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My writing portfolio

Rachel Schneider
ENG 477
Date 1/11/2021
Marsha Blackburn
A Writing Portfolio
I want to write my own fiction stories one day; I have had a book or two swimming around in my head so I will put the computer to good use and get that typed out one of these days. In this instance I chose my 5 stories and even though one is a marketing inquiry I had fun writing it, so here are my things and some background some of them.
Resume: It is a basic one because my photo ones were not particularly good, and this is an honest resume besides the ones I made for class and I did fudge on those.
Cover letter: I made up the cover letter though there is a penguin Books but it is always fun to use your imagination!
Hike with Drew: I got the concept from a Writer’s Digest and entered it into a contes I never got a response but good practice.
Short Story Vegas: Was one I did for another class but in here I changed it and the story was much better the second time.
Marketing Flyer: This was fun to do those are stock photos of the dogs and squeaky toys, but I like Pit Bulls and dog toys are fun as well.
Scott part 1-This is a story I am working on with another writer, warning its very sexy and some naughty words are in there as well.
Writing Samples: I made these three samples up one day because as I have looked for writing work, I have seen people want a sample of your work, so I came up with these.
Rachel
Schneider

3867 Houghton Ave Riverside CA 92501 📷
951-743-8911 📷
[email protected] 📷
Rachel Schneider 📷
Rachel7Tori-Twitter 📷
📷

Objective
To get a career going in the fiction/short story writing industry my imagination can run with any scenario and to write is to live.
📷

Education
Bachelor of Arts in English | Grand Canyon University
2017 – 2021
Took 15 different writing courses, creative writing and even two fun marketing classes all to polish up my craft. Carried a 3.0 GPA and did the courses all online as well.
No Degree Obtained | Riverside Community College
June 1994 – December 1996
Took these college courses but did not finish got 32 Units of Child Development Courses though which is what I was going for
📷

Experience
Cafeteria Worker 1
2008 Currently Employed.
Cook, Prep, serve food in a middle school setting, also clean, count inventory and do next day prep, cash handling and POS register experience.
Bell Ringer | Salvation Army
November 2007 – December 2007
Rang bell and collected donations for the salvation Army in front of various stores during the holiday season.
📷

Skills
Food handlers Card
CPR First Aid certified

Grammar Proficiency
Spelling Proficiency
Can work from home
📷

Activities
Have good use of social media and can help update or bring in new followers with my creative writing side. Have a Reddit account as well with 30 stories up on that site. Can speak a little Spanish and Hebrew as well.
951-743-8911
[email protected]
3867 Houghton Ave Riverside CA 92501

Rachel Schneider

Writer



Penguin Books


Dear JENNIFER MCGREGOR,

1/21/2021
Jennifer McGregor
Fiction Publisher
4587 Tropicana Rd.
Las Vegas NV 89102

