Holding the limp balloon to her mouth, Jenny blew and blew until it was filled with air, then tied it up and placed it into the growing pile behind her. Licking at her dried lips, she took another balloon from the packet and blew up another one, then another.
This was exhausting. She slumped back into the chair and closed her eyes.
When Blair had told her that she would be working out the back where his precious customers wouldn’t be able to see her, she had assumed that he had meant moving pallets around, opening boxes, sorting stock for the fillers later that night; but no, he wanted her to blow up balloons.
“Jennifer,” Blair purred at her side, sending her a foot into the air — where the hell had he come from? “You’re not slacking, are you?”
“Of course not.” She smiled and grabbed another balloon. “Just catching my breath for a moment.”
“Wonderful.” He paused, and eyed her up and down. “Your hair is looking much nicer now. Marvellous. After your shift, you might want to think about some cucumber for your eyes. Appearance is everything, sweetheart. Honestly, someone of your age should know better.”
There was no point in truly responding to him, so she simply nodded.
“Okay!” He exclaimed, whipping out a diagram from nowhere and dangling it before her. “There are three areas for these deeelightful balloons to adorn, you will see the archways already in place.” A roll of silk appeared in his other finely manicured hand. “You will tie the balloons to the archways with the instructions provided. Do hurry, I don’t want you out on the floor for longer than necessary.”
He dropped the diagram and the roll of silk onto the floor in front of her, spun around with a flourish, and waltzed out the double-doors before she had the chance to say anything.
Rolling her eyes at his back, Jenny piled the balloons into a waiting trolley, took the diagram and silk, and braced herself for the bright, fluorescent lights that would soon greet her.
Her first destination was aisle three, home of chocolates and various treats, an aisle she had spent many hours in previously, staring at all the goods on display. The archway that Blair had spoken of was clear as day, an intricately wired creation that stretched from the start of the aisle to the end, and he wanted her to cover this thing with balloons? And there were three of them?
She closed her eyes and inwardly groaned. She was going to have to blow up more balloons, and a ladder was going to be necessary. This was awful; truly awful.
“Excuse me.” Sally, the girl who had questioned Blair’s rantings earlier, stepped over to Jenny and cautiously looked over her shoulder, as though worried Blair could be hovering just behind her, ready to pounce. “D-do you think that thing Blair was talking about is really real?”
“That fungus thing?” Sally nodded and Jenny snorted. “Seriously! No, I don’t think his great fungus is really real. I think, that maybe, for breakfast, he took a shroom laced with acid and had a fungal trip.”
“O-oh.”
Sally lowered her eyes, offered a small, shaky smile, then scurried further down the aisle where she neatened several boxes so that they were presented at an obsessive-compulsive level of perfection.
The great fungus. What a load of bull. Jenny smirked and headed back towards the double-doors that led out to the back-docks. She needed a ladder.
“Hey, Jenny — Jenny! There you are!”
Joey’s voice wrapped around her head and sent a shiver plummeting down her spine. Blair could not see her socialising! She would have to fob him off and get back to work as soon as possible. She slowly turned around, only to be met by Joey’s giant grin only a few inches away.
“Joey? What are you doing here?”
“So forgetful.” He nudged her with an elbow. “I’m getting you some muffins, of course! But first…” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “There’s something you have to see.”
“I really can’t.” Jenny protested, motioning to the double-doors that were so close yet so far. “I need to get a ladder.”
“It’ll only take a minute, I promise.”
It was probably best to just do what he wanted so she could smile, nod, then hurry back to work before Blair noticed the unattended balloon-trolley.
“Fine, but quickly. Blair’s already unhappy with me and I can’t lose this job. Unless, you know, you want to be stuck with me forever.”
Joey’s smile widened. Grabbing her by the wrist, he yanked her towards the last aisle at the far end of the store, then released her and bowed with a flourish.
“Behold.”
Jenny’s eyes widened. Oh no. No, no, no.
The neat, shining aisle had been thoroughly transformed. Packages of toilet paper had been stacked one on top of another into giant walls, individual rolls had been torn from their packaging and dangled in ribbons from what could only be described as ramparts, and it was entirely enclosed with a small space for a door. It was a freaking toilet paper castle.
