Glenn Keller

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Alphaville
It’s actually a suburb of São Paulo, Brazil. What kind of place is it? Well, smack in the middle of the ritziest area we operated a factory, (my former company did that is.) Somehow, this factory survived, in that spot, for years, until skyrocketing real estate prices made the land too valuable. So we sold it and moved further out in the hinterlands. I visited the factory in Alphaville many times, usually for a week of two at a time. I never visited after they moved the factory. I just had no desire to, and to be honest, I was in a position to go or not go where I wanted.

It was a privileged area, and unlike some places in the São Paulo, we felt safe. By contrast, at a high fashion mall in São Paulo, guards patrolled the perimeter wearing tactical gear and carrying automatic weapons. Inside the mall there was more security personnel than customers. No surprise given how upscale it was. Very few people, including us visitors from North America could afford to shop there.

Alphaville was a different story. People that made Alphaville their home, could probably afford to shop in that mall. There was a steady aerial parade of helicopters overhead ferrying people around: these people didn’t have to wait on the crowded highways. There were guards on the streets here as well; but they were in plainclothes, their weapons concealed, their manner cordial. Making eye contact would get you a polite nod. They wore nice suits and ties. This is the type of security that is designed to make you feel like you don’t really need security.

We often walked home from the factory in the dark. We could have called for a car, but to be honest, we felt safe. We just mingled with the crowds of other workers heading home to less affluent areas. The only difference was, they were heading for the bus stops and we were heading for our hotel.

About that hotel. It was a Radisson as I recall, and I stayed there a number of times. For a week, sometimes two at a time. But on one occasion I wound up being sick on arrival. A raging cold or maybe the flu since I was feverish. I was there for a couple of weeks and I wound up missing 3 days of work, sequestered in my hotel room. I remember episodes of CSI and Law and Order playing on the TV and of course Special Victims Unit. Every couple of hours I would venture down to the lobby and make a cup of tea at the little coffee bar they had there. The staff made sure to keep it stocked with tea that I liked. They offered to bring it to my room, but I preferred to make my own, since I am picky about my tea and I wanted to get up and about as well. Their concern was genuine and they offered to take me to a doctor if I needed it. They offered this every time I went down to the lobby. I loved them for this.

At night I had to eat, and a co-worker and I went around the corner to an Outback Steakhouse. It was close, and since all the beef they used was Argentinian it was the best Outback in the history of Outbacks. There were plenty of Brazilian Steakhouses and great restaurants in the area but my stomach was upset. I am sure my colleague would have loved to go somewhere else but she was nice enough to hang with me for four nights in a row at Outback. They had a nice Malbec on the menu, which we both drank every night. This perhaps was some consolation to her.

Finally, on day 5 of our trip I was completely back to normal and I was able to mix freely with our Brazilian colleagues and wander out to some of the many churrascarias in the area. There was also a great sushi restaurant not far from the hotel and a small supermarket stuffed with the most delicious grapes and oranges.

The occasion for this visit was a meeting with my direct reports from around South America. We had Peruvians, Columbians, Argentines and of course, Brazilians joining us. Most of them, women included were passionate about Football (soccer to us) and we were all excited to visit the national Football Museum in São Paulo. It was a big museum and took most of the day to see. As we moved closer to one exhibit and turned the corner to enter, we heard a funeral dirge playing. I thought that this was a somber memorial, for some sort of tragedy that must have befallen either a Brazilian squad or their fans. Indeed it was all of that, and more to the Brazilians. For in 1950, they lost, on home soil to an Uruguay team that they should have beaten.

They take their football seriously, these Brazilians.

I left the museum with a jersey of the oldest professional football club in São Paulo (Corinthians). I was just wondering what happened to that jersey and I remembered that I gave it to one of the grandkids who was into soccer. He was thrilled to have it.

It was a wonderful trip, despite the raging cold I fought through. As we headed back to the airport, we passed a multistory billboard featuring Giselle wearing only underwear.

She was facing a prison yard.

