8thdayfiction

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

Not The Kinda Girl

Bart cranked up his car’s radio and smiled.

“Awwww YEAH!”

He’d stumbled across “The Tide Is High” playing on some random station and started getting his groove on, doing a dance that could best be described as an awkward sitting hula.

It was a beautiful afternoon, warm but not too hot, and sunny. Bart had his windows down; it was one of those days when the commute home didn’t seem like such a chore.

As he sat waiting for the light to change, he turned up the radio even more and started singing along.

“IIII’M NOT THE KINDA GIRL, WHO GIVES UP JU-UST LIKE THA-AT…OH NO-oh-oh-oh-OH!”

“Good to know!” called a voice from the car next to him.

Startled out of his reverie, Bart turned towards the voice. It was Janet–his boss’s boss’s boss. She smiled and waved as the light changed and she sped away.

Bart sat there, embarrassed, but was quickly snapped out of it by the driver behind him who hit the horn and yelled, “Hey! Let’s go, Blondie!”

Bart looked in his rearview mirror and saw it was Jason–his boss’s boss.

As he stepped on the gas and pulled through the intersection, Bart turned the radio down so he could think. He didn’t see Janet or Jason all that often at the office–their paths crossed in the hallway maybe once or twice a week at the most.

He figured if he stopped shaving now, only entered the hallway to go to lunch and back, and kept a low profile otherwise, he’d be able to grow a giant ZZ Top beard by the next time either of them saw him. That way they’d be less likely to remember him as the dorkwad singing and dancing in his beat up Ford Taurus, and more likely to think of him as the cool new guy at work who probably drives the Eliminator hot rod.

It was pretty much a foolproof plan.

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