“Uh, Joey…” Jenny stared in horror at the mess. “Did… did you…”
“They were stacked in a boring old pyramid shape.” He made a vague triangle gesture with his hands. “They were just begging for proper presentation. Think I could get a job here doing displays? We could be work buddies. Oh!” He smacked his forehead. “Why didn’t I think of this before… I should’ve transformed them into a giant toilet. Get it? A toilet paper display shaped like a toilet?”
Jenny backed away. She had to leave. Now. Before Blair saw this and blamed her.
“It’s great.” She moistened her lips. “I… I need to go back to work now.”
She stepped further back, but Joey grabbed her wrist again.
“That’s not all. Come inside.” He dragged her through the castle’s doorway and flung an arm out wide. “It’s carpeted and has furniture.”
“Oh, God.”
Toilet paper lay scattered over every tiny millimetre of the gleaming white floor and was also piled up into a couch-like shape. She closed her eyes. This was a dream. She hadn’t even started her first day of work yet. This was a nightmare sent to torment her before her first day, surely. She pinched her arm, digging her nails deep into her skin. It was not a dream.
“I-I…I have to get back to work now,” she stammered.
She spun around, raced out the toilet paper door, and slammed straight into Blair’s gangly frame.
“Jennifer!”
No. No, no, no. She had the worst luck in the world! Blair’s face was on fire, his eyes as dark storm clouds as they shot imaginary lightning bolts into her face.
“What in the hells do you think you’re doing?” He screamed, his voice as high-pitched as a squealing opera singer. “The Great Fungus is coming — toilet paper is going to be hot, hot, hot! I can’t have you and your boyfriend messing it all up!”
Jenny blinked.
“He’s not my boyfriend; he’s—“
“I don’t need to hear about your love life!” He shrieked “Get the hell out of my store. Both of you are banned. Banned! Don’t come crawling to me when the Great Fungus takes hold and you need mashed potatoes.” He paused, took a few deep breaths as though to calm himself, then screamed in a pitch so high it set tinnitus ringing through her ears. “Get out, get out, get out. You’re fired. Get out!”
Unable to think, to speak, to find the words to declare her innocence, Jenny stood frozen in place, dumbfounded, and simply allowed Joey to drag her out of the store. He was saying words to her but she didn’t hear them, didn’t see the customers raising their eyebrows at her, at the both of them, and didn’t see the sympathetic eye of young Sally.
It had been two hours — again — and she had failed. Once again through no fault of her own.
Warm sunlight touched her face, followed by a gentle breeze and the fresh scent of the floral displays set up outside, and she slowly stirred from the shock. She turned to Joey and stared into his gleaming brown eyes, his gaze somehow apologetic yet filled with humour at the same time.
“Joey,” she whispered. “You didn’t… I didn’t…” she swallowed heavily then released a small wail. “He banned us before you got my muffins!”
Joey kicked at a small pebble on the path, narrowly missing a man passing by, and shrugged.
“It’s okay, dear Jenny. You shall have your muffins — follow me!”
She simply nodded and allowed Joey to guide her down the road and around the corner towards Manni’s Muffinhouse. If she had the strength, she would have protested. The Muffinhouse was known for dry and stale cakes and they made all their profits thanks to their lounge and cocktail bar. Perhaps a drink would be good though. Oh, God, she needed a drink.
The Muffinhouse was adorned with faux candlelit fixtures and had soft plump couches in place of benches. An old CRT television hung in the corner and played the news, and the cocktail bar sat adjacent, its bottles gleaming behind hardwood decor. Although the muffins were terrible, at least it was comfortable. Perhaps she could get a job here. Perhaps she could improve their recipe.
She buried herself into one of the plump couches and waited for Joey to bring over some muffins, and lamented knowing him at all. If it wasn’t for him, she would still be at work, earning money, getting back on her feet after all this time. How could he possibly think that making a toilet paper display was a good idea? He had no common sense at all. Not to mention the muffins on top of the doorframe that morning, showering her with crumbs. What on earth had he been thinking?
“Here we go!”
Joey fell onto the couch with a bounce and shoved a tray onto her lap.
