Short Story Archives - Page 3 of 21 - Common Sense Evaluation

Chronicles of the Office Time-Traveler

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Feb 192024

Here I am, stuck in the daily grind, pushing papers like a champ. But guess what? I’ve got a secret superpower: or so I thought. You see, I believed I could time travel. I’d be sitting at my desk, pretending to be the model employee, and then, bam! I’d decide to chill with the dinosaurs. Close my eyes, wish real hard, and bam! Suddenly, I’m surrounded by oversized reptiles. It’s a Jurassic party, and I’m the uninvited guest.

The best part? No one at the office even notices. I’m like the Houdini of the corporate world. I’m gone, exploring the wonders of history, and back before anyone realizes I’ve disappeared. It’s like I never left. My boss probably thinks I’m the most dedicated employee ever, little does he know I’m actually a time-traveling ninja.

One day, feeling adventurous, I decide to visit ancient Rome. Strolling around the Colosseum, high-fiving gladiators and dodging stray lions. But then, the unthinkable happens—I get stuck. Something goes wonky with my time-traveling watch, and I’m stranded in togas and sandals.

Panicking? You betcha. I’m stuck in ancient Rome, and my boss probably thinks I’m just taking an extra-long bathroom break. I can already hear the HR department preparing my pink slip.

Days turn into weeks, and weeks into months. I try everything to fix my time-traveling gadget, but it’s as uncooperative as a cat in a bathtub. I’ve become a permanent feature in a history that isn’t mine.

Meanwhile, back at the office, my coworkers are carrying on as usual. They probably figured I finally snapped from the monotony and decided to take an extended vacation. Little do they know, I’m stuck with a bunch of Romans who don’t speak English, and chariot Uber hasn’t been invented yet.

I’ve become a historical hermit, the guy who never made it back to the present. It’s a lonely existence, but hey, at least I can brag about being the only person who got fired for time traveling.

One day, I wake up to find myself back at my desk. Confused and disoriented, I look around, realizing that I’m not in ancient Rome. My coworkers give me puzzled looks, wondering why I’m staring at my computer screen like I’ve seen a ghost.

Then it hits me—my time-traveling adventures were nothing but dreams. I wasn’t exploring history; I was falling asleep at my desk. The narcolepsy that I never knew I had decided to make an appearance, turning my workdays into a bizarre mix of reality and dreams.

So, the next time you think your job is a drag, just remember: at least you’re not confusing reality with ancient Rome because of an undiagnosed sleep disorder.

The Fattening of Mr. Jones

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Feb 032024

Mr. Jones was a handsome man, with a charming smile and a fit body. He worked as a salesman for a company that sold kitchen appliances, and he was very good at his job. He could persuade any housewife to buy a new toaster, a blender, or a microwave oven with his smooth talk and his dazzling grin.

Mrs. Jones was a plain woman, with a dull expression and a thin frame. She worked as a cashier at a grocery store, and she was very bad at her job. She often made mistakes with the change, the coupons, or the receipts, and she had to endure the complaints of the customers and the scolding of the manager.

Mr. and Mrs. Jones had been married for five years, and they lived in a small apartment in the suburbs. They had no children, no pets, and no friends. They had nothing in common, except for one thing: they loved each other very much.

Mrs. Jones loved Mr. Jones more than anything in the world. She loved his handsome face, his fit body, and his charming smile. She loved the way he kissed her, hugged her, and made her feel special. She loved the way he brought home gifts for her, like flowers, chocolates, or jewelry. She loved the way he told her stories about his work, his travels, and his dreams.

But Mrs. Jones also feared Mr. Jones more than anything in the world. She feared that he would leave her, cheat on her, or forget about her. She feared that he would find another woman, more beautiful, more smart, or more fun than her. She feared that he would realize that he deserved better than her, and that he would break her heart.

So Mrs. Jones decided to do something to keep Mr. Jones by her side forever. She decided to make him fat.

She started by cooking him large and delicious meals every day, with plenty of butter, cream, cheese, and sugar. She baked him pies, cakes, cookies, and brownies for dessert. She packed him sandwiches, chips, candy, and soda for lunch. She bought him ice cream, popcorn, pizza, and beer for snacks. She praised him for his appetite, and encouraged him to eat more and more.

