comedy – Dissatisfied Bruce, Author

Author’s Note: I humbly submit July’s edition of Cait Gordon’s 2020 Flash Fiction Challenge, featuring a car dealership as this month’s setting, the object is a brick, and the genre is an epistolary fiction – all in 1000 words. Thanks for reading and enjoy!

Richard Randall
Executive Sales Specialist
Vroom-Vroom Cars
Santa-Clara, California

May 17, 1977

Dear Ms. Westbrook,

Thank you for your visit yesterday at our dealership. I am sure you would agree that the slick and sexy Mamba-2000 sport-convertible you took for a test drive yesterday is the most unique experience one can drive this side of the ocean.

I enjoyed making your acquaintance and look forward to following up with you in person about your decision to acquire one. If I do say so myself, the car is perfect for someone of your stature. Please remember, if you pay cash, we will throw in a wood-panelled dash, spoilers, and an elite stereo system at no extra charge.

By the way, you left behind the promotional brick we give free to everyone who takes one of our cars out for a test drive. I am glad you wrote your address on it so I can reach you. Please feel free to come by anytime to claim it. It would be a delight to see you again.

Warm regards,
Richard Randall

May 23, 1977

Dear Richard,

Thank you for the kind letter the other day. You are right. The Mamba-2000 was like no other ride I have ever experienced. My excitement heightened when I first touched the velvety steering wheel, and my hands trembled when I inserted the key into the ignition. The soft purr of the motor made me gasp in delight.

Unlike my current Suburban-AF, it responded to my every command. It felt like it knew where I wanted to go without my having to tell it.

I almost lost control when the car hurtled itself on the open road after I kicked down into a higher gear, but the steering hugged the corners so tight, I knew I was driving something special. The vibrations of the chassis reeked of high-quality engineering , and the smooth acceleration surprised me for such a small car.

Pity I could not make a commitment to purchase on the spot. I grieved handing the keys over to you. I despised returning to my Suburban-AF. It is such a depressing vehicle. In fact, the old dilapidated clunker conked out after I filled it with gas last night.

Would I be able to get a good price if I traded in that horrible excuse of a car?

And thanks. I was wondering where I left that brick. I looked forward to putting a bow on it and making it my new dashboard mascot. Will you hold on to it for me until I return?

Sincerely
Samantha Westbrook

May 30, 1977

Dear Ms. Westbrook,

As I have not seen you in a while, I am sending a follow-up letter from the one I sent a couple of weeks ago. I regret to say, that we had an incident at the Vroom-Vroom dealership.

If you have not heard on the news, a man showed up at the dealership looking to buy a Suburban-FTW. (It is an upgrade of your current station-wagon.) After he took it for a test drive, he made an offer and demanded a promotional brick.

We had long since run out, but he saw the one I held for you. Despite my protests, he snatched it. He said some rather uncomely things and threw it through the windshield of a Mamba-2000 in the display room. He then smashed the hood and the doors, denting the car severely.

The man drove off without saying a word, leaving some pretty significant damage to the car.

I regret to say, your brick is in pieces, and we do not have another Mamba-2000 available. If you are still interested in buying this car, we will have to put in an order for one. It might take several weeks until a new one is shipped from Europe.

Please let me know if you are still interested, and I will make all the necessary arrangements.

Regards,
Richard Randall

June 4, 1977

Dear Richard,

My poor brick! I had intended to visit the dealership last week to reclaim him and put an offer on the Mamba-2000. Before I could, however, my husband drove up in a secondhand Suburban-WTF.

He presented it for an anniversary gift. I hated it! It’s bad enough I live in the suburbs and drive around in a box on wheels like everyone else. Let him drive it! I want my coupe! I should have gotten my brick. I’d have put it through the windshield of that pathetic station-wagon.

In fact, I despise it so much, why don’t you order me the Mamba now? I would give anything to dump this Suburban boat and ride that wonderfully euphoric car.

Sincerely,
Samantha Westbrook

July 8, 1977

Dear Ms. Westbrook,

I am delighted to announce that your car has arrived this morning, awaiting for you to pick it up. It came in a week earlier than anticipated.

Due to your inconvenience, we will paste racing stripes on the door, free of charge. Unfortunately, we no longer have the free brick promotion, but I still have your original brick (in pieces) which you have yet to claim. Given that our current promotion involves small rocks, your brick can qualify instead.

Warm regards,
Richard Randall

July 15, 1977

Dear Richard,

Thank you for all your help over the past several weeks. I squealed in delight when I jumped in my Mamba-2000. You were so right about selecting a manual transition. Driving with a gear shift brings me feel “one-with-the-machine.” It truly is my car.

I am going to tell all my girlfriends about the wonderful service at Vroom-Vroom, and to go and see you about buying a Mamba-2000 for themselves. They will never go back to those pathetic Suburbans again.

Warm regards,
Samantha

P.S. You can imagine my surprise when I found the bonus two bricks in the trunk! I know the promotion is long over, but they were put to good use. The Suburban-WTF is no more, and I look forward to many adventures in my Mamba-2000 for many a year.

A Brick in the Hand is Worth Two in the Trunk © 2020 Bruce Gordon. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles and reviews. For more information, contact Bruce Gordon.

