The Snafu Chronicles: Derick Menson and the Travel Agents of Smiles

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Please be warned: There is no such thing as Obtusive Upturning Flatulence Disorder.

Submitted: February 19, 2010

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Submitted: February 19, 2010



Derick Menson walked in a determined manner as he approached the travel agents. Glossy brouchures littered the glass, most portraying scantily clad women grinning lavishly on a deserted sunlit beach. Funny, he'd come to book a holiday, not to stare at porn. As he pushed the door open, he caught sight of a thirty odd woman rapping her nails on the glass counter. She smiled at him in a way that let Derick know she'd read her employee manual from back to front, and obviously thought it the true Bible. The sickly smile somehow remained fixed on her face as she said sweetly.

"Hello there sir, what are you looking for to-". She hadn't actually stopped speaking. Derick just couldn't be bothered to listen to her script-read pre-prepared security-sensored crap any longer. He blocked her voice out until her lips stopped moving; this made it clear it was his turn to speak.

"Well, I was thinking about a cruise" Derick said cautiously.

Her smile widened, like a toddler who's spotted candy in it's mothers handbag. "We have a wide range of exclusive cruises here at Sunny Sky Holiday Ventures. All of our holidays come with a free meal at any of our resorts." With that she smirked proudly, as it was like saying she'd fought a crocodile sigle-handedly. "Perhaps you could take a look at a few offers?" 

Derick sighed inwardly, then reluctantly looked at the many leaflets the woman had conjured from nowhere. They all seemed to be telling him the same thing: All travel companies suck unless they happen to be us. He supposed he'd better choose one, and his eyes found a "Super Saving" offer. Derick studied it closely. He looked up and told the employee, "I might try this one". She smiled even wider (if possible, he was never sure if it was a smile or a yawn).

"Oh yes, that one is well known for its supreme dining, a good choice I must say. It will be nine million nine hundred and ninety nine thousand nine hundred and ninety nine point one pounds for all costs-"

"Hang on a mo there lady, its says on the deal coupon I only pay two thousand pounds in return for an all inclusive trip around the med." For what was probably the first time since the great depression, the womans smile thinned ever so slightly. 

"Well, thats without adding up your current network charge, plus the travel fees, insurance for a possible attack from a nose picking morose iguana with depression, not to mention your Grundle-Munching tax, and your luggage carbooting serice on top of that."

Derick felt his face go red. "I don't bloody want insurance against a snot filled whatjamacallit iguana-" 

"You mean a nose picking morose depressed iguana." beamed the lady behind the counter.

"Whatever it is....." Derick growled. Then he had an extremely good idea.

He pulled a packet of mentos and a can of coke from his pocket. There was only one thing to do. He turned to the woman. "Mind of I just go to the loo?" 

Her mechanical grin remained plastered to her face as she told him that was absolutely fine.

Once he'd reached the deserted toilets, Derick shook the mentos into his coke with a flourish, and poured it into his mouth. He didn't swallow however. Instead, he made his way back to the demented thirty odd. 

"Now sir, if you just look here-" Her speech was cut off as Derick opened his mouth, and allowed the bubbly liquid to splash all over the desk, and over the paperwork.

"Oh my god sir, are you all right? I'll call 911, this is serious!" 

"No no," Derick gasped. The last thing he wanted was a medic to tell the woman it was just a soda, spit and mint cocktail that was drying on her marble counter.

"I'm fine ma'am really. Its just my Obtusive Upturning Flatulence Disorder playing up again." The poor receptionist seemed to think this was worse than Cherynoble as she exclaimed.

"Oh how horrible for you sir!. If you don't mind me asking, how long have you got" Derick made a big show of shrugging and saying in a half sad, half serious, and three quarters noble kind of voice.

"Sixty years at most." 

"How terrible, to know you only have so little time left. I'm so sorry, is there anything I can do for you?" gasped the receptionist.

"You could give me this holiday free of charge?" hinted Derick.

"Of course sir, anything for you." she stammered.

"Thanks, it means so much to us cripples ya know?" faked he.

"I'll phone you with your flight details, be safe!" cried the poor old dear as she grovelled at Dericks feet.

Derick walked out of Sunny Sky Holiday Ventures smiling broadly. Job done, another holiday for free, he thought contentedly.

He never knew the receptionist was an F.B.I agent, who knew there was no such thing, and never would be such a thing, as 'Obtusive Upturning Flatulence Disorder'. Nor did he know that the F.B.I agent was sent to spy on him because they knew he was a serious fake-holiday-buyer-thingy. 

So it goes.

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