© Glenn R Keller 2023, All Rights Reserved
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Come Fly With Me
My seat mate is cool, I’ll give you that. A mother traveling on a fun trip with her young daughter. They’re both giggly, and despite EVERYTHING, I’ve enjoyed talking with momma bear.

THE EVERYTHING

It’s spring break, the plane is packed, and I have zero elite status on zero airlines because I haven’t flown in a couple of years, which seems very wierd. And so, I’m in the worst mother fucking seat on this mother fucking plane. The only thing lacking is some mother fucking snakes. “Hey mother fucking snakes, what’s in your mother fucking wallet?” Sorry, sometimes I don’t know where this shits gonna go. On the other hand, you try writing a rant about a bad airplane seat without dropping a Samuel L Jackson reference.

It’s an MD90, which is a pimped out DC9. Can you imagine if Douglas Aircraft was still around? They really designed planes that last. This airframe design is what, 50 years old? It’s a better passenger experience than a 737 or A320, but the fleet is aging and they’re not building any more. Boeing acquired McDonnell Douglas and so owns the design. It marketed it as the 717, which was clever, and although I flew on a couple they never sold many; I believe it was a range problem. Airlines all wanted either the puddle jumper jets or the 737’s. The 717 was in no man’s land. At any rate, give it another 10 or 15 years and the airframe will be extinct in mainline service.

Despite all that, this seat sucks. The engines, mounted to the rear of the fuselage, obstruct where a window could be. So there is no window. Actually there could be more galley space or some storage behind the seat. Fuck you bean counters. Back in the day this would have been a Northwest flight. Likely, they’d have done the same damned thing. Another nice thing Delta did is use CRJs for its regional carriers. United regionals use Embraers. CRJs, also known as “Cram Jets”, suck. This is why I hardly ever fly Delta anymore. That and Laguardia. Don’t argue with me, I have close to 800,000 flight miles. I hope someone says that at my funeral. “He was so close to the 1,000,000 club.”

Oh, sweet, some idiot is holding his baby’s ass against my shoulder. I wanna punch him. (The father, not the baby of course. I mean who goes around punching babies.) Still, there’d be a life lesson for that baby.

Did I mention there’s no window? Oh yeah we covered that. But I’m pretty sure we didn’t get into the fact that in this row the seats don’t recline.

The seats don’t recline.

Which maybe is good because with all the ass I’m getting up against my shoulder, if I reclined, it would likely be in my face. Now while I’m not one for ass in the face, I do concede, that if you are into that sort of thing you might find this seat more amenable than I do.

So, while on the surface, being on the aisle, with no window and no recline would seem to be better than being in the center with no window and no recline, it is more than offset by the lavatory thats directly across from me. Hence all the ass, crotch, toddler shoes, elbows, stomachs and bellowing foghorns in my face.

I suppose it could be worse. There could be snakes.

© Glenn R Keller 2023, All Rights Reserved
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flying, humor, memories, plane, travel
The Priest
Father Ryan stared at the ceiling. He could hear the school coming alive with the sunrise. Students would be dressing and heading for breakfast, and after breakfast he would be conducting the morning chapel service. There was only one small problem, he didn’t have a message prepared and that was the most important part of chapel. Oh, he had plenty of ideas and was ready to get to work, but then Father Kasey showed up and talked him into going to that poker game. He had put it off to the last minute and when push came to shove, he didn’t even give it that last minute.

He stood up at the pulpit and cleared his throat. He gave a decent message. It was a bit long and he rambled because he had no real plan and had not practiced. His colleagues told him he did a good job and the students seemed to like it. There was only one problem: it was not his best. It was not near his best, and yet, it was still pretty good. And that was the story of his life, he was pretty damn good at everything but never did his best at anything. And so here he was, an assistant headmaster at a good but not great private school and this was as far as he would get.

He told himself he was capable of doing the big jobs, but deluded himself into thinking he was taking the happy path because the big jobs were just not worth the effort…he would rather live his life right? But it wasn’t like he’d been to the top of his field and stepped back. He hadn’t tried. He hadn’t made the effort.

