Date Night

04/17/2019

(NYC Midnight Challenge submission)

Genre: Comedy

Subject: Test of Strength

Character: Security Guard

A private security guard stumbles upon a disturbing scene and mustards the strength to digest it.

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“Um, Mrs. Smails, did I just hear a scream? You ok in there?”

“Ted…” Mrs. Smails panted, “Please HELP us!”

Beads of sweat began forming on Ted’s brow as he tried to enter through the French doors. They were locked. This had never happened before. 

“Ted, please!” He threw his shoulder forward. The wooden frame burst at the hinges and Ted went stumbling into the room, tripping over Mr. Smails’s and stumbling onto the carpet. He quickly pressed himself to his feet.

“Oh my goodness, Carole...I am so sor....what in the fuck??” ( He wouldn’t apologize for breaking down the door, he already decided to be a hero because of the distress. I think something like: ‘He got to his feet and looked around, then said, “What in the fuck?” It only sounded like a question.’ then go on with the description... -sg)

Carole lay on the carpet in front of the bed. Mr. Smails naked, bloated body was covering her almost entirely, his face lodged directly between her legendary bosom  (how old are they? legendary bosom isn’t enough. ‘Legendary septuagenarian bosom’ would be gross and funny AND disclose their age -sg). Ted’s brow furrowed with as much confusion as the embarrassed sweat now covering it (tricky comparison between amount of confusion and sweat -sg). The heat rose in his cheeks just as his Mrs. Smails’s eyes finally connected with his.

“Ted…” She was still panting. “We were trying something new, and, Eli… he slipped on top of me.” She could barely catch her breath. “Please get him off!”

Against his own preference, Ted turned to look at the unconscious Mr. Smails. He looked like a napping toddler who just finished lunch, ketchup covering his naked ass. Chicken nuggets lay dotted about he and Mrs. Smails, some conceivably garnished by the condiment packets that were opened and stuck to Mr. Smails’s behind. A wet stain had formed in the carpet around the couple, and the empty root beer bottle by the foot of the bed doubled the number of potential scenarios running through Ted’s head. Was that a pink Hello Kitty handkerchief artfully wrapped around Eli’s neck? Part of it looked signed. The scent of candles finally broke through, along with something familiar, delicious… 

Ted wiped his forehead, scratching at a small tuft of a curly widow’s peak.

“Carole, seriously. When did you order Wendy’s...and why wouldn’t you ask me what I wanted?”  (It’s a funny and unexpected thing to say but not sure I buy Ted saying this after assessing the situation, unless he knows them to be freaky, in which case maybe we should get that sense a bit earlier on -sg)

Mr. Smails stirred, chest and packet-feathered bottom heaving in tandem like Mrs. Smails mustard-covered breasts. A cluster of curly fries also stirred, and, like a precise avalanche, started a slow, deliberate trek from Eli’s spine to butt crack, accelerating slightly along a river of red corn syrup. His lips parted, then settled a couple of inches apart.

“Hamburger me…” he muttered contentedly.

Ted had moved from confused to irritated at this point, hand clamped over his mouth to catch any real sound of that frustration from escaping. His eyes glanced back at Mrs. Smails and he put on his dad face.

“Carole. You KNOW how much I love Wendy’s. What the shit?”  (So they are tight. He calls her Carole, not Mrs. Smails, even though he’s a security guard. Not sure I understand the relationship, esp that he’d only be commenting on the Wendy’s in this unusual situation. its gotta be massaged a bit more for that to make sense - sg)

“Hamburger me, Birdie...” Eli muttered, using his wife’s favorite nickname and then returning swiftly to a rapturous snore.

Carole sighed breathily, burping the last gasps of a junior bacon cheeseburger. That tiny sandwich had died a humiliating, dishonorable death. (Why did the characters just go from last names to first names? - sg)

“Ted, forget about the Wendy’s for a moment. I can’t breathe. Please just get him off me.”

Ted folded his arms and stepped back. He then took his phone out of his blazer pocket, clicked the camera app, focused the lens and captured his leverage. Phone back in his pocket, he looked at Mrs. Smails and smirked.

“Can you send me that pic when you get a chance?” Carole asked politely. “Eli will think it’s funny.”

Ted’s eyes bulged. Did she really just ask me that?

“Here’s the deal, Mrs. Smails: If I move him, you gotta tell me exactly what happened in here.”

“Fine, fine. Just...this reminds me of my high school prom, and I already went through that once. Hurry, please.”

Ted shuffled closer to the couple, carefully stepping around a pool of melted vanilla Frosty™ while trying to hide his frustration. He hadn’t eaten all day. And how did they even get that food past his security gate?

He knelt down, put his arms into Mr. Smails’s side and heaved. Not even a budge. Ted set himself squarely against Mr. Smails and tried again. Eli’s bowels loosed a ferocious roar but his body remained atop his wife’s.

“Check the wall above the bed, maybe you can pry him off with that.”

Ted looked towards the bed and saw a thin javelin protruding orthogonally from the wall. A food wrapper clung tightly to its tip.

Ted’s eyes bulged. How did that even get there, he wondered. And was there more Wendy’s somewhere...

“Hamburgers are so good for me…so good for everyone...” Mr. Smails exhaled directly into Carole’s oft-discussed breasts. His right arm dropped alongside his wife’s body, greasy fingers still gripping a half-eaten box of fries.

Ted shook his head, half in wonder and half in disgust. Why wouldn’t they just tell me they were ordering? He moved to the take the spear from the wall, pulling it free with a flourish and a fury. He immediately inspected the wrapper for signs of food. Nothing. Goddammit, nothing...

“Eighteen years I’ve worked for you, Carole.” Ted exclaimed as he stood the javelin upright. Scanning the room, he found a bag in the corner next to the nightstand that appeared not empty. Approaching, he peered into it and found the second half of his current solution: honey mustard.

“Eighteen goddamn years...and not ONCE did I question the things you did in here.”

Ted ripped open a few packets and greased his new fulcrum, rubbing it purposefully, brooding...eighteen fucking years.

“Hurry, Ted, he is crushing me!”

Ted cast an evil glance in Mrs. Smails direction, hesitating to show he was the boss. That finally, he was in charge. He walked over, unceremoniously plunged the butt of the spear between the ancient, unappreciative couple and directed his now fiery gaze at Mrs. Smails.

“EIGHTEEN YEARS!” he cried as he pushed down on the spear’s tip with all he could muster.

Mr. Smails’s body slipped off his wife’s with a thud, scattering several nuggets. He rolled once and stopped abruptly on his back, exposing a half eaten bun pressed against his chest. His fingers slowly reached toward that bun, bringing it to rest gently below his lips.

“God, Ted, thank you. Thank you. I can breathe again. Would you mind you passing me one of those crispy chicken sandwiches on the bed?”

“Carole...I literally thought Eli was dead and crushing the life out of you. There was a fucking spear in your wall. There’s Wendy’s literally all around the room. And some of it not even EATEN yet. Are you going to at least check on your husband? And what the hell even happened here? You owe me that much.”

Mrs. Smails sat up, shook a few fries off her shoulders and grabbed a nearby bedsheet, wrapping herself in it. She looked at her unassuming hero with a gleam in her eye.

“It’s date night.” Carole responded with a slight chuckle. “See any extra ketchup laying about?”