You're Getting Old

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
For Future Author's birthday contest. Nothing really worth summarizing here, except for the fact that the hot pockets REALLY didn't go down well. Read and enjoy!

Submitted: August 08, 2013

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Submitted: August 08, 2013

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You're Gettting Old(er)
An awesome story by Waylon Moosberger

I'm usually an all-around good person. "Usually" being the operative word in this story. In fact, just a few months ago, when this whole story began, I was doing my extra credit work for college. I was almost done when there was a knock on the door.
"Come-" I said, but the door opened before I could even finish.
"James!" That's my name. I'm 18 and I just got accepted into a university a few months ago. The person rudely bursting through my door was Tony Cray, although I wouldn't really call it "rude" now, he does it a lot. 
"What is it?" I said.
"You know that one girl?"
I sighed. He always does this. "Which one, exactly?"
"You know - That one," he replied.
"Which one?" I asked, irritably.
"The one at Casey's party last week!" Tony said.
"He threw a party last week?"
"Oh. You weren't invited to that?"
"Didn't even know it existed."
"Oh." There was an awkward silence. "Well, can you help me with something?"
"Fine. What is it?"
"Well, you know, Brittany?"
"No, in fact I do not know Brittany."
"Well, um.. In couple of weeks it's her birthday. And, she wants me to plan a big party. No - The exact words she said were huge."
"And you want me to help you?"
"It's a neccessity," he said. "Let's get started. We need to make some money first. The cost of this party is gonna be huge."
-
"FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS?" I screamed incredulously.
"No, six," Tony replied calmly. "We can make six hundred dollars in two weeks."
"How? If I could do that I'd quit school!" I screamed.
Tony and I were standing in front of WalMart, him holding a broshure in one hand.
"Calm down, look at this."
He opened the broshure and it had a plan on how to make a lemonade stand.
"A LEMONADE STAND? What?"
"I told you to calm down. We're going to build a lemonade stand."
"Why?"
"To make six hundred dollars, duh."
"Why- Why do you even think that would work?"
"Because, everyone likes lemonade." Tony said.
Eventually, with a few cuts and bruises, we got it set up.
A woman came up to the stand about ten minutes after we got the lemonade ready.
"Fifty dollars for lemonade? Are you serious?!" She said incredulously.
"Yes, ma'am, I am very serious," Tony said. "Would you like to buy a glass?"
 She smacked him with her purse. A few coins and dollar bills fell out. The woman didn't notice. She spat on the ground and walked away.
"See? What did I tell you?" He stooped down and picked up the coins, counted them, and said, "It adds up to about thirty-five dollars. So we're already off to good start."
I was still surpised that the glasses of lemonade were fifty bucks. "I'm surpised that the glasses of lemonade were fifty bucks."
He ignored my comment. "Look at this." He pulled out a magazine and it had a sort of party arrangements, everything circled in big red pen.
"I circled everything that Brittany said she wanted."
"Really? I didn't notice."
"Big red pen is hard to notice."
"So why did you show this to me?"
"We can buy the giant stereo now." He pointed to one of the things.
I moved his finger. "That's 350 dollars, not thirty-five."
"Ah. I better get more old ladies to hit me in the face with their purses, then," he said.
Tony went on to do just that. He went up to a woman with a black and red dress on, supposedly for some ceremony, tapped her on the shoulder and said something. A second later, he was on the ground, and the purse was swinging back rather ferociously. This woman also did not notice the money coming out of her bag.
A second later, after the woman had said a few choice words to Tony, she lost interest and did whatever mid-thirtyish women in black and red dresses do. He got back up, collected his "earnings", and headed over back to me, counting his money at the same time.
"Twelve dollars!" He said in a greedy kind of joy. "That equals forty-seven bucks! Is there anything in there that costs forty-seven bucks?"
I checked the catalog. 'The closest is 210 dollars. Try harder." I said sarcastically.
At that point another girl, late teens would be my best guess, approached us and asked us for couple of drinks.
"Um, sorry, but it's a hundred dollars." I said.
"That's okay," she said quickly.
 She poured herself a drink and put the money on the table. 
"Have fun with your Monopoly money." She said as she speed-walked away, to one of her friends.
I looked down to see a full amount of Monopoly money, enough for one game. Coincidentally, in the move to college, I lost all the money in my Monopoly set. I shrugged. You know what, this is a fair trade. I thought. I pocketed the fake money.
Tony returned a few minutes later. He wasn't bleeding, but definitely red, bruised, and cut in a few places. A good amount of cash was in his palm, though.
"Man," he reveled. "What is up with old ladies and loose wallets? It's-" He stopped when he noticed the Monopoly money sticking out of my pocket.
"James! Where did you even - Did someone actually buy our lemonade? Wow, I am a good seller!"
"It's Monopoly money," I said as I took it out of my pocket. "I found it on the ground." I was to embarrassed to tell him someone had paid for it with that money.
"Ah. Well we can play a game after this birthday thing settles."
He left again to get hit in the face some more.
The rest of the day was pretty much like that. Getting hit in the face, collecting money, getting hit in the face, money, blah blah blah. A vicious, but very boring, cycle. At one point a person stole a glass of lemonade. Tony saw her, and guilted her into coughing up at least twenty dollars. I hate to say it, but it was actually a pretty good move. At the end of the day, we made a surpising amount: 215 dollars. Only enough for that stereo. It would have been a good day moneywise, but her birthday was in a few days, and the whole partying accessories were worth well over 5000 dollars combined. So what did we do?