And so every night, as he lay in bed, in that place where his inner voice couldn’t be silenced, he was haunted by the fact that he could have been so much more. He could have served so much more. He didn’t know what his mind was capable of because he never challenged it. He would fix that soon. He would fix it tomorrow. And so every night, he went to bed, telling himself a lie.

And then he woke up. The awakening came in the form of a 5’5 15 year old by the name of Joshua. He responded to the knock at his open doorway: “come in Joshua, what can I help you with?” He hadn’t spent much time with Joshua so he didn’t even resent that he’d interrupted his online Chess match. Besides, it would be over quickly, most of the boys came in because of a struggle with a particular teacher or maybe they were homesick or had received a ‘Dear John’ letter. He had answers for every problem. He would give him some encouraging words, ask the boy to tell him how things went and send him on his way. Five minutes tops.

But he didn’t have an answer for Joshua.

He sat in stunned silence, looking at the boy, trying to save face, to defend himself, but he couldn’t find the words. Because there were no words. Finally he croaked out “Joshua, I appreciate your honesty. Let’s see what you think of next weeks message”. He gave Joshua a condescending smile, not because he was condescending towards him but because he had to do something to regain some dignity. “Off with you, we’ll speak again”. He shut his laptop, remembering but ignoring the half finished chess game. He grabbed his coat and hat and headed out for a walk.

The crisp fall air and the leaves, dazzling in the bright sunlight make him feel suddenly more alive. It was like he had been walking around in a faded color photograph and someone had turned the saturation level up to max. Joshua’s word echoed in his head “Why don’t you give cool messages any more?” He said all the boys hated chapel, no surprise there, but the times they enjoyed it were when he delivered the message. But then suddenly they stopped being interesting, like he was mailing it in. They even figured out one was exactly the same as another he’d given. Ouch. Teenage boys can be brutal. But the only message he thought about while he walked was the message he was leaving with these boys. He turned around and headed back to his office.

His mission was now clear, actually it wasn’t a new mission. It was the same mission that led him to this post…he wanted to help inspire a generation of young men. To be the best they could be, to make a difference in the world. And so he sat down and spent three hours on his next message. He went to the cafeteria and grabbed some lunch, but eschewed his normal place at the faculty tables and sat with some of the older boys. He just listened as they talked about the upcoming lacrosse match with their crosstown rivals and lied about their prowess with girls. After lunch he went back and wrote another message, about how young men should treat young women. The discussion at lunch informed much of the message and when he read the finished product he realized it was hilarious…and on point.

About a month later Joshua came to see him again. “Another critique of my speaking Josh?”

“Oh no sir, you’ve been great!” Joshua seemed hesitant “well, the guys and I were just wondering if you could say something to Dr. Ramsey, I mean he puts us to sleep EVERY TIME”.

He shook his head “Joshua.”

“Yes sir?”

“Out.”

Joshua took off down the hall but shouted over his shoulder “He’s really a bore you know!” He couldn’t help laughing because Joshua reminded him exactly of someone…himself.

He never delivered a mediocre message again.

© Glenn R Keller 2023, All Rights Reserved
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Fiction, leadership, people
The Roasting Pan
It feels a little bit like giving up. Like when you decide just to put up the little Christmas tree. The one that fits on the tabletop, because there’s really no one but yourself to enjoy it. There is always a big turkey for Thanksgiving. Sometimes I went to other peoples house, sometimes I cooked dinner and invited all my single friends. There were a few times, after we were married that we ordered a ready made dinner with sliced turkey. Busy times. But those were few and far between.

But when the wife said, “let’s just get a turkey breast this year” I was already there with her. Most of it, the dark meat gets thrown away anyway. There is almost always just the three of us. Our thing is getting a big ass bird and eating turkey sandwiches for two or three days afterward. Then we have had our fill of turkey for the year. This year, though, we will just get a big ass breast.

Fair enough. Done and dusted.

But then, then, she said “why don’t you grab one of those foil pans over there.”

“But we have the roasting set, with the turkey lifter and everything!”

“Yeah, but it’s a pain to clean up. Make it easy on yourself.”

I considered this. I do a lot of the prep and cleanup at Thanksgiving. It is kind of tiring. But the roasting pan…it had been in the family for decades. It was my mother’s and maybe someone else’s before that.

