Prairie, Glenn

"Prairie, Glenn"
a short story by Clem Dogg

Glenn Prairie hated his job. He also hated mushrooms, double integrals in calculus, mowing the lawn, dog feces and Hilary Clinton - but most of all he hated his job. Right now, though, it was all he could think about. He stood waiting in a line behind six other people and tried many mind tricks, but no matter what he tried, his thoughts always came back to his job. He agonized over the details that made him so miserable. He had to, they were dominating his conscience.

The man in the front of the line moved off to the side, leaving an opening for the second man who was unusually short, but stood with a great confidence that Glenn both admired and envied.

What was it that bothered him so much? He thought about the people he worked with. There were some for whom he was putting together a proposal. They were very picky people and if he put anything in the proposal without their permission, he would have to do it over. They were very demanding as well. Glenn tried to follow common procedures at work; he tried to use best practices when putting together his proposals, but these people (who all sat in a group together on a floor below him at work) did not care for common procedures or best practices. All they wanted was to have everything their way. Unfortunately, that was exactly what Glenn had to give them.

The short man, now at the front of the line, reached into his back pocket and continued his conversation with the young woman facing him at the front.

Maybe it wasn't the people at work that bothered him. Maybe it was the material. Previously Glenn's job had been fairly straightforward. There was a process with step-by-step instructions explaining exactly what he needed to do. But now his department had changed that process. They were making Glenn implement all new information in his proposals and they were not giving him much help to do it. In fact, there was no training whatsoever for the drastic changes to Glenn's job. He was told to do it differently and was expected to roll with it. So maybe it was the lack support that bothered him most about his job.

Finally the short man finished talking and moved aside like the original man in front. A family of four moved into his spot. Glenn's anticipation shot up as he knew he would be next to speak with the young woman.

Then again, he had worked in environments like his current one before. Once upon a time Glenn's job had no support at all, but he still managed to get the work done well and on time. Perhaps it really was the people that frustrated him so much. Glenn though of one person in particular - his supervisor, or as Glenn called him, "The Micro Manager." His supervisor did leave some things to be desired. For one, he never trusted any of the work that Glenn did. He was constantly questioning Glenn's projects and going over the details to see if there was anything - important or irrelevant - that he could change. Sometimes his supervisor became so perfectionist and obsessive that he would even take projects away from Glenn and do them himself while Glenn sat at his desk and waited. This really irritated Glenn, but the irritation grew when Glenn got scolded for not working while his supervisor put in long hours. What was he supposed to do? His supervisor wouldn't let him work on anything!

Just like the two men before them, the family of four stepped aside. Now it was Glenn's turn. He stepped up and looked the young woman in the eyes. "Will this be for here, or to go?" she asked.

"For here," Glenn answered. Then instinctually he looked up at the menu. There was no reason for this as he already knew what he wanted. He looked back at the young woman and noticed her shirt. It was a collared shirt with three buttons and there was a golden "M" stitched into the burgundy fabric. Glenn focused himself and placed his order. After she gave him his total bill, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Then he grabbed some change from his side pocket and handed most of it to the young woman.

"Thank you," she replied.

Glenn stepped aside and put the excess change back in his pocket. He watched as the workers behind the counter filled his box of French fries and grabbed his pre-made sandwich from under the heat lamps. They set both down on a tray and handed it to Glenn. As he picked up the tray he walked back to the seating area to search for an empty chair. Immediately he found one and set down his tray at the table. Then he sat down next to it and unwrapped his sandwich. While the young woman at the front of the line had been a brief distraction, Glenn's mind was still focused on his job. He thought about the demanding people on the floor below his. He thought about the lack of support for the work he was doing. And he thought very intensely about The Micro Manager. Every one of these things still bothered him.

Glenn sighed and lifted his Quarter Pounder with Cheese® to his mouth and took a bite. Instantly they were gone - the work, the people, the supervisor - all gone. Glenn chewed, swallowed and smiled. Thanks to this burger his job no longer bothered him. Life was good.

About the Bosnians

“About the Bosnians”
A short play by Clem Dogg


SCENE


SPEAKER: I just emailed my pastor. I asked him if our religion is accepting of certain kinds of people.

"We are prejudice against all Eastern Europeans except the Bosnians. We welcome Bosnians with open arms."

So I emailed him back - "Does that mean we hate Greeks?"

Dude took only 9 minutes to respond. I love that guy.

He says “In our lives we are going to meet a lot of people who are different from us. Those people are probably going to hell unless they learn our ways.”

"One quick way to judge whether someone is going to hell is if they have a foreign accent. Southern accents are ok, as well as British and Australian. But any other accent - including New York - is a mark given to those people by Satan."

So I guess that answers my question. Still, though, I wonder why we make an exception for Bosnians.


THE END

Can’t Tell Me

Clem Dogg had a little bit of plagiaristic inspiration when he wrote this one. But he's darn proud of it anyway.


