Summer was in full swing, the long day nearing its end, and Claire was in a hurry to get home. She had a date with her favorite show, Gilded Ages, and after waiting nearly two years for the new season, she wasn’t about to miss a minute. The call center closed at 8 p.m., her show started at 9, and she was determined to be out the door the moment the clock struck closing time.
But, of course, the last call of the evening was from a lonely old woman whose only reason for calling seemed to be the need to hear another human’s voice. As Claire gently hinted that it was time to wrap up, the woman grew impatient, her tone sharp. She demanded a technician be sent to her house that very evening to repair her vacuum.
Claire glanced at the woman’s address and realized it was on her route home. Eager to end the call, she scheduled an after-hours appointment, explaining there would be a premium charge. The old woman grumbled but agreed. Claire jotted down the address and rushed out, glancing at her watch: 8:05. With only a 20-minute drive ahead, she figured she could fix the vacuum and still make it home before the opening credits rolled.
Luck was on her side, the streets were empty, and every light turned green as she sped across town. She arrived at the woman’s house by 8:20. With just a quick fix ahead, she was confident she’d be home in time.
As Claire approached the door, it swung open. The old woman glared at her and barked, “It’s about damn time you got here. If you think I’m paying for the time you spent on the phone and this appointment, you’re dead wrong.”
Claire forced a smile. “No worries, ma’am. You’ll only be charged for the time I spend fixing your machine.”
The woman kicked open the door, and Claire slipped inside. The house was a disaster. It looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned, let alone vacuumed, in decades. Claire asked where the vacuum was, and the woman pointed across the room with a trembling, nubby hand. The vacuum sat in the kitchen, the canister lying on the floor beside it.
Navigating a narrow path through the hoarded clutter, Claire entered the kitchen. The stench was overwhelming; she breathed through her mouth to cope. She knelt to grab the vacuum cleaner head when, suddenly, a loud crash echoed behind her. She spun around to see an avalanche of junk bury the old woman in the hallway.
Claire gasped, hearing the muffled cries for help. Frozen in disbelief, she looked down at her watch, then back at the pile. There was no way she could dig the woman out alone. She scanned the room for something to use as a shovel, but then she noticed it—a back door, wide open, leading outside.
She looked at her watch again: 8:59 p.m.
Claire made it home just in time for the opening scenes and the recap from last season. She kicked her feet up on the couch, petted her sweet dog’s head, and munched on popcorn, humming along to the theme music.
Disclosure:
All content on this blog is originally written by me. I occasionally use artificial intelligence (AI), specifically Perplexity AI, to help revise, edit, or enhance my writing for clarity and readability. Every post reflects my own ideas, voice, and perspective. If you have any questions about my writing process or how I use AI tools, please feel free to ask in the comments.
Leave a comment