8thdayfiction

…and on the 8th day, micro fiction was published on some dude's blog.

The Meeting

H opened the door slowly and found a seat near the back. He was only a few minutes late, and as usual, they were starting late. It looked like he hadn’t missed anything.

Not that you’d ever really miss anything if you didn’t go to these meetings, he thought to himself.

The meetings were pretty much always the same thing. Times New Roman would gavel the meeting to order. H liked TNR. He was old school, classic. He looked kind of like Woodrow Wilson.

TNR would welcome everyone, and then ask Arial to read the minutes from the last meeting. H was always being told he and Arial looked alike, and was always being asked if the two of them were siblings or cousins or something. He didn’t see it.

Last meeting’s minutes would be approved in a cursory vote, and then it was on to new business. Sometimes there’d be a guest speaker. Last time, it was Westminster, who gave a talk on “filling a niche” or something. He honestly had tuned out on that one; the guy’s entire presentation was very machine-like.

He squirmed in his seat. He’d made the bad choice to sit next to Copperplate Gothic, who was spilling over into H’s seat. The joke about CG was, he was so fat he was already 48 pt. before he was out of diapers.

So after the guest speaker and/or new business, the floor would open for comment. This was by far the worst part. It was always the same thing: Comic Sans (with his unfortunate Hawaiian shirts and bad comb-over) would take to the mic just to tell bad jokes, followed by Cloister Black who, after an eternity of throat-clearing and monocle-adjusting, would rant about the “digital age” and how us “classics” have to stick together against this threat. Papyrus would step forward and invite us all to his tapas and wine-tasting bar after the meeting, and finally, Wingdings would take to the mic and…well, no one ever understood a word he said.

Just as TNR started to rap the gavel, H heard the door creak open. He turned to look, and it was her. Courier snuck in, gave him a quick wave, and tip-toed over to an open seat.

He smiled. Now he remembered why he went to these things.

H was crazy about Courier. She was pretty in an unassuming way. She was retro and hip, without obnoxiously broadcasting it (unlike her d-bag boyfriend Cooper Black). Seeing her made him feel kind of…italicized. He liked the feeling, and couldn’t wait for the meeting to be over so he could talk to her.

He sat back, half-listened to Arial reading the minutes, and waited.

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4 thoughts on “The Meeting

  1. So clever –I love this one! Wingdings has always seemed to talk gibberish to me, too. H really understands his associates and describes them so well. And love the italics feeling!!! You’re the best!

  2. This was my favoritest one so far. It would make a great illustrated not-really-children’s book.

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