Author’s Note: I humbly submit June’s edition of Cait Gordon’s 2020 Flash Fiction Challenge, featuring Parliament Hill as this month’s setting, the object is a pill bottle, and the genre is historical fiction – all in 1000 words. Thanks for reading and enjoy! Note: The city of Ottawa was founded as Bytown in the 1820s. Parliament Hill didn’t exist then as it is today, but the Barrack Hill Base did in its place.

Harold stood at the ship’s bow staring over the open water. The wooden dragon head, attached to the front, bobbed up and down in the rolls of the waves, and the rhythmic splashes of the oarsman echoed behind. The westward trek up the Ottawa River had been exhausting. With wind directly to their front, they couldn’t rely on their sail.

Harold’s long flowing beard and braided pig tails blew astern. At least his horned helmet stayed on his head. Content on his first journey, he dipped his fingers in a small leather purse attached to his belt and retrieved a small bottle, stopped by a cork. “Adrenal Nucleoprotein Tablets, take two a day.”

“Not sure what Colonel By will use them for. Too bad Doctor Smith came down with the clap. He would’ve loved the trip.” thought Harold.

A fortress on a hilltop signaled their arrival in Bytown. Harold bounded to the stern.

“Magnus,” he barked, “we’re within a league of Barrack Hill. Reduce speed for docking.”

Like Harold, Magnus wore a horned helmet and heavy furs, and yelled the order to the crew. The longboat slowed.

Bang!

Sploosh!

“What on…” yelled Harold. ”They fired a cannon at us!”

“There’s the entrance to the new canal,” Magnus replied. “It should shelter us from the fortress’ cannons. Crew, full speed ahead.”

Cannonballs rained on either side of the vessel.

“Magnus, know what these are for?” He showed him the pill bottle.

“Why should I care now? We’re in the heat of battle! Oarsmen! FASTER, like your life depended on it.”

After a tense minute, Magnus turned the helm hard to port and the crew slowed the ship gracefully into the inlet. Harold had never seen anything like it, but in the distance steps of the lock appeared that would take his ship down the canal. They needed to come to a dead stop because the lock-master had to lower their ship and open the gates to continue them their journey. He wasn’t around.

“Why did they shoot at us?” asked Harold.

Magnus hopped off the boat with rope in hand and tied the ship down to a cleat and ran to the front. A crewman tossed him a line and he repeated the process before returning.

“Maybe it was a mistake?” said Harold.

“They must’ve thought we were Americans attacking them,” said Magnus.

“Do we look like Americans?” said Harold pointing to his horned helmet. “Besides, the doctor told me he alerted Colonel By of our arrival.“

A bugle sounded from the top of Barrack Hill and a garrison stormed out of the fortress.

Magnus grabbed a two-handed axe. “Ha-ha! We’re in for it now! I’ve been waiting for this moment for nearly a year!”

“What?” said Harold. “When I signed up to join the North American Nordic Society last week, I didn’t think I’d be risking my life!”

“You’re not serious? We live for this stuff! A big part of what we do is historical re-enactments. Look at the men! They’re all primed and ready to go!” The crew had grabbed their axes. “Man, Doctor Smith must be regretting missing this! First one he’s missed in years!”

The crew charged off the ship and ran towards their assailants on the hill. Their blood curdling screams made Harold’s hair stand stiff on the back of his neck.

“Praise be to Odin!” Before Harold could reply back, Magnus leapt off the boat to join the others.

Harold stayed behind and observed the vikings and soldiers having a bally-good time fencing and sparring with their weapons. He never learned in history class of a Viking-British battle that involved muskets and axes, but it didn’t bother his shipmates. Next time, he’ll be sure to bring a weapon.

He fingered the pill bottle again. He had his mission. Nervous, Harold walked forward into the sea of clanging weapons with his hands in the air.

A soldier stopped his sparring. “Why aren’t you fighting?” he asked.

“I have something for Colonel By, may I see him?”

“He’s a busy man. What business do you have with him?”

“I have his Adrenal Nucleoprotein tablets from his doctor,” said Harold shaking the pill bottle, “who asked me to deliver it.”

“Doctor Smith not here? Too bad! He would’ve loved this! I’m Captain Johnson. We are all field engineers working on the canal project. This town is so boring that we welcome some fun from the Society. Hope you didn’t get too scared with our cannon welcome! We need some target practice, ha-ha.”

They walked up the hill together to the fortress. Johnson introduced Harold to Colonel By.

“Your pills sir, as prescribed by your physician.”

“Thank goodness,” said Colonel By. “With this bloody canal project, we’ve had so many delays and cost overruns, I thought I’d die of a stroke. You know, we built this thing to protect us from an invading American force. Doubt that’ll ever happen now. And my reward for my efforts? A nagging headache and missing all the fun outside.”

He read the instructions on the pill bottle and pulled the cork at the top of it without success. “Damn, can anyone open these things?” He smashed the bottle on the edge of a table and picked some pills in between the small shards of glass.

“Ah, much better,” the colonel said swallowing a handful. “Now, Harold. For giving me the relief from my aches and pains, how would you like to take your fine vessel I see tied in my lock on an inaugural sail down my canal tomorrow? Before it even opens up to the public.”

“I’d be honoured. Can I wear my horns?” said Harold.

“But of course, I too am part of the Nordic Society.”

The following morning, Harold, the crew, and Colonel By wearing his viking helmet, navigated the locks to begin their 200 kilometre trek to Kingston. The first of many voyages boaters would take along the Rideau Canal.

Viking Siege © 2020 Bruce Gordon. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles and reviews. For more information, contact Bruce Gordon.