John's Mustache

by Faye Honig

John Pierre, living in America with his wife Annmarie, has a mustache. It is a men's normal mustache, nothing special. He has had the mustache since he was 24, and he is now 42.

He has had a hard day at the office and is pacing in his bathroom. His wife is away for two days on a business trip. He turns his face and studies it in the mirror. He needs to change something. Grabbing his razor and shaving cream, he gets rid of his mustache.

He goes to sleep, feeling satisfied and calm.

* * *

When Annmarie returns from Boston, John calls out from the kitchen: "Honey, dinner's ready!" Annmarie walks in. She takes a deep breath. "Smells great, sweetie! Thanks!" She gives him a kiss.

"Notice anything different?"

"Umm... new shirt?"

"I shaved my mustache!"

"What?"

"It's gone! See?"

"You had a mustache?"

"Ha! I've had it for eighteen years... I just decided I needed a change."

"Sweetie... you've never had a mustache..."

"What? You mean you actually can't remember it?"

"No..."

"Look at all the pictures!"

John goes to their photo albums, shaking his head. He grabs one and flips to the first page. He looks at a few photos that he barely remembers, even though he took them.

"Where are all the pictures?"

"What? Those are the pictures."

"No. Where are the pictures with me in them?"

"Well, you've always insisted that you be the photographer... You've never been in any pictures, come to think of it..."

"That's not true! Wouldn't you think that was a bit strange?"

"Well, yes, I did at the time, but I never really questioned it."

"I can't believe this. I had a mustache the other day, I swear!"

"Fine, John. Look, it's getting late. Let's just eat dinner and go to bed. We both have work tomorrow."

* * *

The next morning, after Annmarie leaves for work, John goes looking for evidence of his mustache. He tries the bathroom sink, but he cleaned it out after shaving and there's no hair. He only ever used scissors to trim it, too, so there isn't any telltale grooming equipment.

He rips apart his whole house looking for a picture.

"My commencement picture!" He runs to his bedroom and grabs his folder of documents from Wesleyan. He frantically goes through papers, his eyes searching for himself. Nothing. He knows his picture with gap and gown (and mustache) is there, but he can't find it.

"Where did my life go?"

He has to go to work.

* * *

John drives as close to the speed limit as he can. When he arrives, he swipes his ID card through the scanner by the turnstile. It beeps. The guard calls him over.

"The system denied you."

"Oh. I... you just need to talk to my boss, Mister Ryan. My name is John Phillipe. I work here."

The guard presses a button on the phone on his desk. "Mister Ryan, a man named John Phillipe is here to see you."

"What?" a voice answers.

"John Phillipe."

"Huh? He was fired years ago."

"What?" yells John. He races out of the office and into his car. He can't take it anymore. He spends the next two nights in a motel.

* * *

The third morning John wakes up and finds himself in his own bed. He looks around, dazed. He jumps out of bed and runs to his folder of Wesleyan documents. His commencement picture is there. His mustache covers his wide, toothy grin.

He breaths a sigh of relief. He goes to the bathroom mirror. His mustache is gone.

"Oh no."

The lock clicks.

"John? I'm home from my business trip."

"Hi!"

Annmarie walks into the bathroom.

"Oh, you shaved your mustache?"

"You remembered I had one?"

"Of course... you've had it for eighteen years!"

*

[This story reminds me of Mulholland Drive (2001). Also Franz Kafka's The Trial (1925). Good job Faye! --Ned]

Tech Support

by Grace Rittenberg

"...In the auditorium, Mr. Jobs stood onstage in that powerful stance of his..."

"Damn it."

I hit and cursed my work computer. Violence toward technology didn't help, of course, but it made me feel a lot better.

"What's wrong?" Nick asked.

"It's still not really working."

"Did you call the tech person?"

"Yeah, I don't know where he is." Secretly I believed that the tech person was late so he could pretend he was busy.

"Well," Nick said, "he is pretty busy."

***

Nick is one of those Steve-Jobs-worshipping Apple employees. I took this job because there wasn't anything else I could do -- and it pays well. You can make more money at Apple than anywhere else since Bill Gates died.

"You called?" said a male voice. Oh, great.

"Yeah, I'm having some problems with -- "

"Move!" he cut me off. The tech guy was thin and he instantly annoyed me. "Now, what are you having problems with?"

"Well, I don't know what printer to send this to, and I keep having to restart it because it freezes when I open Safari."

He let out an exasperated breath. "You're not supposed to use Safari."

"Then why is it there?"

"The printer on this floor is Z52720-Second-Floor. I don't know why your colleagues -- " he glared at Nick " -- didn't tell you. Please, only call me for important things."

This job has taught me one thing -- I hate tech people.

"Auditorium now, auditorium now," said a voice over the speaker system. "Director Jobs has an announcement. Auditorium now."

"If it's another new iPod, I'm going to be gutted, because I just got the new one," Nick said.

***

In the auditorium, Mr. Jobs stood onstage in that powerful stance of his.

When everybody sat down, he held something up and said, "This, everyone, is the first ever iPod!"

It was something we'd all seen before. It was pretty ancient -- only about 2 gigs, no touch screen, and it was huge.

"And these," he continued, "are all the iPods ever!"

He clicked his fingers and a curtain came down, uncovering a wall of iPods.

"I have called you all here today to tell you the news. Drum roll, please!"

He clicked his fingers again, and a drum roll started.

"Apple is the most powerful, influential, expensive and profitable company in the world!"

Everyone applauded. I joined in, because I'm pretty sure it was mandatory. But it made me wonder -- what would people ever do without technology? It could all crash in a second.

"And that is why!" Jobs said, "We are now entering... phase two."

The lights dimmed. A spotlight under his face turned on and lengthened his features. And then things started getting very evil...

Give It A Chance

by Grace Rittenberg

Polly was obsessed with it. It was so easy. Eventually she would get kicked out of the stores, but she always had some time to do what she loved.

She walked down the familiar streets with a smile on her face. No one that she knew was around so it was safe. None of her friends knew about it. She told them that she had stuff to do on Fridays. It was a ritual, and she didn't want to break it.

She walked into the building and immediately went to the right section. There were a few other people around. Polly wondered if they hid from their friends also. It wasn't the most shameful thing in the world, but if your friends rag on something, you tend not to do it.

She had been at it for maybe an hour when she heard a voice say, "Polly?"

Polly looked up to see two very familiar faces. They were standing there with their mouths open.

"What are you doing?" one of them asked.

"Um... reading."

"In the manga section?"

Polly didn't say anything. She knew her friends would find out sooner or later, but she had hoped that it would be later. They were always talking about how dumb manga was, how people who read it are lame.

"I was waiting for my dad. And okay, look, there he is!" With that excuse, she ran out of the bookstore.

She knew it was stupid. She knew that her friends would like her whatever she did, but it was something that she wanted to do alone. She never bought the books; she just sat in the stores read them until clerks annoyed her about actually buying something.

Now she wouldn't be able to read these books in peace. Her friends would mention it whenever they got the chance. She would laugh it off, but it would still hurt a little, because manga was something she loved. Her friends just didn't give it a chance. That's all she asked for--a chance.

(prompt: write something about shame)