Jenny poked at one of the jumbo-sized muffins sitting on the tray. It wasn’t as soft as Blair’s, and didn’t look anywhere near as delectable. She picked it up, turned it over in both hands, and nibbled the side. It was slightly stale and didn’t have quite as much flavour between the crumbs. With a sigh, she took a proper bite, placed it back on the tray, and glared at Joey.
He clasped his colossal muffin in both hands and bit it cleanly in two, chewing loudly. As though completely unaware of her angry stare, he asked, “Ever thought of making wine?”
“What the hell has that got to do with anything?”
“Just trying to brainstorm for you.” Joey shoved the other half of the muffin into his gaping mouth. “Want to earn money, don’t you? Why not do it from home! My aunt was an avid wine connoisseur, you know. She made it all in the basement, turned it into a profitable at-home business and never even left the house! Earned heaps. Cucumber was her speciality.”
“Cucumber. Wine.” Jenny wrinkled her nose. “Wasn’t that how she died? Didn’t she drown in a giant vat of the stuff?”
Joey ignored the question.
“Her cucumber wine was awful, but it had a hell of a kick to it! I think there’s still some in the basement. Want to go have a taste? Imagine how amazing that kick would be now, after all these years.”
“Admit it.” Jenny poked at the disappointing muffin. “You just want me to drown in the vat too. You want me to fail.” She placed the tray on the empty cushion beside her and buried her face in her hands. “Considering you just got me fired from a job I so desperately needed, I think you owe me at least three bottles of super potent wine. And another muffin. With apple chunks and white chocolate chips.”
Joey shrugged.
“It was just Blair’s. I don’t want you to fail, I just think you could do better. You could be making wine — from home! You would never have to leave the house. It would be so much fun!”
A Muffintop — a service assistant dressed as a giant muffin with their head poking out from where the topping would be — walked past.
“Oh, hon,” she interrupted, eyeing Jenny’s uniform. “You just got fired from Blair’s?”
Jenny nodded.
“Darl, we’ve all been there. He’s a fussy prick, that one. Doubt he’s been laid in years. Wouldn’t be able to handle a crinkle in the sheets. You know, if you take that uniform to the office, you’ll get reimbursed at least.”
“I’m — we’re — banned from stepping foot in there, ever again.” Jenny forced a thin smile. “Wanna take it in for me?”
“Ooh, ouch. You must’ve done a number.” The Muffintop grimaced, plopped another muffin onto Jenny’s tray and said, “On the house,” then walked back to the counter. It wasn’t the apple and chocolate one she had just demanded of Joey, but she was never one to look a gift-muffin in the mouth. Even if it was dry and decidedly undelectable.
“Do you think we could sell it on Amazon?”
“Huh?” Jenny raised an eyebrow. “I can’t just sell my uniform on Amazon, Joey.”
“The cucumber wine!”
Joey’s voice was filled with such excitement and glee it was nearly impossible to not smile in response.
“Did you pay the electricity bill?” she asked. “Can’t go on Amazon if there’s no power.”
Joey leapt to his feet.
“Can’t sell it on Amazon without a supply first — see you at home!”
He practically ran out the door and Jenny smiled to herself. He was such a character and she couldn’t stay mad at him for long. It wasn’t as though he needed a side hustle; he quite literally never had to work in his life. He had inherited the house and millions of dollars when his aunt, his custodian, had died a good fifteen or so years ago. He didn’t have to worry about job interviews, making good impressions, paying rent to keep a roof over his head, crumbs in his hair… nor did he have to indulge in the creation of backyard brew. It was all just a lark to him.
“…and then the goat ate her!”
What the hell? Jenny raised an eyebrow as her ears tuned into a conversation on the old television. The screen flickered intermittently as a man paced back and forth in front of the camera, wringing his hands as the news reporter looked on.
“Sir, did I hear you correctly? You’re saying that the goat ate your wife?”
“My poor Milly! She’d been feeling poorly, feverish, sweating more than a pork sandwich slathered in gravy, then she died — she died!” He wailed. “She took one last breath, one last shuddering breath, then her skin! It… it erupted like a mass of pimples. Fuzzy green pimples. A-and then this jerk,” he pointed an accusatory finger at the dopey looking goat, muzzled like Hannibal Lecter. “This jerk,” he repeated. “Raced up the stairs faster than a goddamned bullet and started to eat her!”