I have included my resume for the short story writer for young adult novels. It has been a few years, but I currently work in a middle school, so I do see all the angst and sass that goes with being a young teen. I do hope my writing samples can help me move to the top of the list. I look forward to working with Penguin Books and letting kids know being a teen is hard at first, but it does not last forever.
Sincerely,
Rachel Schneider
Rachel Schneider
3867 Houghton Ave
Riverside CA 92501
It had been a long cold winter Drew and I could not get out for a morning hike till today. Being 75 degrees, we did not have to wear many layers. He is an extremely sweet inquisitive boy who always asks a lot of questions. Why does moss grow on the north side of trees” he asks? Its times like this when it would be nice to have my husband here, but he is overseas where the work is. “well, it’s not just the north side it’s on the shadier side because that is where the moisture is.”
On we went looking at snails on the ground watching the deer pass by along a ridge. Being quiet as to not startle them. “Mom he whispered it’s a bunny den they are coming out for food, he leaves a few carrot and lettuce scraps from last night’s dinner. I walked down the path and spotted some glorious Blue Jays and a Downey Woodpecker. “Listen Drew the woodpecker is getting the bugs out of the trees.” My sweet Drew was staring at the Bunnies, they are cute and fluffy after all. We followed our path down further after the bunnies went back to the den.
The skies were getting cloudy, so I hoped the rain was not going to come back. Though the weather report said there was a chance. My little explorer with his school uniform on was undeterred, I wish I could wear shorts on a 75 day and not be cold, it is always nice to be young. Walking along our path we spot some squirrels running in circles around the tree. “Why do the chase each other like that” Drew asks. “Maybe it’s a game for them like ring around the Rosie.”
On we trek to our favorite stream where the deer family are taking their drinks. I tell Drew we cannot skip stones right now we do not want to scare them. We look through the grass for more of his favorite bugs, saw some worms just below the dirt by a tree. Looking up we see a big spider web being made between two branches. The crows were making their calls in the distance. We are finally able to skip our stones in the stream. He gets some great skips going, and we collect some new rocks for our little garden back home.
Walking past the stream we climb up the embankment and up along the ridge where we see a Fox off in the distance. He or she walks the opposite direction we are going so it is a relief we can continue to the clearing. Where there are more bugs, rocks, and Bunnies. We pass the Deer family as they run up the hill to were, they mostly frolic or maybe they live up there. We stop for a snack of Apples, Almonds, and some cheese sticks. When we were finished Drew put a couple of slices in his pocket to feed the Bunnies, I am sure.
“Mommy we’re getting to the clearing now we can see the Bunnies and the last time Daddy, and I were here I got some neat rocks too.” Drew told ne enthusiastically, I did love his passion for nature, though again my husband is much better at the nature stuff. I am a pastry Chef ask me about desserts and I am your woman, about why moss grows on trees and hello Google. Since Dad is unavailable, I step in and let him explore and see the world outside of the house and off the screen.
It is just another half mile and it is on to the clearing. He starts to pull me hand a little harder I know he is excited. We pass under the tree I glance up and see the Fox again. Then we stop and see “Daddy home……
Name: Rachel Schneider
Course: ENG 361
Date: 4/14/2020
Instructor: Debbie Graves
One Week In Las Vegas
The countdown started Friday at 2pm I got the week off from this thing I call a job (just over broke). The car was packed, it was time to hit the road. The traffic was average and climbing the Cajon Pass was not that bad. I stopped in Baker to have my favorite meal at Bob’s Big Boy, the chili spaghetti, no onions. After making my way back on the highway the traffic picked up going out of Baker, through to Primm and Stateline. I had to stop for gas at Whiskey Pete’s, so I also went in and got some snack goodies. My favorite trail mix and some cheese potato chips because vending machines are too expensive. The road was beckoning so off I went, traveling through Jean is always nice, not much to see. A prison, a few remaining casinos, some outbuildings, and a truck stop. There slogan was always fun 40 smiles closer than Vegas. You can get bored so be sure to pack some music you can have your own car concert. “I’ll face it with a grin I’m never giving in, on with the show” (Show Must Go on by Queen)
Finally, the Vegas skyline is in sight, the lights are not on yet, but they will be needing to navigate around the strip. I do say a few words the terrible drivers. This vacation was so needed my job is crazy, my kids are older now and do not need mom around anymore. Off they went to grandma’s house and I booked the week at the Delano, it is attached to the Mandalay bay so perfect access to all the fun of the strip, and just enough luxury to not look cheap. Getting the valet to take the car I check into my genuinely nice room I have a great view of the Luxor light (that comes off the top of the hotel) and the Excalibur. Now off to indulge in that genuinely nice bathtub and get some overdue reading done. My bathroom with a view has the Luxor light and that is the brightest light on the Vegas strip it comes right out of the top of the Pyramid shaped hotel. A brightness of 42.3 billion candela, you could read a paper from 10 miles straight up if you wanted to.
Once I was well soaked and finished with my chapters it was time to find something to eat besides my snack foods. After cruising the room service options, I settled on some Mexican food of chorizo and eggs with nice corn tortillas. That hit the spot so with the extra energy it was time to get out for a stroll of the property. The indoor pool is nice but small and I want to soak up the sunshine and get some exercise so I shall hit the outdoor pool tomorrow. Back in the lobby I grab those ads for things to do in the city so I can plan out the rest of my trip. There are thousands of things to do in Vegas. Do not be disappointed if you do not get everything done, that is what the next trip is for. I have a beautiful week and I want to have a good time and not have to wait for anybody, I can do what I want. I got those and cruised up through the lobby and toward the casino on my way there I saw a sign for a food and wine festival. With that guy Zac from the travel channel. Thinking hmm I did not know he was interested in food or wine. I went down and found my favorite penny slot game Lucky cat. After 15 minutes I came out putting 20 in and winning 500, so I called it a night and went to the bar to catch a hockey game and grab a fun fruity drink (I like tequila sunrise, (Tequila, grenadine, and cranberry juice). As I am rooting for the Golden Knights (local Vegas hockey team) I looked over to my left and there was Zac from the travel channel, and he likes hockey too this is awesome, and I am trying not to be a fan girl.
The game was in intermission and the Knights were winning so it was time for a new fruity drink so this time I turned around to get back to the bar and bumped right into Zac, boy was my face red. After some apologies and an offer to buy my next fruity drink (a Strawberry Daiquiri) it was a yes and I spilled that I was a fan. He told me he does have an interest in food and wine not just chasing ghosts with his crew. We had some great conversation and when the game came back on, we both sat in the booth cheering the golden knights to their victory. Now I am buzzed and standing up was going to be fun, but Zac was a true gentleman and helped me to my feet. He offered to buy me dinner. The Taco Hut was a good place the tortillas were fresh, and the company was so cool. The conversation turned to food, wine, travel, and some stuff about me. The midnight hour rolled around, and Zac had an early morning, so we said goodnight, but he was staying one floor above me, so we agreed to go to the diner in the lobby for breakfast or brunch. At 10am I was enjoying my company and this great stick to your ribs breakfast (scrambled eggs, sausage, hash browns and some great watermelon) The food offerings in Vegas are so varied you can get everything from a hot dog and beer for 1.99 at the Orleans, to a 5-star meal at Caesar’s Palace the buffets are great too. Although sometimes you want a nice sit-down dinner.
The conversation was effortless the attraction was deep. We made plans to see each other again after the food contest he was judging was over. Saying goodbye was a bit hard but the hand holding was sweet and made me feel like a schoolgirl again. After saying goodbye and I did watch him walk into the convention hall I went back to my room to plan out the rest of my day. I chose a tour of the Mob Museum, they say that Vegas was built with Mob money, but it was a Mormon founded town that later Hollywood discovered. Then many people in Hollywood who were well connected (such as East Coast mobsters) financed Bugsy Segal to build the Flamingo Hotel. As I was putting my shoes on, I got a knock on the room door and as I opened it, I got some flowers (pink roses) and an all-access pass to the food and wine festival courtesy of Zac. Let us just say the Mob Museum can wait for later I got to go to a food and wine festival and spend the rest of the week with Zac. “hi Zac thanks for the flowers it was sweet of you to remember.” He said, “It’s always right to remember a ladies flower preference because that’s the right thing to do.” Smiling the rest of the day I meet other travel channel celebrities and got to taste some great foods and many different wines. The food and wine offerings at the hotels and restaurants are varied, the Las Vegas area have become very international, so the varieties are endless.
The week went by in a blur of food, wine, conversation, and some sweet dates. I never thought I would get over the break-up that happened the week before. Getting a private Vegas tour was something completely special. I did get to see the Mob Museum, Mandalay Bay Fine Art Museum, seven magic mountains, Pinball Hall of fame and a private dinner at the food and wine festival. My days in Vegas were down to one. We had reservations at Rivera right here at the Delano the view is amazing, the food is impressive with Italian and French offers. “I have had a wonderful time this week Zac thank you for mending my broken heart.” He looked at me for a minute and said, “it’s been a pleasure to get to know you and I would not mind visiting your hometown, you always have a reason to come back to Las Vegas. The next food and wine festival is around Christmas, this one will include chocolate.” Hitting the 15 early the next morning I have visions of Christmas, a pass to the food and wine festival, also a brand-new relationship to take back home with me.
The End
When writing a short story, you want to keep it from rambling and have enough details to keep it fresh. When your reader gets into the story you want them to feel like they are there with you, going to the food and wine festival, on that hike through the seven-mountains or touring the mob museum. The details are the thing to see and make sure to watch out for punctuation and common language. An average short story is within 6,00 words or 24 pages. If you wanted too you could go short-short story and that is between 500 and 2,00 words. That comes out to be 6 pages (Minot, Steven Ch. 7 pg. 41), talk about short stories. The story is all your length and style matter as much as how you want it to come into focus.
Minot, Steven and Theil Daniel Three genres the writing of literary pose, poems and plays Ninth edition Pearson Publications 2012
Bouncing Dog Toy Emporium
August 18,2019📷📷
24755 Holly Grove Way
Brookings OR, 97415
Dear Dogs, Rule the World
I am Rachel Schneider from the Bouncing Dog Toy Emporium we make extra bouncy dog toys for our furry friends. We investigated different marketing companies and choose you to do our direct to customer marketing. The way the website is set up the customers can get the product’s directly from you is easier than a multi-level marketing plan. The distribution of Bouncy Dog Toy will be a one level channel, we will provide the toys you market, and we sell them. I would like to get some videos of our company dogs Mac and Stella playing with the toys so you can post on the website. A link for the company can also be included so the consumers know where the toys came from, what they are made of and any other facts about Bouncing Dog Toy Emporium.
Sincerely, Rachel V Schneider
Mac and Stella company dogs and testers 📷
📷 📷📷 📷A sample of our products, our bounciest toys.
Scott’s Story Part 1
I am Scott Thorn, and I am going back to WDU for the first time in 15 years, I went here for a year but after I came out as gay there really were no gay dudes. I am all men but yeah lesbians were all around some BI guys but no real gay dudes. I went back to the mainland and attended Preston University I majored in administration and minored in Literature. I did at one point in my life have a girlfriend and wanted to marry her, but I could not quash the gay lifestyle. That part of my life is over and now the old school offered me a counseling job, have not done this in a while. I get to help students toward there after college career.
I sit here on this boat and keeping an eye on my 75 Triumph I have some nerves, but it is mostly about seeing this place again, so as the boat pulls up, I get my bike going and make a stop at my new on campus apartment. Its west facing because I like sunsets more than sunrise, so I did not know it needed so much work. I have some handy skills but a little at a time. The kitchen is decent and so is the bathroom. The floors will need some polish and the deck needs to be stained, this is a duplex, so I hope the neighbors are quiet. It is furnished and done nicely so I cannot complain too much, but back on the bike to see the Dean.
I get my bike set with the kill switch and walk up the way to the Admin building, I am pretty much the only one dressed. I am wearing my good black jeans and my dress shirt, in my favorite color Maroon. I do remember this place was obsessed with sex so I will stick out wearing clothes, as I enter the building at least more admin people are dressed. Miss Grant the secretary shows me to my new office, its spacious much bigger that my last one at Preston where I shared a cubicle with another person. I have files from past students and current ones, so I started filing them when Dean Kane walks in, booty shorts and a tank top. “Welcome back to WDU Scott, we look forward to seeing you succeed you come very recommended.” I could hardly concentrate because this Dean was hung but I persevered and said, “Thank you sir I look forward to helping young students find there after WDU careers.”
After he left, I had to get my rise to settle then I continued filing and looking through some files. Clarissa Love that was a name that got around even all the way to Preston. I think she does the Jax in the bedroom or something like that. I started looking around and thought I need some life in this office so I asked Miss Grant about decorating and she said I could do what I wanted but no painting, so I went to town and checked out a flea market. I found some pictures of the beaches of Canada, some old homes in the area and a few movie posters from Rocky horror Picture Show (it is my favorite). The flea market said they will deliver to the school tomorrow so I told them I will be there at 9am.
Now with my day done I get to the store to buy some groceries and realize this place uses sextons and I was down to my last few, so now I will need to exchange but thankfully a bank is nearby so I can get some of my mainland money exchanged. I pull up to my new pad off load my few groceries and notice some other tenant left beer in the fridge, talk about luck. I got the beer went to the deck and watched the sunset over the sky. It was going to be new here, but I needed a fresh start after getting dumped and losing the job because my ex was in upper management, never will I do that again. I will find someone who does not work in the school system. After I ate a roast beef and cheddar sandwich for dinner, watched some cooking shows it was time for bed. As I was brushing my teeth, I heard the neighbors having sex. Oh, goody they are not quiet. hope they do not have super energy either. Tomorrow is my first full day and I have decorating to do, fantastic they stopped, that is the thing with us older people we do not fuck like bunnies anymore. As far as I know the neighbors are lesbians so who knows.
Sample 1- If I try my hardest, I could muster up enough courage to ask the prettiest girl in school to prom. I had a suit; bolo tie and I will shine my old boots up. The thing is my courage is not as strong as my best friend Nick, now there is one brave dude who just asked the girl I wanted to go to prom with and of course she said yes. I gather myself close my locker and put on my best smile for them both. Nick and I high five and I hug her, trying to be genuine but it is hard. I head to my Social studies class and sit down next to Megan she looks at me with some concern I tell her what happened, she then asks me to Prom…...
Sample 2-Wishing I did not have to be here I sit at the back of the funeral and think about my old high school principal. I grew up in a small town and everyone knew everyone, we only had one school and you went there for kindergarten through senior year. After my graduation I packed up my old car and headed out to what I thought was the real world. Living in a bigger city only helped spur my loneliness so who says you cannot come home again, well Mom for starters because I abandoned my family, I am not welcome at home ever again (so tired of her drama), so I am staying at Principal Mason’s house yes, the same principal that I am at a funeral for I held her hand as she lay there succumbing to cancer……
Sample 3-If you really want to get over a breakup getting back on the horse will help things along. I thought that too seven lousy dates ago so here I am on date number 8 and I am not seeing any birds singing or rainbows in the sky. He steps away to take a call he is a particularly important lawyer after all (I need to fix my picker) after he comes back, he says it go time the jury has come back so off he goes. I finish my drink and head back to my brownstone close by, I pass the new chocolate shop that just opened, and I get inside and see chocolate heaven. Looking around I do not see him at first but there he is my old college lab partner Sam I just saw a rainbow…….
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DEMOLITION DAYS, Part 47

