F  I  C  T  I  O  N   It was a dimly lit sushi restaurant. There were little candles on each table, but except for the candles it was dark. The sushi chef stood at attention behind the bar, flanked by one short waitress, one tall waiter, and an perpetually smiling host.

We were literally outnumbered as there were only two of us and four of them. Maybe five if there was a dishwasher in the back room. Not good odds. I eyed the door discretely, measuring how many steps it would take to make a run for it. I knew I could make it but I wasn’t sure about my companion.

Calm down. Forget about it. Enjoy the moment, right? Think positive thoughts. We came here for a good meal so why not relax and study the menu. Have some hot sake, loosen up. There was a long list of familiar sushi dishes…sashimi, nigiri, California roll, caterpillar roll. There was a nice selection of noodles, soba, udon and ramen, plus some tempting tempura and teriyaki dishes. And potsticker appetizers…everyone likes those. It all looked good. Things were turning around here.

Then my eyes drifted down to the bottom of the menu. What’s this? In large capital letters that one could not miss. It was an unmistakable warning that filled me with foreboding thoughts.

NO SEPARATE CHECKS

What does that mean? Why the harsh tone? What had happened that was so dreadful that management felt the need to boldly print this admonition at the bottom of the menu? Had there been a separate check massacre? A table of six ordered 15 different dishes and then insisted on separate checks for each of them. Business was so good you could turn away customers because they insisted on having a separate check. There were only two of us in the restaurant at 6:30 p.m. What would happen if we insisted on separate checks? I had visions of sushi samurai warriors with very sharp knives coming out from behind the bar. Maybe on horseback, although I would say that would be most improbable given how small the restaurant was and how close together the tables were. Difficult to maneuver on a horse, but not impossible.

Where was I? Right, the separate checks. I decided the best course was to play along, order our food and then when the check came – not going to happen. I was not going to fight the system. The threat of samurai warriors was too great.

I wonder how they are going to react when we ask them to split the bill on 2 credit cards. There was no warning about that.

Jay Harrison is a graphic designer and writer whose work can be seen at DesignConcept. His mystery novel, Head Above Water, is available on Amazon and Kindle.

F I C T I O N

American Federation of Fry Cooks
2313 E. M St. NW
Washington, D.C. 20022

To: Mr. Res Ident

Dear Mr. Ident

We have had enough. Please help us. Our records indicate that you have purchased and presumably consumed fast foods during the past several years. For this we thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

Our colleagues are under constant attack from effete politicians, megabuck corporate welfare daddies and vapid commentators from sea to shining sea.

What is the first thing people say when they want to beat somebody up about education, crime, welfare? “Flipping burgers. If we don’t put a billion into satellite links to kindergartens, these kids will wind up flipping burgers. If we don’t put pool halls in the prisons, these guys will return to crime – they don’t want to be flipping burgers. If we don’t elect Bob Heartworm, all the people in the district face a future of flipping burgers.” This in a country that can’t wait for weekends so that people can fire up the grill and flip their own burgers. Go figure. Disrespecting fry cooks is hypocritical, immoral and un-American.

What in the world is wrong with commercial food preparation as a job? Not everybody gets to be the president of a multi-national corporation right out of grade school. We’re a hungry nation on the run. Fry cooks feed millions every day. What’s wrong with that? It’s honest work. It’s necessary work. They don’t have to sign life contracts. All they have to do is show up. And they do. By the tens of thousands every day. It’s enough to make you want to run outside and scream. Go ahead if you want to. This letter can wait.

There. Well, that’s the story. We need your help. The next time you hear or read of someone denigrating this honorable calling, take issue. Or drop us a line. We’ll take issue for you.

Sincerely,

Watson Wallaby
Chief Cook & Bottle Washer

Lanny Tonning is a pilot, roustabout, mechanic, bottle washer and co-owner of Old Town Farm and Bike In Coffee. When he’s not doing all those things he’s 4-wheel driving on roads that are not really roads.

