A review of the Great Bridge by David McCullough

It’s actually cheaper to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge now than when it opened for business in 1883. When I crossed earlier in the year it was free of charge, but when the bridge opened it cost a full penny – and a few extra if you had farm animals in tow. The Great Bridge, by David McCullough, tells the epic story of the building of the bridge, a nearly 14 year journey to erect the longest suspension bridge the world had ever seen. To this day the iconic bridge remains in great shape, though several other bridges have long since surpassed its considerable length.

They say maybe 20 men died in the construction of the bridge, but those figures are not exact. Though there were painstaking records kept even in those days, for some reason those who lived and those who died were not one of them. Perhaps it’s because the wounds from the Civil War were still fresh during the bridge’s construction. America was used to death and dying. And, in comparison to some cities where they used the volatile and explosive nitroglycerin, losing 20 men was nothing. A dig in Boston resulted in over 300 dead. This was also an era of significant immigration. New residents were hungry for work no matter what the consequences.

The Great Bridge is mainly the story of its chief engineers, father and son John and Washington Roebling.  John, the patriarch, was an immigrant German with a talent for building – especially bridges – and had a work ethic and willpower to see his projects through. The younger Washington was a Civil War officer who shared his father’s passions, and who rose to the occasion after John passed away in a freak accident as the bridge construction was in its infancy.

I would urge anyone visiting New York City to take a stroll across the Brooklyn Bridge. You really feel the history in your bones, and the views in all directions are spectacular. I would equate the Brooklyn Bridge experience with the feeling one gets when entering a great cathedral. All the feelings of beauty, enormity, and the pride of human achievement come flooding inside along with the mourning for the departed. It’s a good feeling.  It’s an incredible bridge.

New Short Story Dedicated To All the Working Stiffs

The Barney 5

By Pete Schulte

　

It played like a mantra running through his brain. Sell the decision makers…Sell the decision makers… And this is just what Tobey Sutton intended to do as he bounded up the corporate steps of MAS Industries with a briefcase chock full of samples. He was a salesman after all, though a bit down on his luck. Today would be different, he thought. Today is a great day to die, and it’s also a great day to live. He was happy. He was confident.

Once inside the nearly empty glass building, Tobey approached the first person he could find. It was a man filling up his coffee mug in what looked to be a break station. “Are you the decision maker for MAS Industries?” he asked the man whose glasses nearly fell from his face.

“Are you kidding me?” he replied. “I can’t even decide what I want for lunch. Do I want tacos? Do I want pizza? I don’t know. You should ask Kara. She makes some decisions.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Tobey. “Where is this Kara?”

The man pointed down the hall and off went Tobey. He found a woman busy with filing or some other such task. “Are you Kara?” he asked her.

“Who wants to know?”

“Tobey Sutton wants to know and that’s me. I hear you make the decisions around here.”

“I do make decisions,” said Kara, “but only with regards to lunch. Nobody can decide on what they’re having, so I make those decisions for them. Now what can I help you with Mr. Sutton?”

“I was really hoping to find the decision maker, because I’ve got some really great products to show. You won‘t believe…”

“Stop right there, Sutton. Unless you’ve got some lunch ideas I can’t help you. You’ll have to see Barney.”

“Barney? Who is Barney?”

“Barney is who you go through for just about everything in this place,” said Kara. “If you can get something past Barney, well, good luck to you.”

“What’s his last name?” asked Tobey. “I’d be happy to meet him.”

“He ain’t got one. He’s just Barney. That’s all you need to know, Mr. Sutton.”

“Where can I find this Barney?”

Kara pointed even farther down the hall, to the very end in fact. Tobey squared his shoulders and charged down the corridor. He didn’t want to lose any of his confidence. I’ll show this Barney what I’ve got, he thought. I’ll show him.