continuing
As I was picking myself up off the shooter’s shack floor, I glanced over to the TV.
The ballplayers were all wandering around the field, looking skyward. Evidently, there was this hellacious explosion…even the television sports commentators were speculating as to what happened.
Whoops.
I looked out into the quarry. The wall that I had charged had receded some 75 feet.
There was rather a large amount of shattered, blasted dolomitic limestone now in the quarry. Enough, I found out later, for a full month’s worth of orders.
We never did find the blasting mats. I think they sort of evaporated.
Luckily, the quarry is essentially an open amphitheater in plan view; basically a big hole in the ground with vertical limestone walls. The shockwave of the blast that didn’t spend itself shattering the limestone into which it was housed, blew out laterally, hit the opposite quarry wall, rebounded, and then dispersed, rather energetically, vertically upward.
I set off car alarms for a 20 block radius.
There were no broken home windows, as the lion’s share of the shock wave was redirected upward.
Good thing there were no low flying zeppelins or dirigibles in the area...
I waited the requisite time to allow for any loafers. There were none, so I jumped into the nearest wheel loader and began clearing the quarry floor. Hell, I had to so I could open the front gate.
As I was clearing the floor, making pile number eight of the loose rock I had liberated, I heard the characteristic whoop-whoop of emergency vehicles.
I parked the wheel loader, opened the front gate, and raised the green flag. That was enough blasting for one day.
A few minutes later, three police cars zoom into the site. Two were local city cops, and one was a state trooper.
“Hi, guys!” I waved, “Nice day, innit?”
“Doctor Rock! We should have known.” One of the local boys groaned.
“Hey, I did call you beforehand, as per procedure,” I said.
Polack the cop walks up, just knowing I was responsible. “Yeah, but we didn’t figure on you terrorizing the entire city.”
“Polack! How goes it?” I asked.
The other local cop and the state trooper look to Polack, “You know this maniac?”
“Oh, hell yeah. For years. Don’t worry, the good doctor is mostly harmless.” He chuckles.
“Damn. OK. I guess everything’s OK. Just no more shooting today, please, Doctor. It’s going to take hours to calm everyone down.” He laments.
“Yes, sir. I’m done for the day.” I reply, snickering slightly.
The one local and state trooper depart, shaking their heads in amazement. This left Polack to follow me over to the shooter’s shack to mooch a cigar and whatever else he can find.
“Jesus Hula-Dancing Christ, Rock. What the hell was that? I was all the way out in Whitewatosa and heard you.” He asks as he sneakily snakes a smoke out of my case.
“Just some common chemicals in the proper proportions.” I snicker.
“Which were?” he asks.
I go in the back of the shed and toss him an empty container of one of the parts of the binaries I used. He catches it, reads the label, and drops it like a live grenade.
“Binaries? Fuck! Like what you used at the tower?” he asks.
“Yep. I used just a little more.” I reply.
“Little more? Damn, as I said, we’ve been briefed on the stuff. This shit’s nasty.” He shakes his head.
“Yeah. Fun, too.” I reply.
Polack grabs a Sprechler’s Cream Soda out of the fridge as I opt for a cold Cream Ale and shot of potato juice. Hell, I was done for the day, so…
We sit around and have a chat, just shooting the shit, as it were. Manly topics, so the conversation eventually steered over to guns.
“Hey!” Polack remembers, “That’s right! You fucking owe me. Let me borrow that fucking cannon you carry. I want to show the chief a thing or two.”
“Yeah, that’s right”, I agree, “When do you need it?”
“This Friday, after shift. It’s the monthly qualifiers for us.” He notes.
“Are pyromaniacs allowed in?” I ask.
“To observe? Sure. To shoot? Nope. Insurance regulations.” He says.
“What time?” I continue.
“1800 hours.” He tells me.
“I’ll be there. I’ll bring my gun and an assortment of loads. Hey, this could be fun!” I evilly smile.
“Doctor. You’re doing that thing again. You’re grinnin’ like a shithouse rat. You know how much that scares me. Stop it.” He pleads.
“No worries. Friday at 1800 hours.” I reply, grinning.
Polack slurps down his Sprechlers, snitches another stogie, and squeals out of the quarry in a cloud of dense dolomitic dust.
I arrive back at our flat, after stopping for two frozen custard Turtle Sundaes, to go. I give one to an appreciative wife and I ask her about her day.
“Oh, went shopping with Oma. Got the cutest shoes, and a new purse, and…oh well, never mind. You’ll see.”
Between bites of Turtle Sundae, she asks how my day went.
“Oh, my dear. I had a real blast.” I replied, not lying in the least.
Monday, after my first classes, I’m back in the faculty lounge, savoring a Greenland Coffee.
There was the usual instructor chatter when Dean Vermiculari walks in.
“Good morning, Dean!” I say. “Care for a sit-down and a coffee?”
“Good morning, Doctor Rock. Yes, please to both.” He replies.
I fix us both a fresh Greenland Coffee and return to our table. I hand him one and sit down to savor my soupçon.
“How was your weekend?” I ask the Dean of the College.
“Oh, very nice. Had a fine time catching some perch and crappie out on Lake Genever. I see you had a victorious weekend as well. Twice.” He smiles.
“Twice?” I asked.
“Well, your handling of the tower demolition made all the papers. Very, very well done, Doctor. I congratulate you.” He smiles.
“Thank you, Dean. That means a lot. Just doing what I can with what I’ve got. But twice?” I replied.
“It wasn’t front-page news, but I saw there was some, well, let us just say, ‘energetic activity’ out at the Silurian reef limestone quarry yesterday.” He grinned.
“Oh, yes. I had a job to do and well, as I always say: ‘Nothing succeeds like excess.” I smile back.
“Quite. This beverage you’ve created is really rather extraordinary, Doctor. Again, I thank you.” He tips his mug my direction in the age-old Midwestern salute.
“It’s a little recipe I picked up on my last expedition to the northlands. I grew rather fond of the concoction.” I replied.
“Ah, I see. Marvelous.” He smiles.
“Thank you, Dean. High praise indeed.” I reply.
“Which leads me to…ah, Doctor Rock. I have another favor to impose upon you.” He says, all serious.
“Yes, Dean? How can I be of service?” I ask.
“We, as you no doubt know, have many, many fine extractive mineral company connections. We actually receive quite a large amount of funding and endowments from them. They recruit here extensively for our young geoscientists. Now, since Dr. Pataariki has left for industry himself, I would like to appoint you as the College of Natural Sciences corporate liaison.” He explains.
“Indeed?” I replied, too stunned for words for once.
“Yes, indeed.” He continues, “It will require travel, mostly domestic, and delivering symposia at various companies on differing extractive geological subjects. You will also serve as host and university coordinator when they are present on recruiting tours. There will, of course, be additional remuneration to accompany the added responsibilities.”
I slurped my coffee, thinking furiously.
“Could I please first discuss it with my wife before I answer?” I ask.
“Oh, Doctor. Of course, of course. Take your time. I will not require a reply until… tomorrow.” He smiles, finishes his coffee, thanks me again, and toddles out.
“Yow, Es!” I exclaim, “This is one hell of an opportunity. It’s never before been offered to a junior professor. This will cement my tenure-track. It’s going to be a bitch with time, though. What do you think I should do?”
“Well, Rock, honey, I think you should do…” Es begins.
“No! None of that ‘do what you think is best’ stuff. I want your own thoughts, just like when I decided to go after my doctorate.” I explained.
“OK, then.” Esme looks all serious like she’s going to deliver a bipartisan political speech.
“Yes.” She says, firmly
“That’s it?” I ask.
“Yep. You asked I answered. We’ll make it work. We always do. You can’t let the Dean down. You will accept tomorrow without fear or qualms of your wife’s hesitations, of which I harbor none.” Esme proclaims.
“Did I ever tell you of the myriad reasons I love you so?” I ask.
The next morning I meet with Dean Vermiculari. He’s pleased that I accept and hands over to me the charter. Then the lists of company representatives, their contact information, and some other secret stuff that I can’t divulge right yet.
A raft of oil companies will be coming in the late spring semester, so I need to contact each and every one to solidify dates, times and positions for which they’re recruiting. But that’s for then, I have something more proximal for now.
I have a Friday appointment with Polack the cop at the town police shooting range.
I arrive spot on time with my Casull .454 Magnum pistol, in its carry bag, along with a small duffel crammed with Pyrodex, Tannerite, and selection of specialty loads I had Herman the German, the inveterate gunsmith, create.
Herman the German, his actual sobriquet, was this incredible gunsmith, craftsman, and all-around artillery specialist. Have any sort of problem with a rifle, shotgun, or pistol? See Herman. Gun holding too high? See Herman. Barrel warped? See Herman. Need solid gold projectiles for a certain one-off job? See Herman.
Herman the German can sort it out.
Just never ask him: “How?”
“Ach! I’ve lived so long to learn, and you want it free? I’ll fix it, you pay, but I am only one knowing how!”
Herman was a cranky old Kraut, and has lived here for as long as anyone can remember. Even my Grandfather had deferred to Herman when he had some particularly delicate machining operation that need special attention and was unique.
As far as anyone knew, Herman had no family, but was never at a loss for friends. He was one of the most popular, and well known, but still oddly really unknown, kind of mysterious, old bastards in the entire community.
Herman the German liked me because I could obtain for him certain high-energy things he couldn’t. All were entirely legal, but some were sort of out there in the gray zone.
He also liked that I was educated, as he held education in the highest esteem. He also liked that I was of German extraction myself.
I often made it a point to drop by with odd and unusual high-octane potables while never expecting anything in return other than a story or a shared cigar.
Herman created some special loads for my .454 Magnum, which he prized.
“I like your gun, Doctor Rock, it is so big! I can still see well enough to build things for it.” He told me one day over cheroots and Schnapps.
Herman was a character to be certain. It must have been the pixie in him to dream up some of the specialty rounds he created for me to share with the local constabulary.
He lived out in the county by himself in an old farmhouse. He had a full machine shop in his basement, complete with forge, metal handling equipment, and a firing test range.
He handed back my .454, rather solemnly.
“Doctor, I am afraid to say I couldn’t test all the special rounds I’ve created for you. I need to patch the hole in the cinder blocks in the downstairs range. Your gun punched right through the back…” he apologized.
Now, Herman does all sorts of work on the local’s deer rifles, the police’s ordinance and has even worked some with the Baja Canada National Guard. Some of the little novelties he’s dreamed up for me are the first to escape his homemade basement test range.
I felt oddly honored.
After proving who I was to the nice range officer, I looked around trying to find Polack.
“It’s 1550. Where the hell is Polack? I wondered.
“Rock! Over here.” Polack calls to me.
He motions me outside to the police department’s tactical outdoor range. I had thought all along he was referring to the indoors police target range. This might pose some problems.
The tactical range was a series of clapboard shacks, all setup and designed to represent some downtrodden urban inter-city landscape. There were a couple of junked cars, broken sidewalks, storefronts, houses, bus stops…in short, all things necessary to replicate the seediest sections of a settlement where malefactors live and breed.