“Okay. That makes sense I guess. I’ll think about it.”

But, I mean, what’s next? It’s a slippery slope and the next thing you know you’re putting up a little ceramic Christmas tree on Thanksgiving night and calling it a day.

I still haven’t bought the foil pan.

© Glenn R Keller 2023, All Rights Reserved
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holiday, memoir, memories, thanksgiving, turkey
Székesfehérvár
I’ve stayed in hotels all over the world but certain ones stick in your mind.

The Magyar in Székesfehérvár, Hungary. To say this was an old hotel would be an understatement. It is over 200 years old, and I am happy to report that there has been a makeover since I stayed there in 1999. There is now air conditioning.

There was no air conditioning in July of 1999 though I assure you it would have come in handy. It was sweltering and the choice was between keeping the window open to catch a little breeze otherwise suffer with the window shut. Of course, the open window came with flys, mosquitoes and grinding truck gears at no extra cost.

I was having the time of my life.

The good thing about staying in an old hotel is that you wake up and find yourself in the old city center. Early each morning, a colleague and I got up and wandered around, checking out churches, closed shops and war memorials. Walking up the side streets we’d see commuters toweling the morning dew off their cars…a practical and simple self carwash.

By breakfast time it was warming up and we’d position ourselves near an open window in the hotel restaurant. I remember it being hot already and the sun was beating down on us, and in our faces through the open window. However, eating breakfast, practically outside in a strange (and to me) exotic place, was too exciting to worry about being uncomfortable. They served us a combination Continental/American breakfast. There were croissants, pastries, cold meats and cheeses, and fresh squeezed orange juice. They also made sure we had bacon and eggs. Somehow, everything tasted better than anywhere else on earth.

After breakfast, a Hungarian colleague would pick us up and drive us over to the factory. The factory was several buildings on the grounds of an old defense contractor from back in the Eastern Bloc days. Imagine that you took over a large Lockheed Martin or Boeing facility and placed a lot of more prosaic businesses there, like small factories and warehouses. And the employees just shifted over to the new enterprises. Our Hungarian folks had some interesting stories to say the least. But more on that later because I have many many memories of Hungary and Székesfehérvár.

© Glenn R Keller 2023, All Rights Reserved
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career, hungary, memoir, memories, travel
The Ringer
Her reception was entirely predictable. Stacy and Anna were the queens of the office, usually at odds, but at times like this, fearsome allies. Megan, the new stenographer had three things that were sure to stoke their fury: Stephan had hired her, she dressed in an odd way, and worst of all, she was pretty.

To be fair, her sense of professional attire would have raised eyebrows almost anywhere in mid-century America. Short red hair, some sort of voodoo looking earrings, pants, and make up that funneled your vision right into the middle of her bright green eyes.

But what infuriated the queen bees most of all, was that while the men joked with them and made snide remarks behind her back, none of them could take their eyes off her. In fact, before the first week was over, several had made approaches, only to have their wings clipped before spiraling into the ground.

It didn’t take long before the “slut” and “prick tease” labels came out, with Stacy and Anna being the main instigators. Of course, they would never say any of that in front of Stephan. But they did say it in front of Ellen, his assistant. Ellen had Stephan’s ear, was close to him, and being tight with her was a status symbol in the office and presumably a good career move. What they didn’t know, was that Stephan and Ellen sometimes shared a bed, which also meant they shared a lot of other secrets; including what was being said around the office.

Stephan liked to tell Ellen that she had his back, which she certainly did. And in that spirit she had been warning him to get rid of those two before they caused real trouble. Stephan resisted for a long time. It just didn’t seem right to try and unload someone because your girlfriend didn’t like them. He had to admit though, she was probably right.

The office had high turnover, and surprise surprise, whenever someone quit, Stacy and Anna always came up in the exit interviews. Stephan, hating conflict, let it go until he couldn’t any longer. The two had run off a stenographer that had the potential to move onto the creative team. She had been placed in the steno pool so she could learn about the business and wait until a position opened up. Ellen considered her a pet project. Perhaps sensing that she was a “golden child”, the toxic twins went after her hard.