Mr. Jones did not suspect anything. He thought that his wife was just being kind and generous. He enjoyed the food, and he thanked her for her efforts. He did not notice that his clothes were getting tighter, his belt was getting shorter, and his buttons were getting harder to close. He did not notice that his face was getting rounder, his belly was getting bigger, and his chin was getting double. He did not notice that his breath was getting shorter, his steps were getting slower, and his energy was getting lower.

He only noticed that his wife was getting happier, and he was happy too.

Mrs. Jones was delighted with the results of her plan. She watched with satisfaction as her husband grew fatter and fatter. She knew that no other woman would find him attractive, and that he would not cheat on her. She knew that he would depend on her, and that he would not leave her. She knew that he would love her, and that he would not forget her.

She only forgot one thing: the health of her husband.

One day, Mr. Jones had a heart attack. He collapsed on the floor of his office, clutching his chest and gasping for air. His co-workers called an ambulance, and he was rushed to the hospital. The doctors told him that he had to lose weight, or he would die. They put him on a strict diet, and they gave him pills, injections, and machines to help him.

Mrs. Jones was devastated. She blamed herself for what had happened. She realized that she had been selfish, foolish, and cruel. She realized that she had not loved her husband, but only possessed him. She realized that she had not made him happy, but only miserable. She realized that she had not saved him, but only killed him.

She begged him for forgiveness, and he forgave her. He told her that he still loved her, and that he wanted to live with her. He told her that he would do anything to get better, and that he would follow the doctor’s orders. He told her that he would lose weight, and that he would be handsome again.

But he never did.

He died a few weeks later, in his hospital bed, with his wife by his side. He died with a smile on his face, and a tear in his eye. He died with love in his heart, and regret in his soul.

He died, and he left her alone.

Tales from the Aisle: A Dog’s Hardware Adventures

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Jan 202024

Ever since I was a little boy, I dreamed of having a dog of my own. I loved dogs of all shapes and sizes, but I had a soft spot for chocolate labs. They were so adorable, with their brown fur, floppy ears, and sweet eyes. I imagined playing fetch with them, cuddling with them, and taking them for walks.

But my parents never let me have a dog. They said they were too much work, too expensive, and too messy. They said I had to wait until I was older and had my own place. So I waited, and waited, and waited.

Finally, when I was 25, I moved out of my parents’ house and bought a small house. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. And I could have all the pets I ever wanted. I was so excited. I started looking for chocolate lab puppies online, hoping to find one that needed a home.

I was lucky. I found an ad for a litter of chocolate lab puppies that were born on a farm nearby. The owner said they were healthy, vaccinated, and ready to go. He said he had one male left, and he was the cutest of the bunch. He sent me a picture, and I fell in love.

I drove to the farm the next day, eager to meet my new best friend. The owner greeted me and led me to a barn, where the puppies were playing. They were all adorable, but one stood out. He was the smallest but the most energetic. He ran up to me, licked my face, and wagged his tail. He looked at me with his big brown eyes, and I knew he was the one.

I picked him up and hugged him. He snuggled into my arms and made a happy sound. The owner smiled and said his name was Hershey because he looked like a candy bar. I thought it was a perfect name. I paid the owner, thanked him, and took Hershey to my car. He sat on my lap and looked out the window, curious about the world.

Hershey was a great dog. He was smart, loyal, and friendly. He learned how to sit, stay, fetch, and roll over in no time. He never barked at strangers, chewed on furniture, or ran away. He was always happy to see me, and he wagged his tail like crazy. He was my best friend, and I loved him more than anything.

There was only one problem. Hershey hated the hardware store.

I don’t know why, but every time I took him there, he would poop on the floor. And not just anywhere, but right in the middle of the main aisle. It was embarrassing, disgusting, and annoying. I had to apologize to the staff and clean up the mess, and I always walked out of there with my tail between my legs. Every single time.

I tried everything to stop him. I scolded him, praised him, bribed him, and ignored him. Nothing worked. He would poop on the floor as soon as we entered the store. He didn’t care about the other customers, the loud noises, or the weird smells. He just had to do his business.

It was a mystery to me. Hershey was fine everywhere else. He never pooped in the car, the park, the vet, or the pet store. He only did it at the hardware store. And always in the same spot.

One day, I decided to find out why. I took Hershey to the hardware store and waited for him to poop. As usual, he did it right away. As he was pooping, I looked around and noticed a plaque on the wall. It said:

“In memory of Bob Smith, who worked here for 25 years and hated every minute of it. Rest in peace, Bob.”

