Day 13: A smattering of excerpts and a new booth at Jackie's place (16,058 words)

I had another fun day of writing today. Sharing a few excerpts because I couldn't pick just one, and didn't want to share all 2000 words I wrote today. I have less than 10,000 words to go for my planned word count, and I have a rough outline of at least how the plot points can come together to wrap this novella up. I am really enjoying much writing a much shorter novel this year. And the addition of AI generated images, including the one below of Aki Berg. And the pylon he should have been replaced by.

I see Jake at a table and sidle up to him. I see that he is taking heaping spoonfuls from the bowel labeled ‘classic jello salad’ and putting them on his plate. It looks, and smells, like vomit.

“Hey, Jake,” I say cheerfully, trying not to let disgust creep into my voice.

“Oh, hey…” he says, looking perplexed.

“It’s Lena,” I tell him. “We ran together the other day?”

“Right. Of course. Lena. I can’t believe how much of this jello salad is left. Score! I made it myself. It’s my favourite. Do you want some?” He asks, moving a very large spoonful of the classic jello salad towards my plate.

As the spoon moves in painfully slow motion towards me, my brain takes me through a painful and complex calculation about what I should do here. The risks and benefits of each option. The pros and cons, as it were.

If I say ‘no’, will that offend him and ruin my chances at starting a fake relationship with him? If I say ‘yes’, eat it and accidentally vomit all over him, will that be even worse than saying ‘no’ in the first place? Is there any way I can win in this scenario?

I settle on ‘say yes but don’t eat it’ and after what seems like an eternity later, Jake is carefully placing the vile-looking green-white-brown substance purported to be ‘food’ on my plate. 

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: LENA JOINS JAKE AND HIS TABLEMATES FOR THE POT-LUCK)

“Well, it looks like you have already met Bam Bam,” Jake starts. “My apologies. This loser and I go all the way back. We used to play for the London Knights together.”

“Wait,” I say in shock. “You played for the London Knights?”

Jake shrugs and looks a bit embarrassed. “It was a long time ago. And I wasn’t very good.”

“You must have been very good,” I correct him, knowing that correcting people is one of the top forms of flirting. People love to be corrected. “The Knights are a very good team. They only recruit the best. That’s why everyone else hates them so much.”

“I wasn’t good enough to get drafted to the NHL,” Jake says, shaking his head. “My career started and ended in the juniors.”

I don’t actually know what to say in response to this. Luckily the moment is interrupted by Bam Bam.

“Let me introduce you to these other two knuckle chucks,” Bam Bam says. He points to the man on the right and says “ This is Hank.” He points to the man on the left and says “This is Frank. We don’t expect you to keep them straight. I don’t actually believe they are different people anyway.”

Everyone at the table laughs in that comfortable, easy way that folks who have known each other for decades do. I try to bask in the glow of their shared history.

“Wow, you smell really good,” I blurt out to Jake. Maybe I was basking a little too much in the glow of the moment. 

“Uh, thanks?” Jake says sheepishly. “I actually went for a run just before the pot luck. Gotta keep my mileage up. And I snuck into Chuck’s office to take a shower. He keeps the good stuff in there. You know, the Irish Spring Five-in-One/En-Une? He actually has a stockpile of vintage bottles from before the 2022 formula change debacle.”

He says this last part as if I am a connoisseur of Irish Spring soap and should immediately know what he is talking about. I must look perplexed because he continues on with an explanation which, while needed, was not wanted.

“Fans of the brand will remember the Formula Change and Redesign Debacle of February, 2022,” Jake starts, earnestly. “That’s what I call when they renamed the original variant to ‘Original Clean’ and debuted a new logo and newly redesigned packing designed by the Chase Design Group. I’m all for changing with the times, but come on. This change in formulation resulted in another new scent and the addition of flaxseed oil to the bar form of the soap. Needless to say, this prompted some heavy backlash from consumers, and from me, as we preferred the scent and lather of the previous formula that had been used for over 30 years! 30 years! Is nothing sacred anymore?”

The other three men at the table look solemn, contemplative. 

I decide to cut through the awkwardness of this moment, apparently only felt by me, and change the subject.

“Speaking of contemplation,” I start. 

“We weren’t,” Jake corrects. I immediately take that as a sign that he must be flirting back. 

I plow ahead, spurred on by Jake’s approval.

“Speaking of contemplation,” I continue. “Bam Bam, are we still meeting after this pot luck? You know, the Ad Hoc Wifi Contemplation and Coordination Committee?”

“Yes, we are meeting,” Bam Bam tells me. “Didn’t you check your email? I had tried to arrange to have the meeting at the premier meeting venue around the corner, but it was booked. Apparently, it gets books up months in advance. So I got us a booth at Jackie’s Place.”

“The premier meeting venue around the corner?” I ask.

“McDonald’s,” Jake says by way of answer. No further explanation is forthcoming.

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: THE POTLUCK ENDS, AND THE AD HOC COMMITTEE GATHERS AT JACKIE'S PLACE)

We amble over to the booth, and just as we arrive a light turns on above it, illuminating the space. And it is truly a sight to behold. The table itself is the exact shape and colour of a hockey goal crease. On the side of the table nearest to the wall is a built-in bench. Rather than back support, there is hockey net. On the other side of the table are stools, which appear to have been made out of re-purposed orange pylons. The wall behind the table is decorated with a photo array of much-maligned Aki Berg, a defence man who played for the Toronto Maple Leafs in the early 2000s. Each photo seems to be less attractive than the previous, which is really saying something.