Cafe
The following is a piece from a writing group where we're given a prompt and then nine minutes to write whatever comes to mind. Just for fun, I'm posting some of them here:
Prompt: Cafe
“You must be Mark,” she announced to me as I walked into the coffee shop. “It's me, Sandra.”
I wasn't Mark, but her tone wasn't accusatory and she was extraordinarily cute. She was in a coffee shop meeting a “Mark” whom she had never met. This must be an internet date; right? I hesitated for a second, but when she cocked her head awaiting a response and her dark curls bounced, I smiled and sat down.
“I sure am,” I said as I sat.
“You're late,” she announced, but her tone had a friendly lilt. Again, not accusatory. Could the real Mark have been dumb enough to have stood up this beautiful goddess?
“Yeah, sorry about that,” I said. “I was, um, nervous.” Seemed like a good excuse in my head, but it sounded dumb coming out of my mouth.
We began to chat, telling each other about ourselves. I did more of the talking than I wanted to. I wanted to ask her about herself and then shut up for a few minutes, but she kept firing questions at me, and I kept answering. When I managed to get in a question about her she would smile and give a short answer, then return to asking me questions.
Admittedly, there were signs that something was amiss. Some of the questions should have been blatant red flags that I had misread the situation, but as I stared into her eyes, I could barely concentrate on why she was asking me complex hypotheticals and requesting narratives of very specific incidents in my life, like a time I had a conflict with a co-worker, and how I resolved it.
Even when she asked me about my proficiency with Microsoft Excel, I just answered as honestly as I could, not pausing to wonder why. The question about how flexible I can be with my schedule didn't phase me, either, since of course my potential future girlfriend is going to want to know how much time we'll be able to spend together.
It's when she told me the starting salary that it finally began to seep in that she was not interested in me as a boyfriend. At first I thought I was about to win the lottery of life, that this gorgeous woman was apparently rich and wanting to be my sugar momma.
But then I realized what it was the real Mark had blown off.
Anyway, I've had this job for five years now. That's how I became an accountant, and that's why everyone here calls me Mark.
Prompt: Cafe
“You must be Mark,” she announced to me as I walked into the coffee shop. “It's me, Sandra.”
I wasn't Mark, but her tone wasn't accusatory and she was extraordinarily cute. She was in a coffee shop meeting a “Mark” whom she had never met. This must be an internet date; right? I hesitated for a second, but when she cocked her head awaiting a response and her dark curls bounced, I smiled and sat down.
“I sure am,” I said as I sat.
“You're late,” she announced, but her tone had a friendly lilt. Again, not accusatory. Could the real Mark have been dumb enough to have stood up this beautiful goddess?
“Yeah, sorry about that,” I said. “I was, um, nervous.” Seemed like a good excuse in my head, but it sounded dumb coming out of my mouth.
We began to chat, telling each other about ourselves. I did more of the talking than I wanted to. I wanted to ask her about herself and then shut up for a few minutes, but she kept firing questions at me, and I kept answering. When I managed to get in a question about her she would smile and give a short answer, then return to asking me questions.
Admittedly, there were signs that something was amiss. Some of the questions should have been blatant red flags that I had misread the situation, but as I stared into her eyes, I could barely concentrate on why she was asking me complex hypotheticals and requesting narratives of very specific incidents in my life, like a time I had a conflict with a co-worker, and how I resolved it.
Even when she asked me about my proficiency with Microsoft Excel, I just answered as honestly as I could, not pausing to wonder why. The question about how flexible I can be with my schedule didn't phase me, either, since of course my potential future girlfriend is going to want to know how much time we'll be able to spend together.
It's when she told me the starting salary that it finally began to seep in that she was not interested in me as a boyfriend. At first I thought I was about to win the lottery of life, that this gorgeous woman was apparently rich and wanting to be my sugar momma.
But then I realized what it was the real Mark had blown off.
Anyway, I've had this job for five years now. That's how I became an accountant, and that's why everyone here calls me Mark.
No comments have been added yet.