The reporter blinked, looked at the camera, then turned back to the man.
“I’m sorry. Your wife… you said she broke out in fuzzy green pimples?”
Jenny’s eyes widened. Before the man could respond to the reporter, the programme was cut and only static remained. A few moments passed then the picture returned. Hannibal the Goat, the reporter, and the frantic man had all disappeared and instead the two newsroom reporters sat centre-screen, looking pale. One of them cleared her throat and continued her spiel as though nothing had happened.
“Thank you, Logan, for such an interesting report.” She shuffled some papers and offered a brilliant smile to all who were watching. “Next up, the weather and—“
Jenny rubbed at her face. It couldn’t be. No. That could not be the work of Blair’s Great Fungus, could it? Breaking out in green fuzzy pimples wasn’t quite the same as turning into an exploding mushroom. That poor goat, though! Hopefully it would be okay.
Leaving the half-eaten muffins on the tray, Jenny climbed to her feet and slowly walked home.
The walk, though only a few kilometres, seemed longer than normal. The town centre was busy with people darting in and out of Uncle Blair’s, people were eating lunch together at various cafés and restaurants, and dozens of people filed in and out of the local liquor store.
The town centre soon turned into suburban housing. Neat bricks lined the street in identical plots all with the same white columns, white edging along windows and roofs, and all had similar gardens. It was idyllic yet boring. Further down the eternal street of bricks and a sudden turn to the left and the view transformed from perfect to unkempt chaos as suburbia met wilderness.
This cul-de-sac beneath the foot of Mount Esraelle only had four houses on it. Two were semi-modern brick constructs similar to those down the street, one was the filthy monstrosity the bogans had taken over, and the last was the rustic home that Joey’s aunt had built… presumably thanks to her cucumber wine empire.
As though right on cue, as she approached the majestic timber house black smoke billowed out from around the corner and zoomed up her nostrils.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” she groaned. “What now?”
Helloooo! It's Day Four of a sudden onset of Writing Madness -- a NaNoWriMo-inspired challenge that uses the daily #freewrite prompt to help create a full story within the confines of a mere month.
@mariannewest's prompt for today is ~ inflation. I was a bit worried at first, I wasn't entirely sure how I could include something so economical into this, then I remembered that inflation wasn't just an economic term. xD Queue the inflation of balloons! And lots of them!
A fair bit of today's writing is new, but just like yesterday's there is quite a bit of previous content from the last time I attempted this.
You can read the original version of these words at the following links:
Maynia, Day 2
Maynia, Day 3
Maynia, Day 4
This is the last of the pre-written content from Maynia 2020 -- everything from tomorrow onwards will be fresh writing. 😄 I have it all plotted out and I really hope I can get this story out just how I envision it. And, of course, make it to the end of the month without dying inside. 🤣
This is a very rough first draft of an upcoming book and will be tidied up and polished after this Month of Madness is finished. 😊 It might read like fast-paced-rushed-word-garbage at the moment, but it will be refined! (I over-edit like a madwoman.)
Title is a placeholder and will probably not be the final name of the book. 🤣 This story has nothing much to do with whistling but the local pub is called the Whistling Fart, things will go down there, and there will likely be a terrible amount of fart jokes. Because I'm uncultured and farts are funny. 🤷♀
Today's wordcount is 2,922
Total wordcount is 10,128 / 50,000
📝 A Quick Blurb 📚
Genre: immature adult comedy, reverse coming-of-age, apocalyptic silliness
Warning: irreverent, offensive humour
Jenny is a young lady in her mid-20's who finds herself out of work, out of home, and out of luck. An old friend from school has invited her to stay at his house until she gets back on her feet, but she just can't seem to land on them.
Every job opportunity she finds goes spectacularly wrong. The Great Fungus is spreading across the world and consuming all in its path. Then, to top it off, a solar flare renders electricity a thing of the past.
Faced with the end of the world as she knows it, Jenny has a choice. Will she embrace this apocalyptic madness... or will she, too, be consumed by the fungus?
Thank you for reading! 📚😊
See you tomorrow for Day Five! 📝🤓