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⚽ Twelve 8-year-olds + 200mg of caffeine + one mortified coach = the best bar story you’ll hear today. Trust us, you want to hear how this ends.
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A late-night traffic stop becomes a reminder: storytelling connects us, grounds us, and makes us known. In a world of strangers, our stories are how we find our way home.
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Grant’s thoughts about purchasing the Toyota snapped away when the officer softly tapped the driver’s side window. “Hello? Can you roll down the window for me, sir?” Grant didn’t realize the young officer was standing next to his door. The lights were blinding and hypnotizing all at the same time. “Yes, sir. Absolutely.” He quickly
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Before I was old enough to read, I told stories. Imagination incubated, spit out into the world through my limited toddler vocabulary. After being taught how to read and write, the magic turned from oral stories to written stories. Now I was writing my own material, reading everything I could to get ideas, even the
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Staring right at me, I thought she would start screaming, yelling at the top of her lungs. Before you start in on me, I just want to set the record straight – I didn’t start this argument. No. Really. I didn’t. It wasn’t my fault. But then again, the guilty always have a way of
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Working in customer service, retail, and sales gives you a unique perspective, seeing how working-class people interact with the general public and the public interacts with the staff. The hard part is figuring out what will motivate your staff to stick it out and stay with you and not simply go to work, get their
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When confronted with this question, how do you respond? Do you say I’m a custodian? Or are you an industrial arts technician? Or do you work at Popeye’s, McDonald’s, or Wendy’s? Maybe you are an assembly line worker punching a time clock. Perhaps you work as a roofer, but you dream of being a published
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“Do you dream in color? Or black and white?” Kenny asked Steve, looking from the edge of the Breckenmeyer Bridge. Both boys threw rocks and anything else they could find into the river below. The bridge spanned roughly a quarter mile and allowed one car at a time. But that was long before either boy
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“It’s about time,” Molly uttered under her breath. Waiting for a few minutes? That was to be expected. But for over an hour, Molly’s best friend, Shannen, to do her hair and makeup was a little more than patience; that was ridiculous! “Sheesh. What all were you doing, anyway? I’ve been waiting down here for
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“Who’s in charge? You or me?” That’s the kind of supercharged sentiment that separates micromanagers from leaders. It’s the difference between those who lead by fear instead of inspiring others. Leaders who challenge their people move in the same direction. Together, their team is unified against the odds. That’s a leader who will lead, being
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“It’s not that big of a deal,” she said. “I mean, I really. I didn’t. No, I didn’t really want coffee. Not really, anyway.” Ten seconds earlier, she held a precariously balanced iced vanilla latte between her philosophy textbook, a day planner, and a hand-me-down iPhone 13 from her grandmother. Unlike other twenty-somethings, she refused
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“Do I need to quarantine her?” Jim took one last drag from his cigarette, crushing it under his boot heel. “She’s been like this for two days, right, Hank?” Hank was standing to Jim’s left side, turning out his lip, scrubbing his gums of the loose tobacco, and spitting out the last bits of tobacco
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The Tri-Cities of Hanover, Tweed, and Spiner weren’t always connected. Once upon a time, long before Floyd or Janice could recall, all four cities were independent. Yes, there were once four cities, all connected via the one road separating them, spanning roughly fifteen miles north, south, east, and west. Folks in this part of Iowa
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“This is your what?” Shelly’s supervisor, Angela, held an unopened envelope in her hand. Angela sat behind her mahogany desk, polished to a shine, making those on the other side of the desk feel uncomfortable, as though they were in the presence of royalty. Unlike most interoffice hard copy full-size 8 1/2”X11” envelopes, it was
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So, the following Saturday, Brent came over and took me back to his house in Livermore in the Vega. It was a twenty-minute drive, give or take, so we had time to talk about music and listen to Duran Duran and David Bowie. He played two songs from Bowie, and we talked about both tunes,
Stories. Enjoy!
5 Minute Observations 