Muffled conversations stopped as it became apparent that the short woman at the front of the lecture hall was ready to begin. The Dean stepped up next to her and said, "Today's speaker is Cynthia King and she's going to be talking about her experience working as a pharmacist in a hospice." The Dean sat down in the front row. The woman, Cynthia, straightened the jacket of her sensible pants suit that was in a light shade of puke green. She looked up seriously and surveyed the small crowd through her trendy thick red framed glasses; the crowd was barely one quarter of the capacity that the hall could hold.
"Who knows what a hospice is?" Silence and dead-eyed looks from the crowd. These were sophomores in a pharmacy program at the University and they obviously knew what a hospice was. Being students, however, they didn't feel like participating.
Except Harve. Harve was always the exception in all the classes. He was the kid everyone else mocked and some downright loathed, not because he was particularly smart, but just because he bothered to participate. His hand shot up and before Cynthia could tell him to start he blurted, "A hospice is a service that helps people die." He lowered his hand and a smug smile spread across his lips. He took up his pen and readied it for note-taking while the rest of the class just groaned and tried to fall asleep.
"Well, that's close. We don't want people to die, but unfortunately it's what happens in life. We try and make their remaining time as comfortable as possible. Now, who here ever experienced the loss of a loved one?" Again, the crowd of uninterested young adults looked like zombies. "Okay, in that case we're going to do an exercise that will simulate the experience of dying. Who would like to volunteer?" The whole hall, audience, Dean, and Cynthia looked towards Harve who smiled and started down the steps to the front of the hall.
Harve was a good five inches taller than Cynthia and clad in a dirty, oversized, sweater despite the warm spring day it was outside. Cynthia shook his hand and said, "Thank you for coming up. Now are you ready to simulate the dying experience?" Harve nodded to Cynthia. "Good. Now imagine you're an elderly person just diagnosed with cancer." Harve tilted his head upwards like he was trying his damnedest to imagine himself as a geriatric with the worst news in the world.
Then Cynthia pulled out a Colt .45 and shot one round right in his gut. Harve doubled over and then crumpled on the floor. Cynthia combed her hand through her disheveled hair and turned toward the audience; the front of her casual business attire specked with blood. "Right. Now, this young man is experiencing just what it feels like to know you're going to die. How does it feel?"
From the floor, and unseen to the audience as he was behind the large desk/podium, Harve gurgled out, "You shot me! Oh my God! It hurts."
"Yes, it hurts very much. The knowledge of your impending death can bring about serious questions. How will my loved ones be cared for? Why would the Almighty Being have this happen to me? One morphine pill or two? The list is endless."
"You shot him!" Someone yelled from the audience. Cynthia nodded, "Yes, exactly. You, the audience, are acting like his loved ones. See the worry and nervousness you are being put through. We try and help all these situations that creep up with an emphasis on customer service."
Harve finally stood up but had to lean against the wall. His bloody hands made gory streaks across the wall. "Whyyyyy...," he droned and fell over again.
Cynthia smiled. "Okay, now let’s discuss what everyone here is wondering about--"
"Why you shot him!" Someone yelled.
"No, no. How much do I get paid? That's what everyone here is wondering."
[I wasn't so sure about this story, but I thought, "Ah heck, I'll post it anyway."]
I don't know why you weren't sure about it. It's a wicked little story that made me smile while I was reading it.
One thing my internal copy editor noted:
Harve finally stood up but had to lean against the way.
I'm pretty sure the last word in this sentence is supposed to be "wall."
Fixed the mistake.
Thanks for the kind words, too.
It's been too long since I could be jealous of your writing prowess. When are you going to show us up again?
I've had a couple ideas bubbling under for a while, but neither has surfaced just yet. When one does, I'll be sure to share it post-haste.
This one plays out like the more nihilistic Monty Python sketches. Those sketches always make me squirm, but my friends seem to like them a lot (does this say too much about the company I keep?). Anyway, I like the tone you set at the outset by using the term "puke-green." Puke is a magical word. Your descriptions are pretty vivid.
I'll hopefully be posting more soon. I just got back from Seattle and I have to fly to Georgia tonight, so I haven't been home much. In addition to that, we've had a house guest staying in my computer room for nearly a month now and it's made getting to my stuff a bit harder. Maybe I'll have a little window of time before I leave.