The cops all run around this range, shooting at bad guy pop-up cut-outs and avoid the not-bad-guy pop-up cut-outs. They’ve got music blaring, firecrackers going off, all trying to re-create a shady deeply urban environment. Points are awarded by the accuracy of fire on the run, time to maneuver the course, and the ability of not gunning down innocent bystanders.
It is not the best place to test a .454 Cusall. This hand cannon recoils like a fundamentalist Christian being solicited for donations to Anton LaVey, shoots flames and incandescent gasses like Smaug after a hard night of drinking and a stop at the Taco Bell buffet, is louder than a dime-store Karen demanding to see a Manager, and more powerful than a Ghost Pepper suppository.
To quote Joe Piscopo: “It shoots through schools.” Especially faux-schools made of plywood.
A .32 or .38 cop special is the correct weapon here; even a 9mm is a little heavy. Enough power to make a serious dent, easy on control, light on the recoil…a good tactical weapon.
But, nothing succeeds like excess.
Polack’s Chief is running around, capping off his ‘big ol’ .44 Magnum, and making the valley echo. He punches considerable holes in the pop-up cut-outs, but has such a hard time handling the recoil, his score is barely passable.
Polack runs his test with his standard 9mm sidearm and qualifies easily. However, he’s nowhere near done with his Chief yet.
I suggest to Polack we have a shoot-off. And since a .44 Magnum bullet ‘is so close to a .454 Magnum’, which it isn’t…the .454 Casull generates nearly 85% more recoil energy than the .44 Magnum; that we’d need something other than holes punched in plywood to judge the efficacy of each.
We are literally just down the road from Max Yazzer’s farm and market. They’re the place you go for your Halloween jack-o-lantern. However, now, he has a surplus of melons.
I think you can see where this is headed…
I borrow Polack’s personal conveyance and run down to Max’s farm. I return with a trunk-load of elderly, overripe, cheap as chips, melons. Watermelons, Honeydews, Musks, and Casabas.
We place them in strategic areas on the course, five for the Chief to find, and five for Polack.
A .44 vs. a .454 melon-wise results in pretty much the same sort of mess: high-velocity fruit spatter. Although, the Chief was very impressed by the report of the .454. So, after running the tactical-melon course, clear demarcation of a winner was elusive.
OK, OK, clever dicks. How about this? A standing shoot-off? We’ll set up 3 melons each at 30, 20, and 10 yards. Beginning at 30 yards, your time will be until you take out all three melons. But, they’re not going to be in a straight line, we’re going to make them somewhat camouflaged. You will stand in one small demarcated area, hunt those miscreant melons, and bring them to justice. Fastest time and greatest display wins, as determined by the Police Peanut Gallery.
Polack and the Chief agree.
The Chief goes first and dispatches the melons, with a fair amount of spatter, in 15.3 seconds.
Not bad.
Polack is next. He wipes out all the melons and creates some thoroughly impressive displays with Herman’s ‘special’ rounds. Normal ballistics for the .454 are, for a 250 grain (16 g) bullet, a muzzle velocity of over 2,400 feet per second, developing up to 2,800 ft-lb of energy.
Herman’s hot loads are double that.
Polack wins the day on impressive high-velocity melon distribution, but misses, so close, with a time of 17.0 seconds.
Recoil’s a bitch.
Then there are Herman’s ‘specialties’.
The Chief is duly impressed and even comments that his ears are ringing even with the ear protectors. He asks to inspect the weapon. He is even more than duly impressed.
Polack knows what’s up and asks the Chief if he’d like to give a whirl.
Of course, the Chief can’t back down.
Polack loads the .454 with 5 of Herman’s specialties: hollow-point rounds loaded hot, compressed, and tipped with alkaline earth metals, like metallic sodium and metallic potassium…
We set up the nastiest, glorpiest, just barely-holding-together, overripe, laced with Tannerite (an impact-actuated low-explosive) watermelon at the ‘Concealed Carry’ distance of 5 meters.
We slowly fade back into the distance to avoid the inevitable ‘Gallagher reaction’.
The Chief fires one, and just nicks the top of the melon. Don’t laugh, with the type of recoil and heft of the sidearm, and tensing up in anticipation, it’s easy to be off the mark initially.
The second round impacts dead-center. Now, alkaline earth metals and water don’t get along really well. In fact, their relationship is explosive. Especially explosive when delivered at 2,900 feet per second.
The Chief catches a huge smattering of vitamin-packed watermelony back blast goo.
He’s not entirely happy. He looks positively grisly with all that blown-up melon schmoo on his nice, neat uniform.
He returns my gun and bans me from ever showing up at the police range again.
Polack is on traffic duty for the next month.
He figures it was well worth it.
Back at the flat, Esme is shaking her head and wondering if I’ll ever grow up.
“I may grow old, but I’ll never grow up.” I reply.
I see I have several missed phone calls. Ah, me; no rest for the weary. Back to company-university liaison duties.
After I had contacted these companies, I receive no less than 12 requests for symposia, talks, and seminars to be given to various level of industrial scientific employees in their respective companies.
I am now slated to give academic conferences on stratigraphy, sedimentology, and seismic structural geology to different companies in Houston, Oklahoma City, Denver, Casper, Corpus Christi, New Orleans, and Tulsa. In the next 12 weeks, I’ll be giving no less than 8 talks in seven cities.
I speak with Dean Vermiculari on how best to handle the situation. He understands and appoints two graduate student teaching assistants to handle my classes while I’m on the road. That relieves me of being physically there, but I still have to grade papers, compose lesson plans, and keep things running smoothly until finals.
Besides giving the talks, there’s travel to oil fields, production facilitates, manufacturing plants, hotels, restaurants while I’m in town…the pace is excruciating. I’m gone more than I am at university. Plus in my time back home, I’m still the ad hoc master blaster for the limestone quarry.
Then, there’s the companies arriving on campus, and the roles are reversed. Now I’m the welcome wagon and have to sort out the logistics of receiving the company representatives. I need to set up the colloquia to introduce the companies to the prospective students, arrange lodging, arrange passes for the university, transportation, “Meet-and-Greet’s, ad infinitum.
I knew this was having a bit of effect on me when I came back to the flat after one particularly grueling ordeal of canceled flights, full hotels, missed connections and lukewarm reception by the company workers.
“Hello”, I said, as I walked in the flat, “I believe you have a reservation for…”
Esme just stood there, wondering if I was having a laugh.
No, I wasn’t. I was completely hallucinating from road weariness, lack of sleep, jet lag, and total disorientation. This continued on for the next approximately 18 months.
Esme was beginning to have second thoughts about all this.
My teaching load was diminished by one whole introductory course. However, I was still flying hither and yon, delivering symposia, meeting with young geoscientists and getting to know the ins-and-outs of the Oil Industry.
I found it particularly fascinating.
Time marched on and it was once again it was the recruiting season. We had no less than eight oil companies visiting the university in their quest to swell the roster of their junior scientists.
I’m still busier than a one-armed paperhanger in a windstorm, but have settled into a groove of sorts. I know the company recruiters and they now know me. I’ve actually struck up friendships with several. Particularly since I take them to the best local restaurants and bars after their recruiting duties are finished.
I’ve met with recruiting representatives of Shrill Petrol, Mexxon, Nobil, Nocono Oil, Flug, Geddy, Brutish Petroleum, and Qexaco.
The recruiting season is winding down and I find myself with Red (not Adair), of Nocono Oil.
“Well, Doctor Rock”, Red states, “Another fine recruiting run. We’ve snagged two of your young geologists and one geophysicist. I’d say it was almost a perfect score.”
We’re sitting in the Norton’s Steakhouse. After a couple of prime pink porterhouses, we’re working on the post-dinner double vodka and bitter lemon for me, and Lagavulin for Red.
“Almost perfect?” I ask.
“Yeah. There’s been this one small nagging concern from our company higher-ups.” Red continues.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“We need some more senior people. For one thing, we’ve recently opened a new petroleum laboratory down in our Houston office. Going to need some serious talent to run that show.” Red says.
“I see”, I reply, “And…?”
“We need mentors. Those with varied and far-flung knowledge. They must be well educated, global in experience and stature, with an [ahem] diverse set of skills.” Red notes.
“Whew”, I agree, “That’s a tall order. You want my help with names of possible candidates? Is that it?”
“Not as such, Doctor.” Red drains his drink, motions for me to do the same, and orders another round.
Our drinks arrive and Red downs half his in one gulp.
“Well, then”, I continue, “How can I help?”
Red chuckles, “For someone so educated, you can really be thick as two short planks at times.”
I sit back, and sip my Old Thought Provoker.
The mercury-vapors light off.
“No!” I say, incredulously.
“Oh, yes.” Red smiles.
“No?” I ask, slowly taking in the possible effects of what he’s hinting at…
“OK, Doctor Rocknocker”, Red gets all serious and corporate, “We’d like to offer you a position at Nocono Oil as Senior Laboratory Manager and Head of Corporate Continuing Education.”
You could have knocked me over with a grenade. I was stunned. I fumbled with my drink.
“Red, you old con artist” I reply, “Is this a set-up?”
Red, serious as a heart attack, looks directly at me and replies, “Doctor Rock, absolutely not, it’s a genuine offer.”
He slides over a folder with some papers inside. “Here are the particulars.”
Reeling, I accept the folder. I open it and right after the corporate logos and legal bullshit, I see a tall figure with a whole raft of zeros trailing behind it.
I read furiously. The job would be both interesting and challenging. It would be in Houston, with travel and teaching at all other company outposts on a regular basis. I reexamine that figure from before and verify that I’m not now hallucinating.
The job comes with furnished, corporate-paid housing, incredible benefits, loads of opportunity for advancement, more opportunity to travel, really generous vacation time…
“Right. On the level?” I ask again.
“Yep.” Red bluntly says.
“Well”, I gulp, “you know I have to discuss this with Esme”, whom he’s met several times previous.
“Of course, and you probably want to finish out the semester, correct?” red asks.
“Oh, yes.” I reply. There would be a monsoon of paperwork and other grunt work I’d need to conclude or hand over if I were to accept this offer.
“OK, then”, Red finishes his drink, motions for me to do the same, a real rarity; but I was in another dimension at this point. He orders another round and sits back, waiting on a refill.
“You have two weeks to reply” Red states.
“I know that’s not a terribly long time, but we need to fill this position ASAP. Can I ask for that? Your answer, yea, or nay, within a fortnight?” Red demands.
“Yes”, I reply. “I at least owe you that.”
And that was the end of the discussion for the night about me joining the private sector. We stayed a few more hours, chatting, smoking my cigars, and discussing everything but the lumbering elephant in the room.
We part outside as I need to head back to our flat. Red wants to go downtown to one of those “Gentleman’s Clubs” he’s heard were so famous at the time.
I was flummoxed the whole cab ride home.