At the end of the hall was a door without a name, room number, or any indication that it was somebody’s office. It may have been a custodial closet for all Tobey knew. Warily, he knocked upon the door. There was no answer so he tried it again at greater volume. This time he distinctly heard the word ’enter.’ Tobey slowly pushed the door open and glanced inside. There was a man seated behind a desk, an ordinary man about his age, but no other furniture except for a plain folding chair in front of the desk. There were no wall decorations, pictures, paintings, or anything on the desk itself but a computer. It was easily the most boring office Tobey had ever seen and he’d seen a lot of them. There wasn’t even a window. “Are you Barney?” said Tobey.

“Yes, I am.”

“I hate to be so informal at a business meeting,” said Tobey. “May I have your last name?”

“My last name is 5.”

“Five,” repeated Tobey. “Spelled like the number five?”

“Sort of,” said Barney. “But it’s actually 5, the numerical 5. I’m the fifth edition of the Barney series. I’m a robot. Barney number 5. Now what can I help you with?”

“Wow, you look so real. I would never have guessed.”

“We Barneys do fool a lot of people.”

“Are you the decision maker?” asked Tobey.

“Yes, as a matter of fact I am. I make all the decisions for MAS Industries.”

“Except for lunch.”

Barney 5 laughed, or whatever passed for laughter among robots. “Yes, except for lunch. Those chumps can eat dog food for all I care.”

“Okay,” said Tobey, “I don’t care what they’re having for lunch either. What I wanted to do was introduce myself. I’m Tobey Sutton, and I want to sell to MAS Industries some wonderful products I’ve brought along with me today.”

“No,” said Barney.

“No? But you haven’t even seen them.”

“I’m sorry, Tobey Sutton, but your products are neither needed nor wanted. I’m a robot. I’ve seen them all. It’s been a pleasure to meet you.”

“But they slice,” said Tobey.

“No.”

“And they dice.”

“No.”

“They’re self-cleaning,” pleaded Tobey.

“I don’t care.”

“They’re self-starting.”

“Big whoop.”

“They’re energy efficient.”

“Who cares…”

“Please,” said Tobey. “What can I do to convince you how great these products are? Is it me? Do you not like me?”

“No,” said Barney, “I like you just fine.”

“Listen,” said Tobey, “I’ll do anything. I’m really down on my luck here. You name it. I’ll do anything.”

“No you won’t.”

“I will,” said Tobey. “You try me. I will.”

“All right, Tobey Sutton,” said Barney, “I‘ll try you. At this moment I am prepared to buy 100,000 units of your product.”

“Right now?” questioned Tobey. “But I haven’t even taken them out of my briefcase.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’re fine.”

“100,000 units? Have you any idea how large a commission I’d get for 100,000 units?”

“Yes Tobey, I know exactly how much of a commission you’d get.”

“I’d be a legend back at the office.”

“Yes, you would,” said Barney.

“I’d be practically set for life.”

“Indeed, you would.”

“But what’s the catch?” inquired Tobey. “There’s got to be catch here.”

“I do have one simple request,” replied Barney. “In return for MAS Industries buying 100,000 units, I want you to do one simple thing: I want you to kill me.”

“Kill you!” exclaimed Tobey. “But you said you were a robot. You’re not even alive. How can I kill you?”

“Well, not exactly kill me per say, but I’ll give you a special code and you’ll turn me off -- for good. I’m not programmed to do this myself.”

“But I’ll be caught…and punished.”

“Not a chance,” said Barney. “I’ll set the timer so this happens one or two weeks from now. I’ll erase everything pertinent. They’ll never trace it back to you. It’d be impossible.”

“Listen, Barney, I’m just a salesman, and not even a very good one. I don’t know if I want to get caught up in any of this.”

“Tobey, I wouldn’t even ask you except that you’re my best friend.”

“Best friend? We just met, Barney.”

“Yes, but I told you that I liked you, and I don’t like anybody else. So you must be my best friend.”

“Barney, this is asking a lot.”

“Tobey, do you have a girlfriend or a wife?”

“I do have a girl, Shirley as a matter of fact.”

“Well, I don’t have a girlfriend, a wife, and aside from you not a single friend. Now what about the weekend? You and Shirley have plans?”

“Maybe we do, though certainly nothing extravagant.”