F I C T I O N  I ran into Sigmund Freud the other day (I told you once but I’ll tell you again. It’s my fiction so I can meet up with anyone I like).

We were in front of a smokeshop and he was just coming out the door.

Sig, long time no see. Are you still smoking?

“Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.”

I know, but the research? I mean you must know smoking is bad for you.

“Being entirely honest with oneself is a good exercise.”

Hey, I’m really glad I’ve run into you because I had this dream a few nights ago that —

“The madman is a dreamer awake”

Okay, but this dream was really weird and I can’t figure out what it means.

“If you can’t do it, give up!”

That’s it? What happened to the whole dreams as wish fulfillments and dealing with the unconscious? You’re the man when it comes to understanding repressed thoughts.

“The ego is not master in its own house.”

Boy oh boy, today you’re handing out these bromides like they’re lollypops.

“When inspiration does not come to me, I go halfway to meet it.”

Sig, you know I respect you and the whole thing with the Oedipus complex and the libido, I mean it’s brilliant. You’re brilliant. But sometimes you can be really dense.

“We are what we are because we have been what we have been.”

That explains it. That explains everything. How about a little help here. My dreams make no sense to me and I’m really trying to get to the truth.

“One day, in retrospect, the years of struggle will strike you as the most beautiful.”

For a guy who’s explored the human mind for a living you can be little flippant about my problem. I’m looking for answers.

“Out of your vulnerabilities will come your strength.”

That’s what I’m talking about. You talk to me like I’m a hopeless case. Can’t you tell me some universal truth, something that will forever improve my psychic condition?

“Time spent with cats is never wasted.”

Jay Harrison is a graphic designer and writer whose work can be seen at DesignConcept. His mystery novel, Head Above Water, is available on Amazon and Kindle.

F I C T I O N   I met Kate Hepburn yesterday outside of Target. I know. It seems so improbable. You never think of her as a Target customer.

You look fantastic, I exclaimed as I hugged her svelte frame.

“What you see before you, my friend, is the result of a lifetime of chocolate.”

And your hair, it’s gorgeous.

“Fuck the roots.”

I’ve always wanted to know what your secret is. How did you get to live the life you wanted?

“As one goes through life, one learns that if you don’t paddle your own canoe, you don’t move.”

But didn’t you feel like you missed out on things you wanted to do?

“Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go everywhere.”

From what I’ve read about you, you must have been one of the bad girls then.

“I don’t care what is written about me as long as it isn’t true.”

Well you didn’t get much help from the Hollywood establishment.

“If you need a helping hand, you can find one at the end of your arm.”

You showed them. You bought out your studio contract and picked your projects.

“If you always do what interests you, at least one person is pleased.”

But didn’t some of the critics make you angry?

“Enemies are so stimulating.”

They thought you dressed funny, wearing trousers at a time when women just didn’t do that.

“What the hell — you might be right, you might be wrong…but don’t just avoid.”

And you kept on working in film and television well into your 80’s.

“I have no romantic feelings about age. Either you are interesting at any age or you are not. There is nothing particularly interesting about being old – or being young, for that matter.”

Your career had lots of ups and downs in the movie business. That must have been hard on you.

“Never complain. Never explain.”

Good mantra. I bet that catches on.

“Life can be wildly tragic at times, and I’ve had my share. But whatever happens to you, you have to keep a slightly comic attitude. In the final analysis, you have got not to forget to laugh.”

So true. Life can be a bitch.

“Life is hard. After all, it kills you.”

Jay Harrison is a graphic designer and writer whose work can be seen at DesignConcept. His mystery novel, Head Above Water, is available on Amazon and Kindle.

F I C T I O N   Last night at dinner my neighbor the eccentric producer, floundering and slightly off her rocker after the latest divorce, pitched us an idea for a reality television show. The concept, she explained, is a sort of This Old House meets Dr. Oz where Katie, who plans to write, direct and host the program, will visit celebrity homes and help the owners identify household problems, then elaborate on the pros and cons of DIY instead of calling a plumber, painter, or contractor.