Ellen came out of the bathroom wearing Stephan’s robe, loosely tied at the waist, her wet hair wrapped in a towel. “Are you finally going to listen to me and get rid of those two?”

He sighed. “More easily said than done.” He wasn’t wrong. It’s all too true that in Corporate America, the bigger the pain in the ass you were, the harder you were to get rid of.

Ellen stared at him for a moment, then cinched the robe tighter around her waist and walked back into the bathroom. “Okay fine.”

“Are you bribing me or blackmailing me?”

She answered from the bathroom, pulling on her slip. “Call it what you want. I’m just not feeling very turned on at the moment. How many times do I have to tell you how to take care of them?”

“Seriously? You still want me to hire that little pixie oddball?”

“You had no problem flirting with her. Oh yeah, don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Stephan went quiet.

“Oh for God’s sake. You couldn’t help yourself. She has a way with people. That’s why I’m telling you to hire her. Are you going to trust me?” She slipped back into her shoes and grabbed her tote bag.

“Okay, okay. Of course I trust you. I’ll give it a shot. Have her come in for an ‘interview’ on Monday.”

“Good boy.” Ellen put down her bag and stepped back out of her shoes.

And that is how Megan, who couldn’t (and wouldn’t) do stenography to save her life, landed in the steno pool.

“One of the kids from the mailroom stopped by my office.” Stephan was talking with Ellen in front of the coffee urn. “He said there are terrible rumors going around about Megan. Are you sure you want to subject her to this?”

Ellen patted his shoulder. “Relax. It will be over soon enough.”

“She is showing no signs of getting them to quit.”

“And,” Ellen pointed out, “she is showing no signs of giving a fig about what either of them have to say.”

“Fair enough. To be honest, she seems to actually LIKE them. It has to be an act.”

“If thine enemy be hungry, give them bread to eat; and if they be thirsty, give them water to drink. For thou shalt heap coals of fire upon their heads, and the LORD shall reward thee.”

“Whoa! Where the hell did that come from?”

“Proverbs. Sunday School wasn’t a complete waste of time. You just wait. Meanwhile I have work to do.” She looked around to make sure the coast was clear before giving him a peck on the cheek and heading back to her desk.

A few weeks went by, with nothing really changing other than the toxic twins blood pressure. Megan’s serene indifference to their bullying frustrated them and a subtle change was taking place in the office. Even Stephan noticed it. First, one of the other stenos started eating lunch with Megan. Attracted by the two pretty, lively women sitting together a couple of the mailroom gang began to join in. This in turn attracted more young women which attracted more men and before long there was a lively, boisterous clique that changed the whole atmosphere during coffee breaks and lunches.

The final straw came when a couple of the senior creatives started hanging out. Seeing their status slip and people acting like the office was a place to have fun just could not be tolerated. But then Stacy found a weak spot.

Megan’s mother had been into witchcraft, and though witches are no longer burned, they can still be ostracized, slandered, and bullied. Eventually it got to be too much and her mom ended it. All Megan had left of her mother were memories, a gravestone, and a book.

“If the mother was like that, surely the daughter…”

It didn’t change anything in the office. Except for one thing: it finally got under Megan’s skin. And as the pair were about to discover, it was not a skin you wanted to be under.

Maintaining her outwardly friendly disposition, Meg (everyone now called her that) organized a solar eclipse viewing party for the office. It was going to be a fun break from work, complete with refreshments and the special viewing glasses.

The event was a big hit. Well not with everybody. Planning something like this was naturally right in the wheelhouse of the two queens. Not only were they not running the show, they didn’t even think about having a show. But they attended for the same reason you attend a frenemie’s wedding.

As the dragon slowly devoured the sun, the biggest part of the crowd gathered around Megan. And as the darkness deepened, they began singing something that sounded like a remix of a Gregorian chant and Bon Jovi. There may have been some NSFW refreshments circulating, which only added fuel to the raucous atmosphere.

The queens and their much diminished courts looked on. Brooding. Sullen. Plotting. Clueless.

