Fictitious Fiction

After that doozy of a story from my previous entry, I needed a good follow-up. And what's a better way to follow up something like that than by totally stealing someone else's idea? The lovely Erin has a history of writing hilarious tales based entirely on Google searches. ("Google Fiction: Searches Incorporated into Brief and Awesome Tales" is what she generally calls them.) Should you need clarification, it works like this: the punch line of the story is a google search that got a hit for your website. Got it? Good. It was barely five minutes into the meeting, and already Sandra was listing off statistics and figures about the company's current plight. Bob sat half in awe, half in a sleepy stupor, unsure of whether or not he should actually care about the discussion at hand. In the real world, it seemed trivial to worry about the tenth and hundredth decimal percentages Sandra was going on about.

Despite himself, Bob tried to pay attention, only to end up zoning out while staring at Sandra. She was wearing her usual attire: solid button-up long-sleeve shirt, sleeves rolled partially up her forearms. Business slacks she'd no doubt gotten at Sears. She looked menacingly about the room, barking out numbers in a voice that didn't quite mesh with her stocky, five-foot-five frame.

"We really need to push the sales in this area," she said, pointing to a pie chart on the overhead projector. "The market is there, we just have to milk it." Bob was startled by her choice of words and, before he could catch himself, started laughing. Sandra whirled on him, and the hair that stopped just short of her back brushed against the collar of her shirt.

"And if you can manage to ever focus, Bob, you might actually be able to be more than a cashier for this company."

"I'm sorry," Bob replied, "what was that? You said something about milking things and totally lost me."

Sandra replied by picking up her stack of data sheets and lobbing it at Bob, hitting him square in the jaw. Apparently, Bob realized, the HISTORICAL SUPPLY AND DEMAND OF BIRKENSTOCK SANDALS was no laughing matter.