Pete has a new short story

You’re the Top!

                           By Pete Schulte

Bottoms usually ate a late lunch in the break room at the office. He was more than likely alone then, and he liked it that way. He read his newspaper in peace while enjoying a sandwich, a soda, and maybe some chips. The break room consisted of four tables and a scattering of chairs. There was nothing on the walls except a poster explaining the minimum wage and a guide to the Heimlich maneuver. There was one machine that dispensed sodas and another that dispensed chips and other snacks. Bottoms sat furthest from the snack and soda machines because the soda one made a humming sound that irritated his ears. This was the break room on that day, quiet, sparse, and horribly dull until another employee entered the room.

Bottoms lowered his newspaper enough to regard the man that came into the room. He knew him, vaguely, as one of the newer employees on the staff. The man did not seem to notice Bottoms at all. He made right for the soda machine and tossed in some money. When his soda popped out he exclaimed “Yes!” Now he was throwing money down the snack machine. This time he was not so lucky. The chips fell only halfway down the front of the glass-encased machine before getting caught up on something that prevented its fall. The chips were quite stuck, and the man appeared helpless to intercede. “Oh no,” he cried. “Oh no. What’s happened here?”

The man placed his soda on the nearest table. He said aloud, “Now don’t you go anywhere,“ presumably speaking to the soda itself. But he did not regard Bottoms at all, and now Bottoms was watching the man with keen curiosity. The man returned to the machine and got down on his knees. He made a feeble attempt to reach under the machine in order to somehow free the chips manually. But his arm was too small and surely the machine had safeguards against such a procedure. In good time he withdrew his arm and resumed an upright position. Now he grasped the machine as if to hug it, and them began violently shaking it until the floor rumbled. He ceased the shaking motion when he could see that his efforts were of no use. The chips weren’t going anywhere.

The man put his hands on his hips. “Now you tell me what’s going on here,” he said to the machine, his back to Bottoms. “You tell me what’s going on here. We had a deal, a contract if you will. I give you money, you give me chips. I gave you money…and now what’s this? You claim a technical difficulty and that’s that? I have no recourse. Is that it? Well, I’m afraid it’s not going to be that simple. You see, I’d hardly had any breakfast this morning and now I’m so hungry. I’m office hungry, you know, the kind where you’d lick the paint off the walls, the kind where’d you’d eat old Halloween candy, the kind where you’d steal another’s lunch from the refrigerator. I’ve been thinking of having chips and a soda all day long and I was so looking forward to your kind services. I had the money. You know I had the money! And now what do you do? You dangle these chips right before my very eyes. You tease me with this supposed malfunction. Sir, I am not a violent man by any means, but look what you’ve done to me? I must raise my fists to you, you gnarly scalawag. I must attack and attack I will!”

Bottoms was now in a strange, unenviable position. He could have mad a quick exit from the room and notify the proper authorities. He could have interceded and made an attempt to help this man dislodge his chips in lieu of violence. But, as happens in human nature, sometimes one does nothing at all. This is what Bottoms did as the man bent his knees, clenched his fists, and growled cat-like at the machine. Suddenly he jabbed with his right arm and struck the machine with a loud bang. But, alas, the machine was unfazed. “Ouch. That smarts,” the man said, cupping his injured paw. Next, he kicked the machine hard but this did nothing. He kicked again and nothing still. “Gee whiz,” he said, dejected. “You’re one tough cookie.”

Now the man strode all the way across the room from the machine, near to Bottoms but still apparently not noticing his presence. “So this is what it’s come down to,” said the man. “I’m going to take a running start and ram my head into your glass. No, I don’t want to do this, but this is the course that you’ve chosen. You deny me my chips, I deny you your precious glass. You may be a match for my body, but you are no match for my heart. I declare on this day that I will have my chips. As God is my witness, thy chips shall be free!”

“Wait!” cried Bottoms, grabbing the back the man’s shirt to prevent his suicidal charge.

“What’s this?” asked the man, startled. “Unhand me, sir!”

“Wait. Just hear me out,” said Bottoms. “Your name is Sparky, right?”

“Sparky?” questioned the man. “What am I, a dog?” Sir, my name is Smedley.”

“Oh, sorry,” said Bottoms. “But Smedley, really, I think there’s another way.”

“Another way? How so?”

“Yes,” said Bottoms. “You see, just moments before you entered the room, I myself purchased a bag of chips. But here now, it’s the strangest thing. Rather than getting one bag of chips, the machine granted me two. In my possession I have two bags of chips.”

“Two bags for one?” said Smedley. “Bonus! It’s as if you’d won the lottery.”

“Of course it would be indulgent of me to consume two bags of chips in one sitting, so won’t you have the other, Smedley?”

“You want to give me a free bag of chips, just like that? Hey, what‘s the catch? What gives?”

“No catch at all, Smedley. Please, I just want to offer you a bag.”

“Say, what’s you name?”

“I’m Bottoms.”

“Well, Bottoms, I say you’re the tops -- if you don’t mind a little humor there.”

“No I don’t, Mr. Smedley. I don‘t mind at all.”

So, each with a bag of chips, there in the break room was the start of a long and beautiful friendship.

The end.