“Can’t Tell Me”

You think I should just get by on what I own
I could buy mine and still be fine until I’m grown
Until then you don’t know when I’m coming home
What I’m gonna be - It’s all up to me

Excuses slide on an icy table
He’d only twist free if he was able
Bonds and ties get stuck now in spots
Plastic bags across parking lots
To which - I reply that I
I have my own path I cut in half
Slide on up the graph

You think I should just get by on what I own
I could buy mine and still be fine until I’m grown
Until then you don’t know when I’m coming home
What I’m gonna be - It’s all up to me

A monarch king is not what we need
He is not able to get free
Never thought that it would stick
You don’t have to be such a prick
To which - I reply that I
I have my own juice I cut in twos
Now I’m on the loose

You think I should just get by on what I own
I could buy mine and still be fine until I’m grown
Until then you don’t know when I’m coming home
What I’m gonna be - It’s all up to me

Reverberate, shaking the walls
He intentionally falls
The icy table covers excuses
He is leaving here he deduces
To which - I reply that I
I have my own wares I cut in pairs
I’m just splitting hairs

You think I should just get by on what I own
I could buy mine and still be fine until I’m grown
Until then you don’t know when I’m coming home
What I’m gonna be - It’s all up to me
What I’m gonna be

1999

Because Prince and his song were cool once upon a time.
Note that this is another by Clem Dogg, the mid-90's rapper.



“1999” (feat. Prince)


The dresser drawer won’t close
I suppose that’s how it can be
She packs her case with clothes
And she heads into the street

The wind is blowing fiercely
She leans her body into it
The squeal of the tires is piercing
I didn’t think she’d do it

Her body twists and flies
The car just speeds on by
I watch her as she dies
Clothes float down from the sky

I’d expect the sky to be grey
But it’s clear and bright and blue
This is just another day
Another day we’ll die too

Your life can quickly pass
So here’s advice you need to know
If you have uncomfortable gas
You need to just let it go (ow!)

And when you are at work
It’s not cool to wear a sweater
Disrespected by some jerk?
Cuss up a storm and you’ll feel better (dang!)

Cut in line – no need to wait
I know you’ve been refraining
And never underestimate
The power of complaining (oooh baby, baby)

Eat whatever you can
Getting fat is half the fun (tubby)
Try to follow the plan
Looking out for number one

Don’t forget to betray your lover
Obviously have plenty of sex
When no money is left over (no mo’ money)
Write a bunch of bad checks

Now that you’re living you will hardly
Notice the passing time
And lastly you had better party
Like it’s nineteen-ninety-nine

Proposal #2

More from Clem Dogg, the mid-90's rapper.


“Proposal #2”

I don’t know what’s in store
But I do know I want more
I’m smitten with your appeal
Now tell me how you feel

You say that you want more
What do you want it for?
What is it that you see
That you like about me?

You know what I like about you
The things that you say and do
I don’t want to be rude,
But I like your attitude

Does my attitude turn you on?
Better love it before it’s gone
What about it makes you blush
And turns your brains to mush?

You are strong and you are fun
You don’t take crap from anyone
You don’t know it, you’re so money
And I think you’re pretty funny

It’s so nice of you to say
That I make you feel that way
Better answer while you can
What makes me so funny, man?

Of this quiz I’m growing tired
You’re gonna burn me with your fire
Asking questions isn’t where it’s at
And this Homey don’t play that.

Another Night Alone

I'm actually quite a bit embarrassed by this one as it is awful, but he wanted me to write another country song.



“Another Night Alone”

She needed some more smokes
She ran out for a pack
Now I’m afraid it looks
Like she ain’ never comin’ back

I’ve been home for days
She’s been gone the same
She always had her ways
And always me to blame
And I cry:

Baby you left me wanting
You left me in our home
Left me with this haunting
And I’ll spend another night alone

Sometimes I like to wonder
Where she went while it rains
And between the rolls of thunder
‘Bout what I lose, and what she gains

And I like to think she’s sorry
Maybe she’ll come back still, oh
And sometimes I throw a party
When I smell her on her pillow
And I yell:

Baby you left me waiting
You left me in our home
Left me with this hating
And I’ll spend another night alone
Another night alone
Another night alone with you

But what is the use in my hate?
Why’d I believe in our fate?
You finally cashed in on my fears
And now the end is coming near

I’m finally letting go
Who would want her anyway?
My life still moves so slow
Maybe back to normal someday
And I say:



Baby you left me crying
You left me in our home
Clearly here I was dying
And I’ll spend another night alone

Baby you’re gone for years now
I am a single, solid one
My sky has finally cleared now
I’ll spend a happy night alone

The Empty Bottle

I was challenged to write a country song today when given the title. So in ten minutes I created this pile of junk. I wrote it under my artist name 'Clem Dogg (the mid-90's rapper stuck in the wrong era)'


“The Empty Bottle”

It’s Thursday night ‘round six o’clock
It’s not late but I’m getting scared
So I tell my wife my bottle’s empty
My bottle is empty and she don’t care

[chorus]
[] She don’t care
[] ‘Bout my empty bottle
[] I’m outta her mind if I’m outta sight
[] She don’t care
[] ‘Bout my empty bottle
[] When it’s six o’clock on a Thursday night

I’m looking ‘round for another thirst quencher
I’m just not sure if I can find one here
I’m turning over every cabinet, every closet
What do you know, I found a six-pack of beer

[chorus]

I get two beers in and my wife is cleaning
Sooner than later she better make my dinner
She can do laundry while I watch the TV
And it’d sure be nice if she tried to get thinner

[chorus]

Three more beers and my six-pack’s empty
Well, I’m not sure ‘cause I can’t count now
I told my wife to go get me another
But she gone and disappeared somehow

[chorus]
[chorus]

It’s Thursday night ‘round six o’clock
It’s not late but I’m getting scared
So I tell my wife my bottle’s empty
My bottle is empty and she don’t care