“Well, I don’t” said Barney, “extravagant or otherwise. I sit here in the dark. In fact, that’s what happens when everybody else goes home for the day. I sit here in the dark. I don’t have anything or anybody. I’m nothing, Tobey. And do you think any of those flubs out there in the office care about me? They don’t. Do you know they used to throw things at me until I started docking their pay. One of them plays computer games at his desk all day. Another hides alcohol in the men’s room. And that girl out there’s a floozy. I caught her on an on-line dating service and she’s married. She tried to re-boot me, and I almost gave her the physical boot except that I’m not programmed for violence. You see, they hate me because I’m the decision maker. But it’s guys like us, Tobey, you and me, who hold things together. We’re the ones who move things along. Not those dullards.”

“You’re really in a bad way, too,” said Tobey. “Is it possible I could just kidnap you or something?”

“No, I way a ton. Literally, I weigh a ton. I’m not going anywhere. But I tell you what, they will get me out of here as soon as the Barney 6 is introduced. I don’t know when that’s coming but coming it is. I’d much rather go out on my own terms. Just let me stick it to them one time. Let me make the one decision that really counts, the one I can‘t do on my own.”

“I just can’t help you,” said Tobey. “I’m sorry.”

“Listen, I’ll write a program that’ll be indispensable to the Barney 6. That way some little piece of the Barney 5 will be within the Barney 6. I’ll recognize you. And after buying 100,000 units I think the two of us are going to do a lot of business together. What do you say, buddy? You’re my friend. I wouldn’t ask this of anyone else. What do you say?”

“Oh golly,” said Tobey. “Oh gosh darn. Are you sure we’ll see each other again? I could sure use a friend sometimes.”

“Absolutely. Hey, we’re not only friends, we’re best buds. We’ll have a lot of catching up to do. I want to hear all about Shirley. And you did say you‘d do anything…”

“Gee whiz, the things I do for my friends…”

Barney opened his shirt for Tobey, revealing a box within his chest that had a key pad. “Just punch in the number 19650314. And hey, guess what? Your sale just went through. You’re a rich man, Tobey Sutton. I’ll be seeing you on the flip side.”

Tobey punched in the numbers as directed. “Good-bye, my friend. Good-bye, Barney number 5.”

The end.

I Really Could...

I Could Do You

                                By Pete Schulte

Rick had been fired that afternoon. His desk cleaned out, there was nothing left to do but leave the office, for good. Last box in hand he headed for the door. But wait, there was one last stop: Cindy’s desk. But more importantly, Cindy herself behind Cindy’s desk. Rick was in the unique position of really having nothing left to lose. He could speak his mind. He had something important to say. He said to Cindy, “I could do you.”

“You could do me?” questioned Cindy. “That’s preposterous. You could never do me.”

“I could so do you,” said Rick, “and everyone knows it. The security guard knows it, the lunch lady knows it, the kid in the mail room knows it, even the big boss knows it. Everyone knows it. The question is, why don’t you?”

“Because you only think you can do me. The people that do me know they can do me. You with your mail room boy, your security guard, and even your big boss. You’re tiny men, you come up to my ankles, you’re pesky piss ants. I’m afraid you could never do me. No, it’s unthinkable.”

“I could do you and then you would be done,” said Rick. “Do you understand me? What I’m saying is, no other men after me would interest you in the slightest. I think you’re afraid of that.”

“Afraid?” laughed Cindy. “I think not. Like I said, you only think you can do me. I catch trepidation from men rather easily. You shuffle your feet, lose eye contact, stammer a little. Sorry, but you melt in my presence. I’d eat you alive.”

“You talk tough, sister, but I see right through your act. I’ve seen the way you check me out, I caught you looking at my ass. I stand by what I said. Simply put, Cindy, I could do you.”

“When?” she asked.

“When?”

That’s right, stud, you heard me. When can do me?”

Rick thought about it for a second -- maybe too long a second. “Tonight,” he finally said. “I can do you tonight.”

“No,” said Cindy. “I can’t wait that long. I want you to do me right now.”

“Right now?” questioned Rick. “Are you crazy?”

