy hour?”

I exchange a look with Mitch, both of us smirking.

“This isn’t over,” I whisper, turning toward our two companions. “Kris, Jeff, how were your days?”

Kris rolls her eyes again. “Ugh, now you’re making it weird and formal. My day was good, Jess, how was yours?”

“You’re mocking me, but I was genuinely curious. I had a lovely little day doing ‘IT shit’ as you love to call it.”

“I do not call it ‘IT shit.’ IT stuff, maybe.”

Jeff looks back and forth between us as we glare. “I had a shitty day.”

“How shitty?” Mitch asks.

“I don’t know, like a 7? I had HR training all morning.”

There’s a visible recoil from the table and a chorus of “ewwww.”

“What level of HR are we talking? Leadership training or-” Mitch pauses to shudder and swallow. “Empathy training?”

“Empathy. Sensitivity training. Guys, let me tell you about microaggressions.”

“Clearly you didn’t learn much since you just addressed a coed group as ‘guys.'”

He glares at me while I try (and mostly fail) not to laugh.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’ve got next. Who’s out?”

There’s a chorus of raised glasses and I nod, standing and stretching.

“Gentlemen,” I say, winking and saluting before I head to the bar.


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