During the police interviews, there were a few people who recalled Megan going over to stand with Stacy and Anna at the height of the eclipse. But most people were too focused on the ring of fire in the sky or just too wasted to notice anything. At any rate, Megan had not scanned out of the campus and security cameras did not reveal her, or anyone else for that matter leaving the party; including Stacy and Anna.

“Megan resigned today.”

“Oh?” Ellen rolled over and looked Stephan in the eye.

“You’re still saying she had nothing to do with any of this?” As many times as they had covered this ground, Stephan was still skeptical. “It sure seems like she did her job and now she’s leaving.”

“It’s been six months. It’s not like she lit out for Rio or anything.” She poked him in the chest “oh come on. You’ve been around her for months. Does she even seem capable?”

Stephan had to admit, Megan was like a saint. She was much loved around the office for helping other colleagues and just being a fucking ray of sunshine. And that was what gnawed at him. She was a little too saintly, like she gave so much that there was nothing left of her. It was like that friend that would do anything for you but never reveals anything about themselves.

It makes you wonder.

“Are you sad that Stacy and Anna are gone?”

“No, of course not. I…well, I didn’t want anything like this to happen to them.”

Ellen moved closer, hanging her arm over his shoulder. “Sometimes shit just happens.”

“Yes. I suppose it does.” He tugged on her forearm, pulling her closer and was content to leave it at that.

Friday morning, Megan said goodbye to her colleagues. There was a cake and a little celebration with promises of reunions and drinks. When she left the building, she carried her few possessions in a box: a brush and mirror set, a coffee mug, and an old thick black book that her mother left her.

© Glenn R Keller 2023, All Rights Reserved
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career, drama, fear, Fiction, flash fiction, life, people, short story, work
The Gallery
It was quiet and it was dark. Nearly all the light came from the display cases that formed the labyrinthine path through the gallery. Dark. Quiet. Deserted. To be expected for 3pm on a rainy Monday in January. Not exactly peak museum visiting time.

Museums are peculiar places, full of objects with more life behind them than any of the visitors. It’s all on brand for a species that thinks more about what happened 500 years ago than what might happen tomorrow. As I looked around, I saw the ancient equivalent of Target. Place settings, candlesticks, hats, pots, and tools; all the necessities of life from the era. But unlike Target, this collection had all belonged to someone else. The fork I was looking at had been held in how many hands? How many candles had burned in the brass candlestick? What had become of all of the people who had used that clay dish?

I could feel the presence of the docent behind me; doing their job. There to protect or assist, as the situation demanded. As I wandered through the exhibit, trying to focus on the story behind each item it seemed the docent was shadowing me. Turning a corner, I took the opportunity to glance over my shoulder and caught the outline of a person.

It was a bit unnerving, truth be told, as turn by turn the silent docent trailed me. Sometimes I felt their presence, sometimes I caught a shadow out of the corner of my eye. Once, I looked in the glass of a display and could see the reflection of eyes…just watching.

Did I need to be trailed? Did I look like someone that was up to no good? What the hell was so special about this exhibit? I had been in this museum more than a few times and I thought I deserved a little consideration. I supported them, had the gold membership, turned out for all the special exhibits. Did I deserve to be treated like this? I don’t like to be THAT person, but clearly this docent was taking things way too seriously. Maybe they were new and enthusiastic. They just needed a kindly word from their supervisor, telling them they could back off a bit. Let the guests enjoy themselves. A quiet presence, seen but unseen, that is their role.

As I left the confines of the gallery I came to an open space in a large atrium where I saw a woman standing near an information desk. She exuded an air of some authority, thought it might have been just the expensive scarf. Nevertheless, I would have a word with her about this overbearing docent.

She listened with some concern. “Are you sure it wasn’t another guest?”

It occurred to me that I really couldn’t say for sure it was a docent. I never really had a good look.

The young man behind the information desk spoke to the her “we haven’t had another guest go through there all afternoon. Before this gentleman the last person left the gallery before lunch. It’s been damned slow. I’ve seen everyone that went in there.”

“So then it had to be a docent?” I looked at the supervisor, waiting to see what the next move would be.