“It’s not crazy at all. I want you to do me right now, right here. What are they going to do, fire you again? I’m the one taking the chances here.”

“Look,” said Rick, “I’m a classy guy. I like clean sheets, I like music and candlelight. I’m not doing it in an office.”

“You’re pathetic.”

“What’s wrong with tonight? It’s just a couple hours…”

“You pussy. You disgust me.”

“Listen,” said Rick. “Let’s just get the facts straight before I leave the office. It’s been officially determined that I could do you. It’s official and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Yes, it has been officially determined that you could have done me,” said Cindy, a wicked smile creeping across her face. “But you didn’t.”

The end.

Based on a True Story

The Noodle Bowl Incident

                              By Pete Schulte

It was that window of time when many of his friends were having their first weddings. Lonny had been to several weddings during the year and here was another. Now it’s the reception, now it’s supposed to be fun, but he had business to attend to first. He’d kept running into his old high school chum, Lauren, at these things and tonight was no different. What Lonny needed to do was to get with Lauren early before she started talking shit about him. It was so embarrassing, being laughed at for something he didn’t even do. Lonny was determined to clear up their misunderstanding once and for all. He found her admiring the wedding cake in the corner. He got her attention straight away. She wasn’t going anywhere. “Lauren, what a pleasure to see you again.”

“Oh, Lonny, did you happen to drive here?” she asked.

“I did.”

“Well, I hope you were careful this time.”

“Yes, Lauren,” said Lonny, holding back his irritation. “I was very careful. In fact, driving is something I wanted to discuss with you before the party begins, before either of us has had anything to drink.”

“Please,” said Lauren. “Let us discuss.”

“Lauren, it seems you’ve had some great fun at my expense these last few receptions relaying a story about you seeing me driving my car while eating a noodle bowl situated between my legs. Is that correct?”

“Yes, it’s always funny even when you’re saying it.”

“And I’m steering the car with my thighs, right?”

“Yes. Yes!”

“That the thing is, Lauren, that wasn’t me. You see, I pride myself on being a safe driver, a defensive driver. I would never text and drive let alone drive a car with my thighs while eating a noodle bowl. I fear that you’re telling and retelling this story could cause me grave repercussions if ever my insurance agent catches wind of this yarn. Why, they could raise my insurance rates or cancel me altogether and send me to another less reputable agency. That would be most devastating. Also, though I am a fan of Asian food, I prefer to eat my meals at dining establishments or in the comfort of my own home. I do not wolf down food in my car, certainly not something as potentially messy as a noodle bowl. I’m thinking there’s a possibility that this encounter on the road was all a dream to you, as old friends do pop up from time to time in dream imagery. It’s also possible that this is merely a fantasy you’ve concocted, which is understandable as we are in the midst of the wedding season and emotions tend to be lighthearted and gay…”

“So, Lonny, you think it’s a fantasy of mine to see you riding in your car with a noodle bowl between your legs and steering the car with you thighs?”

“Well, perhaps not a libidinous fantasy, but a fantasy to amuse yourself with nevertheless.”

“But you do drive an older model green Honda?”

“Yes Lauren, but there are many of those on the road today.”

“And you do wear those dorky glasses and for some reason wear your baseball cap backwards?”

“As do so many men my age...”

“That was you, motherfucker! You noodle bowl eating motherfucker!”

“Lauren, don’t be crass.”

“That was you eating that noodle bowl between your legs. That was you, Lonny. Just admit it.”

“Now Lauren, I’ve stated my case plainly and sincerely and I want for you to cease and desist at once. Consider this matter case closed.”

“I thought you might say that, Lonny, since you were getting a bit testy at our last meeting. So I must tell you that when our cars came upon the street light I took some pictures.”

“You took pictures of this?”

“And I blew them up.”

“You blew them up? What are you, a psycho?”

“And I brought them here with me. Would you like to see them, Lonny? Close up?”

“Oh shit,” he said, as she took the pictures from her purse and smoothed them out in front of him. “Listen, I was hungry. I was starving. I hadn’t eaten all day. It was just one time. You must believe me, Lauren. You do believe me, don’t you? How can we make this go away? Please, tell me how we can make this go away.”

