Growler Ink

Flash Fiction with published alternative endings.

Sally was a half-hour late, which I guess was a half-hour early by her standards. A young lady that operated on her own time and lived her life according to her own set of rules, which explains how she had lost more jobs than she had kept, Sally had always managed to get by. Nevertheless, she was a bit disturbed with herself this day because she wanted this Job. Freeform office setups, flexible work schedules, deadlines but no pressure, no mandatory overtime, and decent pay. She exited her car and began to rush up the sidewalk.

“Miss” …

Sally slowly turned. The Cop had appeared out of nowhere.

“Where were you? I didn’t see you anywhere, and I looked. I am so late, and there is nowhere to park. Sorry.”

She turned quickly and started back up the sidewalk.

“Why don’t you leave me your keys? That way, I won’t have to tow it.”

“Thank, you and here is my number so you can text the information about where you park it. Wow, how awesome and nice. Thanks.”

Sally quickly jotted down her number in the notepad she pulled from her purse. “Officer Trowelsted,” she read as she handed the note and keys to the Cop. Then turned and hurried up the sidewalk.

Inside the lobby of Growler ink, folks walked about, waited in line for coffee, lounged, or worked on the couches and sitting chairs, placed here and there. They had lovely decorative throw rugs beneath them with side and coffee tables. After looking around and taking it all in, Salley walked to the receptionist’s desk and announced herself.

“Good morning, I am Sally Well, here for an appointment with Mr. Wren. I’m a little late.”

The receptionist looked at her computer screen, looked up with a smile, and said.

“Good morning Sally, go ahead and make yourself comfortable, get a coffee or whatever you prefer. Mr. Wren will be down as his schedule adjusts, and he can make time to see you.”

“Thank you.”

Sally picked one of the couches in a lounging zone that was empty. The rug was a sky-blue background with many circles of various colors. The couch and chairs were grey with a distressed greyish wood coffee and side tables. She sat, relaxed, and took a deep breath. Her phone chimed. It was a video message from Officer Trowelsted.

“Sally, I moved your car, it was here, now it is there, you are good to go. Text me when you are done. I will bring your keys to you.”

Sally stared at the video and replayed it. Officer Trowelsted was standing on the sidewalk where she had parked. As he said, “it was here,” he showed her the place she parked, and slowly turned, filmed the sign that said no parking, then stepped to the other side of the street sign filming her car as he said, “Now it is here.” On the other side of the no parking sign, the roadway is clearly painted with yellow stripes designating individual parking slots.

“Oh My,” she typed into her phone, “thank you so much for that, sorry. I am waiting in the lobby of the Growler Ink building for my appointment if you want to bring them to me now.”

“I do love that coffee shop; why don’t you get in line? I will buy us a coffee when I get inside.”

“Great, I will see you in a bit, but you have to let me buy to say thanks. What do you like to drink?”

“Just a large Black Coffee, room for sugar and cream, please.” “Cool. See you soon.”

Sally got in line smiling and laughing at herself as it moved along. Soon, Officer Trowelsted entered the lobby and joined her in the line as she reached the counter and began to order.

“Ms. Well,” a male voice sounded out loud and stern from across the lobby. She looked over, a bit startled as Officer Trowelsted got to her starting to say something, but noticing the shock, turned, and looked in the same direction. Mr. Wren stood, glancing about the lobby for Ms. Well.

“Shit, sorry.” She said, looking up at the tall officer. She had not noticed how tall he was at their earlier exchange.

“No worries, here are your keys, and now I don’t have to wait in line.” “Thanks, Call or text me any time,” Sally said as she walked toward the receptionist’s desk. “Here, sir.” She raised her hand.

“Sally, I am Will Wren. Welcome to Growler Ink.” He extended his hand. “Thank you, sir; I am sorry I was late this morning, parking problems.” She took his hand, shook, and released.

“Call me Will, please. Let us head upstairs. Is that how you know Officer Trowelsted, your parking problem?”

“Yes, sir, a funny story if we ever have the time for it.”

“Oh Goody, I do love a good story. After all, that is what we do here, write stories.”

When I initially published Growler Ink, I had multiple choices for different storylines listed. I asked the readers to vote for the direction I should take the story. The two stories below were the 1st and 2nd place vote getters.

Please take the time to read them.

Enjoy!

© 2020, T. Mark Mangum

T. Mark Mangum, a product of the unimaginable worlds of Star Wars, Star Trek, Conan, and the Lord of the Rings. Lover and writer of fiction tales. He is a Veteran and a father of six, and a game enthusiast.