We slept on it. Not that we wanted to sleep on it, of course. We stayed up until about four in the morning, talking about it, and then just kind of drifted off.
I would have slept all day, but an alarm made my brain wake me up. A second later I realized the alarm was Tony's cell phone ringing. Not even bothering to look at the Caller ID, I answered it.
"Hey, if you're a telemarketer guy, you can just hang up," I said sluggishly. "Because... because you just can, you little poopiehead." I wasn't fully awake yet.
"Oops, I must have dialed the numbers wrong. Sorry to disturb you, sir." She hung up.
About thirty seconds later, I - Well, Tony, got another call. This time I looked at the caller ID. It was Brittany calling. A second later I put two and two together and realized she was probably the girl who had called half a minute earlier. I jumped out of bed, cleared my voice and even made it sound a bit deeper, just to be sure she wouldn't recognize my voice.
"Hi, is this Tony?"
"No," I began, "But it's his friend, James, you've probably heard that I got straight A's on my report card last week." 
"Haven't heard of you or your report card. Is Tony there?"
"Well that doesn't suprise me at all. And to answer your question, Tony's sleeping."
"At 3:30 in the afternoon?"
"That's how late it is?"
"Wake him up!"
I slapped him lightly on both of his cheeks. No response. So I gave him one big SLAP right across the face. No, I don't know why.
"What was that?" Brittany asked at the other end of the line.
I didn't answer her, Tony was up and talking.
"Dude, I had this dream where I was biking on the Tour de France, and I was almost at the finish line when some dude came along and SLAPPED me. Man did it hurt. In fact I think I can even feel the pain now. Why do you have my phone?"
I handed him his phone. "It's Brittany. Also it's 3:30 in the afternoon."
He rubbed his cheek. "Hello, 3:30 in the afternoon."
I sighed, and decided to go into the small kitchen area. After searching the pantry and finding nothing, I found some hot pockets in the fridge. This would be an acceptable breakfast for today.
After "breakfast", Tony came in.
"What did the woman say? Does she want a light show, too?" I asked, sarcasm oosing onto the kitchen floor.
"I can't remember what she said, actually. It might have something to do with the party, it might not. I don't know."
After about twenty minutes of conversation, we decide to, instead, order all of the stuff on the left side of the catalog, the one that advertised itself as the one for people with a "budget''. Everything on there combined costed less than 215 dollars, even with 24-hour express shipping. 
We sent the stuff to Brittany's apartment, and then we got a pizza, and then we decided to go to the county fair for the day. A few hours of mindless fun the author really doesn't want to describe later, we ended up at a fortune teller's booth. I don't really believe in that stuff, but it was the only thing left we hadn't done. We paid, and after Tony got his "fortune", (It was something about his face getting a dent) it was my turn.  She took my hand. No offense to the old lady, but they were all old and wrinkly.
She started humming. "MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM," or something to that effect.
"Your future is hard to describe, sir." She said in an old, gravelly voice. Now that I think about it I'm sure it was fake.
She said nothing for a moment. Then, after another moment, she still didn't say anything.
AND THEN-
"Ah, yes, a fortune. You know those hot pockets you had a few hours ago? Those will not go down well. NEXT!"
WAIT... WHAT? I was shocked that she knew I had hot pockets, and even more shocked that she knew that they would not "go down" well.
"Wait - why?"
She stared at me for a moment. "Expired. Your friend should really clean out his refridgerator. NEEXXT!"
After I was led out, by some strong an intimidating security guys, I just thought that Tony had told her I ate hot pockets, and she just said that I would be having a severe case of - Whatever.
We went home after that, dazed and mildly tired. A few uneventful hours later that the author also doesn't want to describe, Tony got a call from Brittany.
Apparently she was screaming in joy. I could hear it all the way from Tony's ear. I think it sounded something like "YESS! YESS! You got everything I wanted, thank you so much! Be here at 10:30 on the dot, people will be coming in after that and I want you to help set things up before it's crowded. Oh and bring your weasel little friend, okay?" Tony couldn't get a word in edgewise before she hung up.
"Tony?" I said to him.
"Yes?"
"Which side did Brittany want in her party?"
"The left one?"
"And which side did we make money for literally all day yesterday?"
"The - right one." He sighed resignedly. 
I didn't even yell at him. I just said, "You're an idiot," or something to that effect, and went back to bed before the party started.
At 10:00, Tony woke me up, and told me to get ready for the party.
When I got on my spiffy suit and tie, my stomach was starting to feel heavy and I didn't feel so well.
"Wait," I told him.
"What? We're going to be late."
"I can't go." I told him.
"Why?" He asked me, annoyed.
I didn't want to tell him. But I had to. What else was I going to say? "Well - Let's just say that fortune teller's prediction was true." 
That was all I had to say before I had to go to the bathroom.
Half the night was filled with me vomiting, fatigue, and generally being sick. Almost half the night. The author is tired about right now and just wants to finish this stupid story, so he's not going to go into many details. For his and your sake.
When Tony came home, he was tired. I think he went to the bathroom and fell asleep in there or something. I don't quite remember it because I was just starting to drift off.
As I fell asleep, I thougt about how unfair it was that I couldn't go to the party. I sighed. But whatever. Suck is life. 
Suck is life? I thought. That should be really be printed on a shirt... Were my last thoughts before I fell asleep, and my last thoughts before this story ended. Finally. Now the author can go to bed.
THE END.

 

 

 

 

 

 


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