I was stunned. Could it be that Hershey was Bob’s reincarnation? Did he poop on the floor to express his resentment for his former job? Did he hate the hardware store as much as Bob did?

I decided to test my theory. I asked one of the staff members about Bob. He told me that Bob was an old man who worked as a cashier. He said Bob was always grumpy, rude, and lazy. He said Bob hated his job, his boss, his coworkers, and his customers. He said Bob died of a heart attack about a year ago, right in the middle of the main aisle.

I felt a chill. That was the exact spot where Hershey pooped. It was too much of a coincidence. Hershey had to be Bob’s reincarnation. He pooped on the floor to get back at his old boss, his old coworkers, and his old life. He was a rebel, a prankster, and a genius.

I decided to respect his wishes. I never took him to the hardware store again. I let him poop wherever he wanted, as long as it wasn’t in my house. I loved him for who he was, not who he used to be.

Hershey was a great dog. He was smart, loyal, and friendly. And he had a tremendous sense of humor.

The Power of Second Chances

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Dec 262023

In the past, George was disliked in his class because he never studied, was lazy, and appeared slow-witted. His teacher often lost her temper with him.

One day, George’s mother visited the school and spoke with his teacher, who straightforwardly told her, “Your son doesn’t study, engages in foolish behavior, and his grades are poor. I’ve never seen a lazier student.” Surprised by this revelation, George’s mother decided to withdraw him from school, and they relocated to Springfield.

Twenty-five years later, the former teacher, now residing in Springfield, experienced a severe heart attack. She required a complex surgery, and only one skilled surgeon in Springfield was capable of performing it.

After the surgery, as the teacher regained consciousness, she noticed a handsome surgeon smiling at her. Just as she began to express her gratitude, her face turned blue, and she lost consciousness with her hand raised in the air.

The surgeon was perplexed as he tried to identify the cause of the problem. Then, he witnessed something astonishing.

George, now working as a janitor, had disconnected the respiratory machine to connect his vacuum cleaner.

The Dog Did It: The Tale of Oscar, the Sneaky Dog, and a Blind Date Gone Wrong

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Dec 052023

Well, let me tell you about my dog, Oscar. Now, Oscar is a character—a real sneaky fella. You can’t hear him coming, I swear he’s got ninja training or something. He’s like a furry ghost, especially when it comes to snatching things he shouldn’t.

One fine evening, I had this blind date coming over. A real catch, mind you. But there’s a catch to the catch: she’s blind as a bat. Now, Oscar, being the opportunistic canine he is, decided this was the perfect time for a little adventure.

It all started innocently enough. The Christmas turkey was long gone, but the stuffing—oh, that golden stuffing—was still around. Oscar, with his stealth mode engaged, tiptoed his way to the kitchen. If he could have whistled, he would’ve, but that’s not in a dog’s repertoire.

He managed to swipe the entire Tupperware of stuffing without making a peep. I swear, I turned my back for a second, and it was gone. Poof! Vanished into thin air.

Now, here’s the kicker: Oscar, in his quest for gastronomic delight, devoured the whole thing. Every last morsel. Little did I know that he was turning into a walking gas chamber.

Back to the blind date—let’s call her Rita. So, Rita comes over, and we’re having a jolly good time. I’m making my best impression, cracking jokes, and trying not to spill anything on myself. Meanwhile, Oscar is lying low, plotting his next move.

The moment of truth arrives when Rita says she’s getting a bit warm. Innocently, I blame it on the heating, but the real heat was coming from Oscar’s back end. Silent but deadly—you know the drill.

The smell hits us like a freight train, and I’m trying to keep a straight face. Rita, being blind and all, looks at me like I’ve sprouted a second head. I, being the gentleman I am, took the fall for the ungodly stench.

I explain with a straight face that it’s just my quirky sense of humor. But Rita isn’t buying it. She insists that I must be joking and that there’s no way a person could produce such an odor. I’m desperately trying to convince her it’s the dog, but she’s having none of it.

Oscar, in the corner, looks at me with those guilty eyes. But Rita, being blind to his shenanigans, thinks I’m making up stories. In the end, I apologize, open a window, and try to salvage what’s left of the evening.

Lesson learned: never underestimate the stealth capabilities of a dog with a taste for Christmas stuffing. And if you ever find yourself in a similar predicament, well, good luck explaining it to someone who can’t see the evidence right under their nose—or, in this case, their nostrils.

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