Tough Day for the Army: Stories (Yellow Shoe Fiction) by John Warner

Author:John Warner [Warner, John]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: LSU Press
Published: 2014-09-14T16:00:00+00:00

They started showing up at work, one or two of them in the bathroom or the kitchenette. Norman wondered how they got past security. Everyone in the building was supposed to wear a name badge. “So,” the one with the lime-green sweater said, “dinner with Gina.”

“It’s with the whole team,” Norman replied, stirring powdered creamer into his coffee. “Thanks for a job well done.”

The man frowned at Norman’s cup. “How do you drink that crap?” he said. “Ever hear of a mochaccino?”

“I’ve been drinking it every day, and no, I wouldn’t know about mochaccinos.”

The man went to the fridge and pawed through the leftover lunches, grimacing at the Chinese takeout containers and a half-eaten Caesar salad with breaded chicken strips. “Ugh, you people are going to eat yourselves into your graves. Want to see my six-pack?”

“Is there something you wanted?” Norman said, sighing.

He shut the fridge and turned to Norman. “You drink that sludge every day, and I’m sure you think it suits you just fine, but the truth is I’ve seen you drive by the coffee places and you’re curious about the lattes, the mochaccinos, the frappuccinos.”

“I don’t even know what those are, nor do I care,” Norman said. Truthfully, Norman often found himself staring at the windows of these coffee places that suddenly seemed everywhere, wondering about the possibilities inside, but he would never go in for fear of making himself the fool by ordering wrongly. “Why break what doesn’t need fixing?” Norman said.

Norman thought the man looked at him with something like pity, but it should’ve been the other way around given his situation, his status. “If you say so,” the man said, flouncing out of the kitchenette and into the hallway.

* * *

“I won’t be home for dinner tomorrow night,” Norman said to Ellie as they sat down to eat that evening. Wednesday, which meant meatloaf, which Norman enjoyed with generous mounds of ketchup.

“No?”

“I’m taking the whole team out to celebrate. We’re up 22 percent this year over last.” Norman shook the ketchup bottle vigorously, mixing the contents, making sure he wasn’t stuck with a runny initial burst out of the squeeze top.

“No spouses?”

“They’re all single, dearest. Besides, it isn’t in the budget.”

“Even though you’re up 22 percent?”

Norman could not tell whether Ellie was teasing him. Her face was bent over her plate as she shoveled a forkful of green beans into her mouth.

Norman got a little huffy. “We’re the only ones up more than single digits. Some groups are even down.” He crammed a bite of meatloaf into his mouth and chewed roughly. Looking up, he could see two or three of the homosexuals outside the window over Ellie’s shoulder, waving at him like small children. Norman frowned.

“That’s wonderful, dear,” Ellie said. “I just wish I could be in on the celebration is all. I’m proud of you.” Her voice trailed off near the end, becoming barely audible, but Norman made no notice because he was distracted by the antics of the homosexuals. One of

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