The Lunch Bag Note

“Ah, did you get a note from your mom?” Eriq asked.

Tyson was caught off guard.  He and Eriq had been eating lunch together for years, but this was apparently the first time the customary lunch had been noticed.

“Yeah, my mom has been leaving me notes in my lunch box since kindergarten,” Tyson explained.

“That’s actually pretty cute,” Eriq admitted.

“It used to be.  The notes were once ‘I love you! Have a great day!’ kinda stuff.” Tyson said, beginning to read over today’s note.

“What are they now?”

“Well, at some point she started posting them to Insta and her followers started sharing the…the ones that are really, really weird for the most part,” Tyson said.

“Your mom’s Insta famous?” Eriq was confounded.

“In a way.  Here’s today’s note; ‘the arachnid king of Neptune only eats the weak.’ Followed by a picture of a spider wearing a crown eating a butterfly.”

“That’s gibberish.”

“It has 6,000 likes.” Tyson said through a sigh.

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The New Desk

Jackson had landed the big promotion.  Old Man Jenkins had finally retired and Jackson was tapped to take on a bigger, much more intimidating role.  He was very ready for the challenge.

With the promotion came a new to him office.  Unfortunately, the office still smelled like Old Man Jenkins; an odd mix of cloves, cinnamon and wet dog.  “Like a scented candle made for people who loved Fear Factor” was often how Jenkins’ aroma was described.  Jackson set out various Febreeze products throughout the office.  The bookcase, the window sills, the small table for one-on-one meetings, the couch, and the drawers of the new desk.

One drawer was less than cooperative when Jackson went to open it.

“Move you little…,” he muttered as the drawer fought him.  The struggle lasted minutes and included such embarrassing moments, the young titan of industry would never speak of it to friends or family.

When it finally flew open, sending the poor lad to the floor where his fist, holding the drawer’s formerly in place handle, collided with his face (another moment that would never be discussed with others), a flurry of papers followed.

Surrounded by yellowed sheets of paper that had not likely been outside of the desk drawer since the Ford presidency, Jackson shook away his wounded pride and perused the documents.

Confusion followed.

“What in the world, Jenkins?” He asked the room.  He waited for an answer for a brief moment, then realized he was alone and made a note to see a doctor about his apparent handle induced head wound.

Maps. Charts. Plans. Names of long dead people. Countries Jackson was pretty sure no longer existed.  All showed up in one piece of paper or another.  He searched for the folder that, knowing how Jenkins operated, certainly held the papers at one point.  “Invasion Plan Delta” read one folder. “Control Contingency Alpha” read another.

“Did you plan to invade small countries for the sake of this company?” Jackson asked, much to his relief he did so rhetorically this time.  The answer, he knew, was absolutely yes.  “I really hope this was a weird hobby and not part of the ‘other duties as assigned’ part of the job description.”