“Well,” she said, “at all of these receptions not one person has asked me to dance. I think asking me to dance would be a good start.”

It was a good start. One dance led to a second, and then a second to a third. Then there was the chicken dance and the hokey-pokey. After that a slow dance to end the evening. And then there were dates, there were promises, there was love, and then their own wedding. And the noodle bowl incident was never brought up again.

The end.

Even Andy has his kinks...

Pete's newest short story

Meat and Cheese

By Pete Schulte

Tommy Cornwall was with both of his parents as the three confidently strode up the steps to the testing center. On this day Tommy would learn if he was being accepted into the Gifted Program, where all his classes would be now be advanced placement, and he’d have a clear road to the Ivy League and beyond. “Nothing can stop me now,” said Tommy at the top of the steps. “Right, Pop?”

Tommy’s father gave his son a stern look of caution but said nothing. He certainly didn’t want to jinx anything, not after they’d come so far. Mr. Cornwall held his wife tightly to him while being led down the hall by Tommy to the testing center’s entrance. Once inside the reception area they noticed some other kids and families milling about. They’d have to wait their turn.

Finally the Cornwall name was called out by the weary receptionist and they bounded into an interior office. A panel of three greeted them from behind a large table, then everyone took a seat. A tall, thin, pointy man in a white lab coat spoke first. “Thank you for coming in today,” he said in a cheerful voice. “I must say yours is a most interesting case.”

“Interesting,” said Tommy’s father. “How so?”

“Well,” the pointy man said, “usually our results are quantified. If you scored, say, a 95 or above we would likely consider you gifted academically.”

“So how’d I do?” said Tommy. “What was my score?”

“That’s just it,” said pointy, “there was no score.”

“No score?” questioned Tommy. “What gives?”

“That isn’t to say you scored zero,” continued pointy. “It’s just that for some reason the computer refused to tabulate a score for you, simply refused. It’s most unusual, unheard of really. It left us all scratching our heads.”

“Well,” said Tommy’s mother, “does this mean my little boy is gifted or not?”

Now the female of the white lab coats spoke up. “Since there was no score for the young applicant, we had to rely on his interviews with our staff. There were some key words that came out during these interviews that, quite frankly, caused concern for our evaluation.”

“Key words?” said Tommy. “What kind of key words are we talking about here?”

“One word that popped up time and time again was, well, nudnik,” said lab coat lady. “As in, ‘Who is this nudnik that thinks he’s gifted?’”

“Nudnik,” said Tommy. “I’m a nudnik?”

“This is appalling,” spoke Tommy’s father. “Do you know this young man is the inventor of the Alternator/Regulator? When it’s not alternating it’s regulating…”

“And when it’s not regulating it’s alternating,” added Tommy’s mother.

“Look,” said the last of the lab coats, a portly man with bad pants, “kids are always inventing this or that. It just doesn’t factor in with what we’re trying to evaluate. And the ‘nudnik’ comment wasn’t isolated by any means. Other comments referred to the young applicant as a doofus, a gomer, a rube, a blockhead, a nimrod, a nincompoop, a dullard, a numbskull, a simpleton, a dunderhead, a dolt, a drip, a dim bulb and a dunce. Why, one interviewer said he didn’t think the young man had any actual brains per say, but just a spacious cavity filled with meat and cheese.”

“Say, that’s a lot to be piling up on a guy,” said Tommy. “And since when does he get to crack wise with that meat and cheese stuff?”

“But there is a silver lining here,” pointy lab coat chimed in. “Although we cannot accept your boy into our gifted program, we have lined up a job opportunity for him, something more on his level.”

“A job opportunity?” said Tommy. “Can you beat that, Pops?”

“Well I for one am insulted,” said Tommy’s pop, “and I’m not even the one they were insulting.”

“Wait a minute,” said Tommy. “I want to hear more about this job opportunity. If you says I’m a nudnik, I want to make sure it pays.”