It was late when I returned, but I simply had to wake Es with the news.
“Rock, for pity’s sake, its 2 o’clock in the morning!” Es protests. “Can’t this wait until later?”
“Sorry, my dear” I reply, probably as serious as I ever had with Esme. “This is a potential game-changer.”
“What is it? Are you OK?” Esme trembles.
“Oh, I’m fine. Better than fine.” I reply.
She’s relieved.
“Then what’s so important?” she asks.
“Um…how would you like to move to Houston?” I ask.
“You going to teach at Cougar High (University of Houston)?” she inquires.
“Nope. Brace yourself. I’ve been offered a job with Nocono Oil.” I finally spill the beans.
Esme is slightly stunned and sits down.
I go to the wet bar, fix me a bracing potato juice and citrus and Esme a stiff white Zinfandel.
I hand her the wine and she is still semi-dazed and digesting the information.
I slurp a good portion of my drink, retrieve her Sobranjes and me a cigar from my Turkmenistan humidor.
I sit on the couch next to her and hug her soundly.
“Esme? Es? Earth to Es? You in there?” I joke.
“Oh, Yeah. Rock. Really? Hang on”, she leaves, returning with her housecoat as this might take a little time.
“So?” I ask, “Your thoughts. Now! Immediately! Initial reaction!” I try to jar her back into reality.
“Well, what do you want?” she asks.
“C’mon, my dearest. You know I hate that. No, what do you think? What do you honestly think?” I reply.
We both fire up our smokes, and I refresh our drinks. We return to the dinner table where Red’s folder lies.
“Es, here. Look at this.” I say, sliding the portfolio over to her.
She reads like a hungry man at a Vegas casino buffet. I can tell where she was stopped by something extraordinary.
“This is for real?” she asks, “Red’s not pulling a fast one?”
“Nope. It’s the genuine article”, I tell her, “He needs my reply within two weeks.”
“Rock, Rock…I just don’t know. It’s a lot to process at 0230 in the morning. Let’s go to bed and have a think in the morning. You have the luxury of at least that amount of time.” She notes.
“Right again, as usual”, I say, “Stuff it. It can wait.” We toddle off to bed.
The next morning, over Cuban omelets and Greenland Coffees, we sort through the particulars.
“Rock, it’s an extraordinary offer. But, do you want to leave teaching? I remember how you got all animated by Dean Vermiculari giving you the corporate liaison job and how that would improve your shot at tenure.” She notes.
“I just don’t know. I’m still shell-shocked.” I tell her. “Let me go to school and we’ll pick this up tonight. We both have work to do no matter what. Oh, bloody hell. I hadn’t considered your job. Another wrinkle in the mess.”
“Don’t you worry about that”, Esme smiles. “One catastrophe at a time.”
“I do so love you.” I hug her soundly. “Think I should mention this offer to anyone at school?”
“No. Definitely not.” Esme shakes her head. “Let’s figure this out on our own.”
“I agree”, I say, kiss her and depart for school once again.
The next week was a blur. Recruiting duties were dragging and I was being preoccupied.
Even my students noted the lack of in-room explosions lately.
I spend the next Saturday at the quarry, doing some small amount of blasting. I quiz the quarry owners about their progress in acquiring a new master for the quarry’s operation.
“Oh, Doctor Rock” they gush, “You’re doing such a fine job, we haven’t really looked. Why do you ask?”
“No particular reason at this time, I reply, “But perhaps you might want to begin looking”
The chinks in my armor were finally starting to show.
Sunday was spent out on Sliver Lake, with Esme and me chasing the elusive crappie, perch, and bucketmouth bass. It also gave us a chance to clear our heads from work, school and other such intrusions. We both needed a bit of downtime.
Later that night, after a meal of beer-battered fillet of crappie and perch on the barbie, we sit down at the dinner table.
The portfolio sits there, taunting us.
I get up, makes us both our drinks, sit down and declare that this is it.
“Es, darling” I say, “its nut-cuttin’ time. We need to make our decision.”
“You’re right.” Es agrees, “Time for risk-reward analysis. Get some paper and some pencils.”
We spend the next few hours listing the pros and cons of accepting the Houston position or staying here and pursuing my tenured professorship.
After several hours, I stretch, stand, and go to the fridge. I retrieve the bottle of Bollinger Les Vieilles Vignes Francaises I had purchased the other day.
I return to the table with the wine and the glasses, pop the cork and pour us both a glass of high-brow bubble water.
I hug and kiss Esme like I had just returned from a long, solo expedition.
“Esme, my darling. I’d like to propose a toast. First to us. Hа здоровый!”
“Cheers!” Esme replies.
“Secondly to Red, Dean Vermiculari, the quarry guys, Polack the Cop, and all the others that makes our life weird around here.”
“Seconded”, Es echoes.
“Finally: to Houston, Texas. Our new home!” I finally add.
The next morning, Dean Vermiculari peers over the top of his pince-nez glasses. He’s not looking overly happy with me right now.
“Why is it, Doctor, that everyone that receives the job of corporate liaison ends up going with corporate?” he asks.
“Perhaps it’s just the exposure to another world that exists beyond academia.” I reply, truthfully.
“Doctor Rocknocker,” the Dean gravely states, “I am not at all happy about your decision. We had great hopes for you here and you were riding right up the tenure track. Another five years and it would have been assured.”
“Five years is a long time, Dean”, I state the obvious.
“Yes, indeed.” The Dean replies frostily. “However, you are young. Perhaps you need to get this private sector nonsense out of your system, then you can return to academia where you belong.”
“Perhaps, perhaps”, I reply.
“Please, do consider this option down the road. You and your antics will be missed here, by students and faculty alike.” He says.
“I will, Dean, I promise.” I reply “However, for now, it’s time for my boot heels to be wanderin’.”
“Doctor, I will miss your strange and unique way of looking at life. I reluctantly accept your resignation at the end of the current semester and wish you all the best in your newest endeavors. Please remember us when corporate support for academia is mentioned in your new company.” he says.
“I promise you, Dean, I will not forget what I’ve learned here and what you’ve taught. It’s the least I can do,” I reply. “I will never forget my roots.”
“All I can ask”, he concludes. He stands to shake my hand. We shake and my audience is over.
I resign from the quarry a week later. They haven’t found a new blaster but wish me well on my new journey. I tell them I’m here until the end of the semester, so I won’t leave them high and dry.
I tell Polack the Cop about all the goings-on.
“Who the hell can I roust for beer and cigars now?” He whines. “Let me know when you get to Texas if they need any cops. I wouldn’t mind trying’ that. Hell, maybe a Texas Ranger!”
“A Cheesehead Ranger…?” I assure him I will and pass a box of cigars to him as a parting gift. He gives me a mayoral-signed get-out-of-jail-free card.
“Now you can drive that old Harley just as crazy as you want.” He chuckles.
“Thanks, Polack.” I say, shaking his hand. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I sold my bike a week earlier.
Red was very chuffed with the news.
“Snagged me a big one this time!’ He laughed, over the phone.
There was enough paperwork, considerations and decisions to be made to last the remaining time Esme and I had in-state until our move. Already, a moving company had arrived, done inventory, and was preparing for our move to Houston.
Esme resigned her position and decided she wanted to take some time off. She wanted to be a housewife, a colleague, and not have to work for once at an outside job. My new position allowed for that in spades. Besides with her credentials, anytime when she wants to re-join the workforce, there are myriad opportunities in the Bayou City.
We made the choice of housing out west of town, in Katy, Texas. We could have chosen Sugarland, Addicks, Greenspoint, Greenway, or the Memorial area. However, these west Houston company properties were closest to the job and largest in square footage.
My students got wind of my resignation and relocation. They threw me an unexpected farewell party at the Gast Haus. It was nickel-beer night and since they were footing the bill, it all worked out just fine.
I would miss the old place. The camaraderie, the seasons, the university; hell my home these last many years. I’ve been on many, many expeditions, but I always returned home.
Now, home was moving and was awaiting our arrival.
Esme and I said our farewells to our families as well. We were the first through college, the first ones to travel international, the first Doctor in the family, and the first to leave the state.
That’s a lot of familial firsts.
I had to keep reminding everyone it wouldn’t be the last. Hell, we’re just moving to Texas, it’s not like we’re off to Greenland or Mongolia…
[Gasp]
We saddled up Es’s old Chevy Nova, took one last, lingering look in the rearview mirror, and said fare thee well to our previous lives.
“We’ll be back. Someday. I promise” I told the city of our youth and young married adulthood.
We decided to drive to Houston because we had the luxury of a bit of time. We needed the stretch to chew over some interpersonal and private things on the way to the next chapter in our lives. Besides, the weather was good, the roads ahead open and clear, and Texas had no ‘Open Container’ law, yet.
We pointed the old Nova south and hit the gas.
A week later, we’re wandering around our new house in Katy, Texas. Our belongings, scant though they may be, arrived the day after we did. Esme and I spent the next couple of day rearranging the house, buying necessary domestic bits and pieces, and getting to know our new neighborhood.
First thing, though, Esme wanted to replace the old Nova. I concurred, but insisted we keep it as a second car and went out to purchase our first new car as a couple.
I wanted a Land Rover. We ended up with a glossy black Toyota 4-Runner. Close enough.
I was scheduled to show up at my new job the next Monday.
I had my own parking spot, complete with “Reserved for Dr. Rock” painted on the bumper block. I was shown my new lab and was introduced to my seven laboratory assistants. I was shown the catalogs I could use to order what I needed and went over the requisition procedures.
I was trotted around to meet the company CEO, CFO, CIO, VPs and many, many more company executives and managers. I’ve met with presidents and heads of state, I was impressed but not overly. They seemed like a more or less nice bunch of chaps.
Almost exactly five weeks to the day from our arrival in Houston, I come home, yelling “Darling, I’m home!”
Esme comes to greet me with a rib-rearranging hug. She tells me to sit at the dinner table, where my long hard day at the office drink, cigar, ashtray, and lighter are already set.
“How was work, dear?” she asks, sitting down with her Perrier water.
“Oh, it’s going great. The knotheads let me have an open-ended budget until I get the labs sorted just the way I want it. These guys pay their bills on time and I have carte blanche at Wards Scientific, and other supply houses. My crew is great, no interpersonal crapola, and hard workers. I can smoke in my office and no one dares give me shit about my cigars. I’m getting to know the exploration department quite well. They’re really interested in our expeditions and are more interested in my opinions of their new exploration directives.”
Esme just smiles and sips her water.
“Odd”, I thought.
“That’s great, dear.” She says. “I am so glad to hear it.”
“Me too”, I say, “How are you holding up after all these weeks alone?”
“Oh, I’m getting used to it.” She smiles.
And smiles. Beatifically. Glowing.
“What?” I ask.
“Remember what we talked about in the car on the way down here?” She asks.
“We talked about a lot of things…” I say, suddenly my eyes grew very, very wide indeed.
“Yes. You’re going to be a father. I’m pregnant, Rock.” Esme smiles.
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The Killing House