She wants General Motors as a sponsor so that she can arrive at the site in a different car for every episode. “Yeah, they get subliminal advertising every time I drive up to the site.” She wants me to write a theme song “that makes everybody sing along, you know the way they did about seeing the U.S.A all over again.”

“My opening monologue will outline the problem and hint at some possible solutions. You know, like, ‘Today we’re on our way to the west side to meet Paula Tilson, an Albuquerque attorney whose ten-year old entertainment center is on the fritz.’ We’ll have some local color shots of the neighborhood and me pulling up into the driveway.

“Paula comes out to the car and we chat about her options. I don’t want to discourage her so we ad lib the pros and cons of the situation. She’s sentimental about the old gear but doesn’t really play her collection of vinyl anymore, so she’s open to the idea of a shopping trip.

“We drive to a few select retail locations and compare the current offerings in home entertainment with their associated price tags. The drama really builds when I reveal my recent discovery of a repair shop in Denver that restores vintage electronics. Here’s my favorite part: in the next segment we insert an interview with a specialist regarding the emotional aspects of change. There are some candid shots of Paula sitting alone in a dark room, looking out the window and weighing her options.

“That’s where the background music shifts to a minor key, Paula stands up and looks into the lens, she gets all teary- something for everybody, you know- and there’s a voice-over asking, ‘Will Paula take the plunge for new gear, or hold on to her memories and busted turntable? Stay tuned for the exciting conclusion of Fix It or Fuck It. And now this.”

Annonymous is just what it sound like. And we don’t mean the famous hacker.

F I C T I O N   Rosita’s fifteen-year old son says, “Mom, seriously, no one wears that color.” Rosita pushes her arms through the sleeves, trying not to show how nervous and shaky she is feeling. Her son, Jonathan, is tapping a pencil on his teeth and it takes all of her fortitude to not say something. His dad, Jerome Anthony Fudge, had the same habit. Click, click, click; pencil against teeth. What Rosita really wants to do is grab it from her son and throw it against the wall. Instead, she continues adjusting the fluorescent orange XXL hoodie. Why, she wonders, would they send her, 5’1″ and 120 pounds, an XXL?

Rosita met Jerome in high school, immediately got pregnant, then married, and now at age 32 is the single mother of a brainy teenager who is clueless about how she feels. Jerome stays in touch with Jonathan, sends him money, a new laptop every few years, and pays the tuition to the genius school his son attends. Two separate lives coexist and Jonathan navigates the middle without bringing in any crossover complications. Rosita dearly loves her son for that.

Being a traffic guard was not how a young Rosita de Jesus had imagined herself as a grown up. She was a fashionista in high school, making her own clothes and using all the style sense her grandmother and mother bestowed. Rosita planned on going to college in New York City and then along came Jerome. She doesn’t remember even caring that much about him but he was nice enough and seemed like an OK boyfriend. Everything changed when she found out she was pregnant. He was vague and afraid. It didn’t take very long for his family to intervene. The marriage lasted 2 years and 2 days and then Rosita and Jonathan were alone. The Fudge seniors paid for an apartment, pre-school for Jon, and most of what cost only money. Their friends suggested paying off Rosita but in fact they call her an “employee” and send regular paychecks; just as they do to their gardeners and staff.

Today Rosita knows the eye-catching orange sweatshirt might keep her, and a line of kids crossing Mulholland, from getting hit by a speeding Porsche. She feels bitterness eating away at her and resolves to be more positive. There is a teenage girl crossing with the younger kids, probably someone’s older sister, who looks at Rosita with pity. Rosita wants to say, “Be careful” but knows that won’t ever really be enough.

Kim Kohler writes on the uncertainties of living in a liberal hot spot where everybody has an opinion, every opinion counts and nobody uses turn signals.