“The job is at Softey’s Mattress Company,” said pointy. “You would be the mattress tester, meaning all you would have to do is lie down on the mattress in the window display and look comfortable. With your abilities, young man, I think you could go quite far in the mattress testing industry.”

“See that, Pop? There’s always a silver lining. And Ma, you’re always telling me I should get more sleep, right? I think this is great news all around. Let‘s get down to Softey‘s straight away.”

“And if I may speak for the others,” said lady lab coat, “we just want to thank you, Mr. Cornball, for coming in today. I know some of this was rather difficult to hear.”

“Wait just a minute here,” said Tommy. “Did you say Cornball? I’m not Cornball, I’m Cornwall.”

“So you’re not Lenny Cornball?” asked pointy.

“No, I’m Tommy Cornwall through and through.”

“I’m his mother and I say he’s Tommy Cornwall. His nickname is Scooty if you must know.”

“Oh my,” said pointy. “I’m afraid we’ve made a terrible mistake. Please, somebody bring up Tommy’s score.”

“Tommy Cornwall scored…99,” said portly, aghast. “He is gifted. By every indication this boy is indeed gifted.”

“That’s my Tommy!” shouted Tommy’s pop, leaping from his seat. “What other boy his age would invent an Alternator/Regulator?”

“And we do want to get a look at that invention of yours, Mr. Cornwall. We’ll put our best people at your disposal.”

“Well,” said Tommy, “I can’t say I’m surprised. I knew there was much more than meat and cheese inside this old noodle brain.”

“Welcome to the gifted program, Tommy,” said pointy. “But it sure looks like we’ve got some bad news for Lenny.”

The end.

Andy likes to line dance...

Pictures from Miki's trip to Washington

Sonic Blooms near the Space Needle

First sighting of the Public Market

Sunset on Whidbey Island

Ferris Wheel on the waterfront

                                               

The Space Needle

New Short Story

The Gift of Giving

By Pete Schulte

Richard brought in the mail and met his wife, Ginger, in the kitchen. “Anything good?” she asked.“Looks like something from Barry,” Richard mumbled.

“Barry? Why would he send you anything?”

“Let’s find out,” said Richard as he tore at the envelope.

Richard held up the simple, flowery ‘thank you’ note for Ginger to see. “How nice, and so unexpected from Barry,” she said. “He’s never seemed the type to offer a card.”

Richard’s face grew red. Something was wrong. “This is no ordinary thank you note, Ginger. He’s mocking me.”

“Mocking you? Richard, please. Whatever do you mean?”

“The note reads: Richard, thank you so much for the ball scratcher you gave me for my birthday. I really needed one and it works just fine. Regards, Barry.”

“Well that’s just lovely sentiment,” said Ginger.

“I did not give him a ball scratcher!” snapped Richard.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“It was an artifact. What I gave him was an ancient artifact. You hang it in your kitchen. You certainly don’t scratch your balls with it. You see the way he sticks it to me? You see what he’s doing, don’t you?”

“Was that the artifact you bartered for while ankle deep in desert sand?” Ginger asked.

“No, no, no. I did barter for sure, bartered with my life as a matter of fact. But I wasn’t in the desert, I was knee deep in Amazonian mud for this one. How can he be so ungrateful?”

“Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding,” said Ginger. “because it looked…”

“I don’t care what it looked like,” said Richard. “It was an artifact, and it’s ancient, and it’s supposed to hang in the kitchen. Why can’t he see that and appreciate what I’ve done for him, this precious gift I’ve given him, nearly costing me my own life in the process?”

“Oh, dear Richard,” Ginger soothed. “My poor dear, Richard. You must talk to Barry. Tell him how it hurts you when he writes such boorish things, so common, so sophomoric. It’s beneath him.”

Ginger held Richard’s drooped head until he was over his petulance. Richard then gathered himself and went into his den. He called Barry. “We need to talk, Barry. Now.”

They met on a park bench somewhere in the neighborhood between their homes. Children played in the distance and clouds wafted above the warm sky. It was a perfect summer evening. “So what did you drag me out here for, Richard?”

“I think you know, Barry.”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“You insulted my wife,” said Richard.