There is a house near New Orleans, and before you make any jokes; no it isn't called the Rising Sun.
It does have a rather memorable reputation though, and a name that will probably make you think twice about visiting.
They call it the Killing House, and it only opens once a year on Halloween night.
The premise of the Killing House is simple, you go in and while spending the night any type of crime you commit is off the record, total anonymity ala The Purge.
As you might have guessed, this doesn't sit too well with the local authorities, so each year the proprietors have had to change location and keep it super secret.
Usually they do this by advertising on 4chan or other smaller forums in the darkweb, and then the rest is accomplished by word of mouth.
I'm not going to make it sound like what they are doing is ok by any means, but as it turns out; I had a reason to go this past October.
That reason was Rosemary Gilcrest.
About two weeks before the main event, I got on a Discord group that promoted the other local scare fairs, and met her in a NSFW chat.
Being down and out with my own wife, meeting a feisty no nonsense redhead half my age was quite the thrill.
After a few flirtatious encounters on the forum she popped the question about hooking up outside of cyberspace.
I told her I would love to, but figured given my age that she would probably consider me too old and worn out for her taste.
"The older the wine the sweeter the berry," she teased.
So I told her I was game, and we agreed that a secret rendezvous would be best.
"How about the Killing House?" she suggested.
If we had been in voicechat she probably would have heard me laugh out loud at the audacious idea.
"That place is uh... well it's got that name for a reason," I said.
Just last year the cops pulled three bodies from the basement. They were stripped of teeth, fingerprints and skin, so identification wasn't possible, and the rumors were there were at least five others found during the weeks to follow.
"That stuff is all just fake news! It's meant to be spooky to draw customers! I went last year and had the time of my life! They have an unlimited bar and grill, and the best spa this side of Houston!" she insisted.
I was hesitant of course. But I also didn't want to look like some kind of coward to her, so I gave in.
I know what you're probably thinking now, what a dumbass.
I was thinking the same thing as I drove to the spot where Rose said we would meet just off of 23 almost at Scarsdale.
The night air was calm near the water, and it felt like we were completely alone despite the city lights.
She had told me she would be wearing a green scarf for me to figure out who she was, but all i had needed to see was those sparkling green eyes.
She giggled and jumped at me as I walked over from my Jeep.
"I was beginning to think you had chickened out!" she told me as we had a quick make-out session.
"Mm, for you I couldn't say no. Are you sure we have to go to this stupid haunted attraction? I'm sure I can make you scream right here," I teased her.
"Naughty boy. Nope. You come to the house or you don't get the goods! That's the deal!" she told me with a laugh.
"Fine. So where to from here?" I asked.
"It should be here any minute now," she said excitedly.
I was about to ask her what she meant when I saw something moving upriver. It was an old style Mississippi steamboat, the kind that normally is only used for tours and the like on the main riverfront.
Now all of the rumors about the Killing House made sense. How they were able to remain under the radar and keep the law away.
It was dark in color, like a phantom ship in the night as it approached our parking spot and then I heard the sound of a foghorn as one of the attendants tossed the ladder over the side of the ship.
Rose took my hand and encouraged me to set sail, and for almost half a second I thought about turning around and going home.
Still, her kiss lingered on my lips and a man has needs so like a dumbfounded puppy dog I followed onboard.
All of the attendants wore the same skin tight mesh that prevented me from seeing their faces, another step in their scheme to obscure who these wackos were.
"Welcome to your death. I'll be your server tonight," one said as we entered the main foyer.
The steamboat seemed larger on the inside than I expected, almost like a palace. I wagered from the elaborate architecture and room design it was once used as a casino of some sort.
Soft repetitive music played as Rose led me down the stairs to where at least thirty other individuals were eating and chatting like this was an everyday event.
"What can I get you to drink?" the masked bartender asked us.
The ambience and general cheer in the air threw me for a loop as Rose ordered us two Bloody Mary tonics.
Everyone looked like they were having a good time, dancing and carrying on about their plans for the night.
A lot of it sounded like weird BDSM stuff, and other parts were a tad on the torture porn level. It made me squeamish to imagine they were just chitchatting about this as though they did it all the time.
But all in all I was beginning to get the idea that the rumors of actual murder might have been just for publicity like Rose had said.
I was just feeling like getting up for a dance when a newcomer entered the fray and rushed toward us.
"Eve? Is that you?" a man said walking up half drunk from the grill to my date.
Rose looked down at her drink trying to ignore him as he said, "It's me Sam! From the convention in San Antonio!"
"I think you have me mistaken for someone else," she began but he wasn't hearing it.
"Nah... you're Eve all right. Let me guess this is your latest catch?" he said as he looked me up and down like I was some kind of trophy.
"Not bad at all. I bet he'll last. Hey buddy did you bring any kind of lube... you're gonna need it!" He laughed.
I saw Rose look more and more uncomfortable with each passing moment, and I pushed the guy away muttering, "Listen buddy, we're just trying to have a good time. The lady said she doesn't know you, so why don't you scram?"
Sam raised his hands defensively as he backed away and winked at my date.
"Definitely a keeper you got here. Well, best of luck to you two. You're gonna need it!" Sam laughed as he walked out of the dining room.
Rose continued to stir her drink as I gave her an odd look, waiting for her explain what just happened.
Finally I sighed and said, "That was uh... interesting."
"Can we just drop it?" she muttered.
"Oh sure, sure," I said as I looked up toward the television.
Most of the monitors seemed to show the same program, an old horror movie from the 70s about a prison; I forget the name. Then it suddenly changed to a black screen with numbers counting down.
A few in the room started cheering excitedly and Rose grabbed my arm.
"We should get to our room," she said.
"Hold on a second. What's going on?" I asked as I looked around. Most of the people were getting ready to leave as well as the clock started ticking down.
"It's almost time. Not a good idea to be here when it gets started. Too open," Rose told me.
She began to tug on my jacket again, but I guess my brain finally kicked into gear and I wanted a few answers from her.
"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me at least who that guy was, how he knew you and why the hell you really brought me here," I told her.
She looked down at the floor trying not to tremble. I realized she was genuinely upset about something and she mumbled. "Please.. just get to the room. I'll explain everything there."
For some reason I fell for that routine.
I followed her out of the dining hall and into the hallways.
The corridors seemed constricted and out right claustrophobic as people packed in to get to their rooms.
Finally we arrived at our suite and Rose closed the door and I stood there waiting for an explanation.
"I wanted to tell you everything at first. But I was scared you would say no," she mumbled.
"Tell me now and then I can decide if I want to jump ship," I said crossing my arms angrily.
"Sam and I dated about three years ago. It wasn't a great run, but sure we had a few laughs. Until... until he got really shitfaced drunk one night and... and..." she began.
Then she started sobbing and fell into my arms.
I immediately realized what had happened. That pervert had raped her.
I sat her down on the bed and ran my fingers through her hair.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry Rose..." I told her.
"I'm... not finished... it was more than just what he did to my virginity... he..." she looked down at her trembling hands.
"He got me pregnant," she explained in a voice that was almost a whisper.
I clenched my fists and stood up staring at the wall.
I couldn't help but to punch a hole in the siding, realizing there was another aspect of the story that was unsaid but all too clear.
"You lost the child didn't you?" I asked.
"Sam was older than me... he panicked and forced me to get an abortion... threatened he would kill me if I didn't..." Rose sobbed.
All the pieces were falling into place. "So... you've been coming to the Killing House every year to find him. Is that it?" I asked.
She only nodded meekly.
"He's been... taunting me ever since. Holding it over my head. That he got away with it... and... and..." she paused and just broke down entirely.
"Is that how you got your scars? You tried to take him down alone?" I asked in shock.
"What choice did I have?! No one else was going to do it!" Rose snapped back.
I could see the rage in her eyes. I understood it more than I could even express.
"That's why you brought me here... isn't it?" I asked.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a gun.
"It isn't registered. And I made sure the bullets would be untraceable. I've tried so hard to move on past this. But Sam... he's a monster. If anyone deserves to become another body for this house, it's him," she told me as she laid it on the bed.
I stared at it for a long time before I heard a loudspeaker go off elsewhere on the boat.
"ladies and gentle beasts. It's that time for our main event! The Killing House is in international waters and that means the sky is the limit! We'll be back in dock by six in the morning so please keep in mind to clean up after yourself before then!"
Then a horn went off and the music stopped.
It was time for the hunt. I know that I said that the Killing House doesn't really have any rules, and for the most part that's true. You can literally do whatever you want while you're there.
But there are a few unspoken principles that seem to guide how things work during the main event.
I found out about all of them the hard way the night that Rose gave me an unregistered gun.
I must have stared at it for ages, trying to figure out just what to make of the story she had spun.
For all I knew it could be one big lie. I didn't really know her at all, and had no reason to believe any of this.
But the conviction and hatred she had for her ex seemed real enough, and I know a thing or two about being abused.
"Stay in here," I told her as I moved toward the door.
She didn't object as I stepped out into the cramped corridor, and I heard a few random slurs tossed out from across the hall.
The queer fetishes these people seemed to revel in was on full display in the next room, a man and woman wearing bondage items and pleasuring each other with them while a crowd watched.
It made me feel sick to stay there any longer.
I needed to find Sam, figure out what was really going on here and then get out.
I moved down the hallway back to the main dining room, only to find that the previously crowded area was now pitch black and empty.
One of the employees was sweeping up beer bottles and looked at me as I moved closer. He immediately noticed my gun.
"This area is off limits during the event sir. You'll need to return to the play floor for use of weapons," he said, his voice muffled from the ski mask.
"Who is in charge around here? I need to see security tapes of the evening."
"Sir I'm afraid that isn't possible," he began but I made a warning shot up in the air and he jumped in surprise.
"R-r-right this way," the employee said taking me behind the bar.
There was a door marked employees only and he used his key to get us inside and then move down a wider passage where several of the attendants were sitting back and drinking a few rounds themselves.
None of them were wearing masks anymore and as the younger attendant brought me in with my weapon to the back of his neck I saw surprise and confusion on their faces.