“Sir” she said carefully, “We don’t staff that area with docents on Mondays. There just isn’t that much traffic. The person at this desk just monitors comings and goings. We have cameras of course and if there is trouble security will send someone to have a look.”

“Well then how do you explain it?” I was beginning to see where this was headed and didn’t much like it.

“Sometimes, the reflections in the glass, and the twists and turns can disorient people. Are you positive you saw someone?”

Anticipating my next question the young man behind the desk chimed in “I just spoke to security. Nothing showed up on their motion sensors. Well, you did sir of course. But no one else.”

Was I going nuts? “Okay, thanks” I muttered and headed back towards the parking garage. There was another hour or so before closing but I was done for the day. I wanted to get out before the word spread about the crazy person in the galleries.

I was relieved when I climbed into my car. This was my space, and as I shut the door it was like shutting the door on what had just happened. That is until I saw a glint of light coming from the passenger seat.

What I saw knocked the breath out of me. It was a small, jewel encrusted box, the kind of box in which you would keep precious things. I immediately recognized it from the gallery I had just come from! I also remember the placard describing it and those things that looked like jewels were indeed jewels. I was sitting in a museum parking lot, with a priceless artifact that I had just seen on display. Thoughts of police and prison flashed through my brain. What the hell was I going to do?

There was a note alongside the box, and why not. If somehow someone was going to put a rare artifact in my locked car, of course they would leave a note. My head was spinning.

I unfolded the note and read it: “I believe this is yours. We are sorry it was taken from you.”

© Glenn R Keller 2023, All Rights Reserved
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creepy, drama, Fiction, flash fiction, short story
Barcelona
Photo Credit: Glenn R Keller

The taxis in Barcelona are easy. I only had a weekend to explore and I made good use of them, alternating walking and hailing cabs. I walked from early morning to late at night in a sightseeing death march. I come from a family of walkers, having walked all over New York City growing up. And so it was natural that when I found myself with a new city to explore, I would cover it mostly on foot.

I spent some hours on the beach, absorbing the Mediterranean beach scene. (For a few hours my job was ‘beach’). Later, after cooling off, I took a cab over to the Sagrida Famila where I crawled, unguided, over every square inch that was open to me. There was something that felt significant about seeing a great cathedral taking shape, imaginings already carved in stone coexisting with imaginings yet to be imagined. I walked all the way back to the hotel, absorbing the city and its beautiful, unique architecture.

That evening, I met some German colleagues in the hotel lobby, and we decided to take the even longer walk to dinner. Never mind that none of us knew exactly where the restaurant was. As a bonus no one spoke the language. But we navigated there by figuring out the street map and dead reckoning. (It seemed to be a few blocks from the Cathedral and so we went from there, using it as our anchor point.)

This was a few years before smart phones became ubiquitous so don’t come at me with using GPS. And I have to say, knowing exactly how to get there would have ruined the adventure.

The streets were dark now, but lively, with the normal energy of this, the most vibrant of cities. We walked past the bullring, and marveled that this was the most foreign thing we had seen. On one dark street, me and one of the Germans were approached by a local and the three of us stood there, unable to communicate, until another of our Germans stepped forward with a cigarette. The young man smiled and accepted the cigarette and a light, thanked us and was on his way. Our German with the cigarette just smiled and said “sharing a cigarette is the most universal of languages.” We all agreed later that there was something that seemed auspicious about the encounter and left us feeling in touch with our temporary home and its people.

Finding our restaurant gave our threesome a sense of accomplishment and we high fived when we found it. The rest of our work team, already there, must have wondered about what we were so excited about. They had all taken cabs, handing the address of the restaurant to the driver.

Amateurs.

© Glenn R. Keller 2023. All rights reserved.
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barcelona, business travel, memoir, spain, travel
Empty
We’re on a hybrid work schedule, like most people in the services procession. My field, I.T., both leverages and enables it. I like a lot of things about it: more time to exercise, less money on lunches and clothes, and a whole lot less stress in the morning.

But there’s something wrong.

We experience societal shifts, like the end of the Cold War or technological disruption like Smartphones and we talk about “massive change.”