“What? Are you crazy? I love Ginger. I would never insult Ginger.”

“She happened to be with me when I opened your so-called thank you note. She saw the way you insulted my gift by referring to it as a ball scratcher. We were both deeply offended.”

“It’s not a ball scratcher, Richard? Then what the hell is it?”

It’s an ancient artifact. I told you that when I gave it to you at your birthday party.”

“I thought you were kidding.”

“Barry, I risked my life for that artifact. I could have been killed.”

“Are you sure you want to go with that story, Richard? Think hard, my friend, think hard…”

“Of course I do. Of course, Barry. I was in the Amazon. I was knee deep in the muck and I did this for you, for my friend of twenty years. I did this for you, Barry.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have,” stated Barry. “You really shouldn’t have.”

“But I did. Yes Barry, I did. And now let us recall the gift you gave me for my birthday. It was a stainless steel beer stein, fair enough. But please note the inscription: To my friend, Richard, the biggest dick I know.” That’s what you wrote to me. How dare you!”

“But that’s funny. I was just trying to be funny.”

“Okay, mister funny man, let me tell you something: I happen to have a glass cabinet where I keep all my memorable gifts. It’s a locked cabinet, Barry. It’s locked. Perhaps you’ve seen it?”

“Oh, I’ve seen it, Richard, and it’s my ultimate fantasy to break into your house and pick that diary lock you’ve got on that stupid cabinet. I’ll show you.”

“Well, let me tell you something, Barry, your funny beer stein did not make the glass cabinet. No, sir.”

“Oh my God, Richard, I’m mortally wounded by this slight.”

“I’ll tell you where your gift resides, Barry. Oh, I’ll tell you all right. It sits on my desk holding pens and pencils I will no doubt ever use. That‘s all it‘s good for, joker. It will never see a drop of beer or the glass cabinet for that matter. Never ever.”

“Oh, la-di-da. But let me tell you about a gift I received from you, Richard, just five short years ago.”

“Don’t you go there, Barry.”

“I will go there, Richard, I will. At my birthday party, as you well recall, in front of everybody I open a gift from you that’s a vibrator, a sexual device.”

“It was not intended as a sexual device, Barry. You’d been complaining about your neck. You remember your neck? It was a neck massager what I bought for you. I was looking out for my friend.”

“I’m afraid neck massagers aren’t shaped like nine inch missiles. I don’t suppose you’d put something like that in your precious glass cabinet.”

“Look, let’s cool this down a bit,” said Richard. “We’ve been friends twenty years, right? I’ll say I overreacted, okay?”

“Okay, Richard, okay. But one more thing before we go. I’m not sure if you inspected your little artifact as closely as I did. But if you turn it over and look at the bottom it clearly reads: Made in China. So I’m not sure how it got to your Amazon.”

“The Chinese can do anything these days.”

“Also, I know it looks like wood, but it’s definitely plastic, your artifact. I’m guessing you were put out $4.99 for it?”

“I can prove it, Barry. We can take it down to the university lab right now. That artifact is genuine. It should be hanging in your kitchen.”

“I know we can go down to the university, Richard. I know we can, but we’ve gone down this road before and it always leads to your embarrassment. You sure you want to do it?”

“No.” said Richard, rising from his seat. “No, I guess I give in. Looks like you got me, Barry. You win. I’ll go home now.”

Richard started walking away but Barry caught up to him. “Richard, wait up. Wait up. I just want to say one more thing.”

“Go ahead,” he replied sheepishly. “Give me whatever I deserve.”

“No,” said Barry, “let me get this out. I just want to sincerely thank you for the gift I received from you. I’m real sorry I insulted it, whatever it is, and I’ll find a real nice place to hang it.”

“No, it’s okay,” Richard shrugged. “It’s just cheap.”

“Look, we’re friends twenty years, Richard, and I’m not about to let you go. And hey, maybe some day I’ll get something into that glass cabinet. You‘ll see.”

“You just might,” said Richard with a wave. “My friend, you just might.”

The end. 
　

　

Andy has a new friend

If you give a squirrel a nut...