"Bloody hell, what's going on here?" One older man asked gruffly.
"He wants to see the Captain," my captive answered nervously.
"You're barking up the wrong tree here Mister. Now put that weapon down and we can talk," another said.
"You must be joking. You're going to show me where the Captain is at so I can review some security footage. Simple as that," I told them.
They looked at each in amusement and then laughed which only made me more frustrated.
"Something funny? Do I need to show you how serious I am?" I said shoving their friend to a wall.
"Easy there tiger. It's just a dumb request. This must be your first time here. We don't keep surveillance of the event, or otherwise the cops would find it leaked online. Same thing for mobile devices and other electronics. Not allowed aboard," the older man explained.
I frowned in disappointment my original plan going to pieces rather quickly.
"Do you have a manifest? So you know who is supposed to be aboard?" I asked.
The men seemed hesitant to answer and I smiled as I realized I was on to something now.
"Of course you do, how else would you make certain no uninvited guests hopped aboard? Where is it?" I asked.
They didn't respond so I kicked at their coworkers ankles to force him to the floor.
"Tell me where," I growled.
"Fine. The boss can handle you," one guard said in frustration.
He stormed out of the room as though encouraging me to follow and I picked the young employee up by his shirt collar and shoved him down the passage.
"Lead the way."
We walked down a flight of stairs into what looked like a boiler room of some sort.
Given that the idea was that this was meant to be an abandoned steamboat it surprised me to find that most of the equipment was in good working order.
Something told me that this place was used on a regular basis for another purpose I thought as the guard led me toward another room that was more finely decorated.
There was a big fat man sitting on a plush red pillow in the middle of the next room as the guard opened the door. Five scantily clad women were around him acting like he was some kind of idol but when they saw my gun they all scattered like the roaches they were.
"Damien this better be good. Who the hell is this?" the fat man asked his guard.
"One of our guests. He wants a look at the manifest."
"You're out of luck stranger. That's for our administrative staff only," the fat man laughed.
"I need to find someone, see if he's aboard," I explained.
"And you thought coming in here guns a blazing would get you what you wanted?" The fat man asked.
I was about to answer when I felt a blunt instrument hit the back of my head. Everything went black instantly.
I woke up later strapped and naked to a table. The fat man was standing nearby smoking a cigar. We were back in the boiler room.
Several of the guards were gearing up the machinery as they finished tightening my bonds.
"So we did a little digging and it looks like the one name that isn't on the manifest is yours Stranger. How exactly did you get aboard?" the fat man asked.
"What are you going to do if I don't talk?" I teased.
But I don't know why I was being so smart in the first place.
One of the guards brought over what looked like a branding iron. It had strange markings on it like the kind you have for slaughterhouses on cattle.
Before I could even scream in defense they placed it against the side of my ribs, piercing flashing pain scorching my body.
"WHAT THE HELL!!!"
"It doesn't really matter who you are, to be honest. You're just what we need to spice things up," another man said.
I was trying my hardest not to whimper as I felt the pain make my side go numb.
"Now you're marked. Guess you’ll get that death wish to come true huh?" The guard said as he put the branding iron down.
"Marked for what?"
"We're getting to that. You still haven't answered our questions. Are you going to tell us how you came here?" the fat man asked.
I decide playtime with this lot was over. I spilled and told them about Rosemary and Sam.
The group looked at each other as though this news sounded familiar and then left the room to consult privately.
I struggled for a second to free myself of the bonds but it was pointless. They were back before I was half way there.
"It's your lucky day partner. Your buddy Sam turns out to be a participant too, so you're going to get to meet him," the fat man laughed.
"Take him to the arena," another guard ordered.
"Wait... what? What the hell?" I asked as they dragged me up.
I felt like I was being treated like an animal, naked and afraid.
A few moments later they shoved me into what looked like a freight elevator and it started to move up.
I pushed my weary body up and watched as the transport shook and shimmied trying to figure out what was going on.
The door opened to a wide open gala room which looked like it had once been used for some type of live theater.
Sam was there on the other side of the room, also naked and marked on his side.
XIX his marking said. Mine was XIII. What was going on? A blare-horn sounded again.
I knew this would be a fight only one of us would walk away from.
I won’t sugar coat what happened next. I fought for my life.
Sam rushed toward me, fear and anxiety covering his face. He pushed me down into the dirt and started hitting scratching and kicking me in every part of my side. There wasn’t a chance to talk it over.
I pushed him back, kicking him away and rolling near the edge of the ring. One of the men pushed me back toward the center, all of them chanting for the bloody battle to continue.
From somewhere up above, one of the proprietors dropped a knife into the sand and dirt. Both of us paused for a moment and then dropped into a charge position to make for the weapon.
Sam made it there first, and I toppled over him and kicked at his back to push him down. The knife slid. The whole boat seemed to sway. I scrambled to grab it and sliced it against Sam’s thigh. He screamed out and the crowd went wild.
But I wasn’t about to let this madness continue for their enjoyment.
I scanned the exterior of the ring, looking at the chains that linked toward some of the pipes above and ran toward them without question. Sam was struggling to stand up and ignore the injury as I began to climb.
I kicked him away, pushing my foot into his mouth and pulling harder and harder to get up. I was halfway up the chains when someone shouted to the owners of my attempted escape. If I didn’t get out soon I knew there wasn’t going to be a second chance. I saw an air vent. I kept the knife in my mouth and started to swing on the chain.
I grabbed ahold of the vent as I heard an alarm blare and several armed men come into the arena below. One of them used the blunt end of their gun to knock Sam down. The others aimed their rifles at me. I hastily grabbed the knife from my mouth and slammed it against the rusty hinges on the vent.
A bullet grazed my back. It took everything in my power to ignore the pain and keep working at the vent. Finally, the bottom half of the hinges fake lose. Then another round of bullets hit my arm and I dropped the knife.
I started swinging again. I kicked at the vent as they kept trying to shoot me down. Then the vent fell down and I pushed my body into the vent as yet another shot grazed my foot. I was crawling in my own blood. My body bruised and swollen.
I found another vent and started working to escape into the winding maze of the belly of the boat. I still needed to find that manifest.
Maybe I wouldn’t be able to help Rose but if I could get that list and then turn it over to the authorities.
My bare feet hit the cold floor and I looked about where I had come out at. It was some type of locker room. I found one of them that was open and grabbed a dirty towel to press against my open wound.
I stood there naked, confused tired and trying to think of where to go next. I wouldn’t be able to get far like this. I looked around and found a uniform for one of the workers on the steamboat. This was the key to getting back upstairs unseen.
It was a little tight and worn. But I figured that the employees around here likely came and went faster than the management could keep track of. A second later, a woman stepped into the room and paused to stare at me. “New?” she asked. “Yeah… sorry. This all got to be a bit much so I went to get some air,” I said. It was a good enough lie that she didn’t bat an eye. She guided me upstairs into what appeared to be a ballroom.
Dozens of people were waiting again, chatting and enjoying the festivities of the night. I was doing my best to keep my head down when I heard that same fat man make an announcement.
“Ladies and gents! We’ve had quite a few casualties on the ship tonight and the festivities are rounding up to a big finale. So to get things started for our final venue, we are asking all of you to a dinner,” he said.
Several workers were moving long gurneys into the back of the room. The lady I was working alongside pulled me into the kitchen to do the same.
I knew immediately what was under the white sheets. Bodies. And the smell of burnt skin covered the room. It made me want to vomit. I suddenly understood how the Killing House was able to hide all the carnage that happened aboard. They either burnt or devoured the dead. I covered my nose and pushed the gurney into the buffet room. People were lining up to grab a meal. They were eagerly anticipating the chance to become cannibals.
I pulled back the sheet that I was pushing and did a double take. It was Sam. I had seen him only twenty minutes ago and now he was dead. I hardly knew the man but still this cut me to the core. He had died because he came here searching for Rose. What would have happened to me if I had followed through with her request? Would this cult like fervor surrounded me and made me feel like a hero? I couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t care about the manifest or even the truth about Rose.
A sudden rage filled my body and I pushed the gurney over before anyone could defile this man’s body.
The crowd gasped in surprise and a few guards raised their weapons. Before they could fire a shot I pushed over a candle and fire spread across Sam’s skin. I grabbed another and tossed it straight into a guard’s face. Screams filled the air. I dropped down and began to crawl as the fire spread faster. Sprinklers activated a second later. Then I pushed another table over and rushed toward the fat man. I was on top of him before anyone could stop me. My hands around his neck. The guards pointed toward guns straight at my head but the fat man motioned for them to stop. “You… you were in the… arena,” he said with realization. I choked hard as I could but he motioned for me to stop. “I can give you whatever you want…” he insisted.
I calmed down for a moment and let him go. “You are quite a feisty one aren’t you?” he said with a laugh.
“I told you that he would be a good one Johnny,” a new voice said across the room. It was Rose. I stared at her, not too stunned to find that Sam had been right. “Ah. My daughter. This is the one that you said we could make part of the team?” the fat man asked. “Daughter?” I repeated in shock as the guards lowered their weapons and the crowd dispursed.
She only smiled sweetly. Like this was all a big game and they had won. “He did fabulous. Killed two guards and then made this whole deck a fucking fire hazard. He will be a great addition to next year's main event,” Rose said. “What? Are you insane? I’m getting the fuck out of here!!” I shouted angrily.
The fat man laughed. “And go back to your wife? You are so so simple,” he said. I felt my heart drop. they had gotten to her? “While you were busy just trying to get in my daughter’s pants, we sent out men to take care of that problem. View her as leverage,” the fat man said.
“Why..” I said desperately feeling my head spin. “Because the Killing House needs more attractions. And you have the fire to really make this place go to the next level,” Rose explained. That was why they brought me. To blackmail me. They showed me videos they were eager to spread to the police. Carefully edited to make me appear like a lone wolf killer.
So I caved. I chose to work for this mad house. I know it isn’t the best choice but I haven’t exactly made many good choices lately. I lost everything, I really did even lose my life here at the Killing House.
I don’t know if any of you will ever get an invite to come here. But take it from someone who has lived through it:
the Killing House will be the death of you.
330
submitted by Colourblindness to nosleep [link] [comments]