But those are trivial in the overall scheme of things the Cold War lasted 40 years and the telephone (any electronic communication really) has been around less than 200.

On the other hand, ever since humans started hunting and gathering, we’ve been “going to” work. For Homo Sapiens that’s 200,000 years. For Hominid type species as a whole that’s 1.8 million years!

Remote work makes sense for the environment. It makes sense for time management, it makes sense on so many levels.

What I’m worried about is our mental health. What I’m worried about is the health of our society.

A lot of days at work, there is no one to talk with. I have a best friend at work which is fortunate, but when she is not there, it’s lonely. At home is family, which is great. But some people don’t have anyone at home. And that means you’re alone for a big part of your day. A big part of your week. A big part of your life.

It’s a narrowing of our circles. If you have a big family and many friends outside of work that’s good. You’ll have company, however, you will not have the friction of dealing with people you did not choose. We gravitate towards what feels comfortable and safe. People that think like us. People that don’t challenge us.

We kid ourselves, that we can build meaningful interactions on video calls. I have made friends online sure, but they are not, cannot be deep friendships.

You’ll never comfort the co-worker that you see crying at her desk, because you’ll never see her. Maybe no one will ever see her. You’ll never ask someone why he’s limping and then laugh with him when he tells you what happened.

Sometimes those are the smallest things. Sometimes they are the biggest.
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career, lonely, mental health, office, Relationships, wellbeing, work
A Few Seconds More
Her breathing was labored, uneven. The simple, reflexive task of filling her lungs hurt and required all of her concentration. She was pulling deeply from the oxygen canister on her back. She should be elated, but her head was swimming from altitude sickness and she was getting dizzy. She knew this would happen. Her older brother had said, you might not be able to think straight. Make a checklist and use it once you get to the top. Then head down, stat.

It didn’t help that she was the only one of her party that had made it. The guide was waiting just below, with a fresh canister of oxygen. He had reached his limit. Over the radio he told her “I will not push myself, you will need me. I will wait here with oxygen…it’s a few more steps, now go!” It made sense, the guide might save her life, but not if he himself was incapacitated. She was alone up here but she knew there were others behind and she would need to clear off, so she executed the list; Look, Take, Tie, Down.

She looked around at the deep blue sky, the deepest she had ever seen. There were clouds in the distance; they shone bright white. The earth was spinning but she knew it was the altitude. She wanted to look forever, she was feeling a little stoned. She tried to form a memory that she could hang onto, to tell later. She settled for the brightest blue, and a landscape below that never ended. It wouldn’t be hard to remember the breathing bit.

She took out her camera, it was basic and clunky, but she had taken the guides advice: simple. Turn it on. Point it. Press the shutter. Turn it off. Back in her pocket. It was impossible to take a bad picture up here. Just keep it level, point it straight out and it will be amazing. But there was no one to take her picture, so she tried a selfie with her little camera. She would hope for the best on that front.

Her selfie became a magazine cover.

She took out the flag with her name and her parents names on it. There was another one up here from her brother, but there were literally hundreds, most of them torn to ribbons. Her brother’s had her name written on it. She found an open spot on one of the the flag posts and began to tie it on. This was the hardest thing, even though the ties were big she was having a hard time closing the loop. Her gloves were in the way but she dare not take them off…her hands would freeze in seconds. She finally managed to push one part of the tie through the loop and pulled it tight. She tested it and decided it wasn’t going anywhere. She watched it whipping in the wind and wondered how long it would last.

She took another look around, this was adlib now, off the checklist, but she was feeling better. Her minds eye did a better job this time, moving beyond the elemental colors to the sweeping vista and injecting the thought that she was on top of the world, and the year of pain and sacrifice had been worth it. She was happy and that scared her. She had been warned, you will start to feel a sense of joy, but that is also the sign that you are drifting towards a line. If you start to feel euphoric then it’s almost too late. Happy means it’s time to leave. And so she checked the last item off the list and started back down from the summit. One agonizing step at a time.

© Glenn R Keller 2023, All Rights Reserved
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adventure, drama, Fiction, flash fiction, outdoors, risk