[WP] It seemed like a normal cruise, a 5-day party barge with a buffet, a casino, shows every night, and drunk college kids by the pool. That is, until footage of the zombie apocalypse started coming in on the satellite TVs.

It seemed like a normal cruise, a 5-day party barge with a buffet, a casino, shows every night, and drunk college kids by the pool. That is, until footage of the zombie apocalypse started coming in on the satellite TVs.
If you can't see the video, the zombie-like creatures have been seen at the marina. One video uploaded to YouTube shows a group of them chasing a group of people in the water, with the leader saying "Come on we are going to kill you".
Another video shows a small boy on the dock with his nose bloodied from being bitten by the zombie.
I'm sure that was a prank, but the fact that people are actually being attacked by zombies in the water suggests that there must be more than a few of them.
The videos went viral, and people were horrified. One person wrote on the Reddit page "I have never seen anything like it. I was in the water, and watched a group of people get bitten and run off in panic. I have never been so scared in my life", while another wrote "I don't know how to get out of the marina as the sea is filled with undead".
The Mariner's Club confirmed that things were indeed happening, and has now put out a statement:
"Mariner's Club is aware of the disturbing reports from around the marina, and we are working with local authorities and security personnel to investigate the incident. We have no further information to share at this time."
The marina is located roughly 30 miles south of New Orleans and it is unclear when the incident took place.
The New Orleans Shrimp Festival has been cancelled, although there is a chance it could be rescheduled. The festival will take place in the next few days, but the festival director has not revealed the reason for the cancellation.
This article was originally published on 9th April. Some of the images have been changed to protect the innocent.
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Veteran's Day: Deals and Steals

If there is something you're aware of, that isn't on this list, mention it below. Make sure you call ahead to make sure the location in your area is participating in these offers.
It's not my fault if you go into a restaurant that isn't offering this deal, and you don't have enough money to pay your tab. Don't forget to tip your server.
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submitted by LrankLcean to AirForce [link] [comments]

Veteran's Day: Deals and Steals

If there is something you're aware of, that isn't on this list, mention it below. Make sure you call ahead to make sure the location in your area is participating in these offers.
It's not my fault if you go into a restaurant that isn't offering this deal, and you don't have enough money to pay your tab. Don't forget to tip your server.
The second half of this list is retail offers. There are even things to involve the families.
Food
Retail
submitted by LrankLcean to army [link] [comments]

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