I'm not sure what inspired the name for this short
story but... I liked it, so I kept it. :-) Maybe that
commercial for those silly little goldfish crackers
was on at the time I wrote this, I don't know, but
it's just a silly title for a silly little story. Enjoy! :-)
Many thanks to Tracy for all her encouragement
to write, write, write! Putting forth a challenge to
write a small piece on how Gary and Marisa first met.
And thanks also to Rose for inspiring me to take on
the challenge with the excellent little story that she wrote
first. G G
Disclaimer: Early Edition its characters
and some situations are the property of
CBS Productions and Sony/Tristar.
Goldfish Need Not Apply
By Candace Waters
Sept 2002
~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~
Rrrriing! Rrrriing!!!
"Good morning. Strauss and Associates,
Marissa Clark speaking, may I help you?
Yes. No. Yes. Hm-m-m ...I see. Well, actually,
Mr.Pritchard isn't taking any calls this morning.
May I take a message?"
Cradling the receiver on her shoulder, the receptionist felt
around the top of her desk for the small PDA she kept
there. Finding it, she placed the receiver back to her ear
and quickly typed in the message.
"Yes. You're welcome," she smiled, "Have a nice day."
Gentle fingers searching for the phone base, she carefully
replaced the receiver then raised her head. Only a second
ago, she had heard the door to the office open, aware now
that she had company. A slight breeze blew against her
cheek as the visitor cautiously approached the counter.
The receptionist had a nose for gabardine and could detect
its subtle scent in the air.
"May I help you?" she asked.
Standing at the counter clutching a breifcase, was a
gentleman--tall and handsomely dressed--wearing a
dark suit and tie. His hair was immaculately combed,
his face freshly shaven. He looked nervously about
as he shifted the brief case he carried awkwardly from
one hand to the other to remove a piece of paper from
his inside coat pocket.
"Yeah, ah... hi. I'm looking for a..." he paused to refer
to the crumpled slip of paper, "... Mr. Pritchard." He glanced
up from the paper. "C-Can you tell me where his office is?"
"Down the hall and to your right," the receptionist smiled.
Turning back to her computer the receptionist had
begun typing again when she noticed that the scent of
gabardine lingered still fresh in the air. She paused and
turned back around.
"Is there anything else I can help you with?" she asked
politely, sensing an uneasiness in the visitor's demeanor.
"Well, yeah. I kind of ..." the man began, then chuckled
nervously lowering his voice to a husky whisper. "I'm here
for an interview and I'm kind of uneasy about--- well, I
really need this job you see and well... is my tie straight?
I mean I hear the boss has got this thing about ... ties."
The receptionist smiled, realizing the gentleman hadn't
noticed her impairment. Amused, she leaned forward in
her chair. "Well, is it yellow?" she asked softly.
Preoccupied, removing his resume from his briefcase, the
man paused to glance back down at the receptionist. "Huh?"
"It doesn't have an Hawaiian thing going on with it, does
it?" she asked, "You know...all flowery and all?"
The man blinked, and for the first time noticed the eyes of the
receptionist. He glanced slowly around her desk -- computer
keys in Braille -- books and documents, all in Braille, sat neatly
on top. Folded and laying on top of it all, was her cane. Feeling
slightly foolish, a flush rose to color his cheeks.
"Well..no," he answered hesitantly, running a hand across
the back of his neck. "It's ah, n-not all flowery."
"Then it's perfect I'm sure, " the receptionist smiled
turning back to her work.
Embarrassed for his oversight the man drew in a breath
to apologize, "Look..I'm...sorry. I-I guess I'm more nervous
than I thought. I didn't realize---" he paused abruptly to
introduce himself. "Gary Hobson," he said and held out
a hand to shake then withdrew it immediately just as the
receptionist held out hers in return.
"Marissa Clark," the receptionist said with her hand
extended. " And, it's okay. Just because one has
sight, doesn''t always mean that he sees. Besides, I
hate sorry."
An uneasy silence followed as the man stood staring
blankly at the receptionist.
After a moment, the receptionist slowly lowered her
unshaken hand to drummed her fingers idly on the
top of her desk instead. "Well," she sighed, "I suppose
I should get back to work."
She was turning back to her computer when a loud crash
exploded from down the hall. Startled, the receptionist
and the man turned quickly towards the sound.
Rounding the corner from the right, came a gentleman
clutching a partially opened briefcase, papers spilling
out from it. He looked as though he just been through
the ringer his tie, shirt and coat--all disheveled. As he
scrambled passed, he shot a wary glance at the man
standing at the counter, opened his mouth to utter
something but decided against it and hurriedly exited
the office leaving a trail of papers cluttering the floor
behind him.
"I need sharks here!" A loud voice bellowed, coming from
in the same direction the man had come. " What's with
these goldfishes coming through here lately!!!? Sharks
are what this company need!! Sharks!! Sharks make
profit! Sharks to do a man's job! Goldfish need not apply!!!"
The office door slammed shut with a loud bang, rattling the
doors and windows in the building. Suddenly there was silence.
The man at the counter glanced back down at the receptionist
who sat clutching a vase of flowers that teetered on the edge of
her desk. Swallowing hard he stammered, "Ah, d-did you say
down th-the hall---?"
"And to your right," the receptionist added softly, her eyes wide
with concern.
"Oh boy," he mumbled. Stuffing his resume into his pocket,
the man picked up his briefcase then turned back to the
receptionist. "Well, ah...thanks huh?"
Sliding a hand through his hair, he started slowly down the
long corridor pausing briefly to peer left before making a
hesitant-right, at the corner.
The receptionist drew in a nervous breath then let it
out slowly. "Good luck," she whispered.
The end
story but... I liked it, so I kept it. :-) Maybe that
commercial for those silly little goldfish crackers
was on at the time I wrote this, I don't know, but
it's just a silly title for a silly little story. Enjoy! :-)
Many thanks to Tracy for all her encouragement
to write, write, write! Putting forth a challenge to
write a small piece on how Gary and Marisa first met.
And thanks also to Rose for inspiring me to take on
the challenge with the excellent little story that she wrote
first. G G
Disclaimer: Early Edition its characters
and some situations are the property of
CBS Productions and Sony/Tristar.
Goldfish Need Not Apply
By Candace Waters
Sept 2002
~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~
Rrrriing! Rrrriing!!!
"Good morning. Strauss and Associates,
Marissa Clark speaking, may I help you?
Yes. No. Yes. Hm-m-m ...I see. Well, actually,
Mr.Pritchard isn't taking any calls this morning.
May I take a message?"
Cradling the receiver on her shoulder, the receptionist felt
around the top of her desk for the small PDA she kept
there. Finding it, she placed the receiver back to her ear
and quickly typed in the message.
"Yes. You're welcome," she smiled, "Have a nice day."
Gentle fingers searching for the phone base, she carefully
replaced the receiver then raised her head. Only a second
ago, she had heard the door to the office open, aware now
that she had company. A slight breeze blew against her
cheek as the visitor cautiously approached the counter.
The receptionist had a nose for gabardine and could detect
its subtle scent in the air.
"May I help you?" she asked.
Standing at the counter clutching a breifcase, was a
gentleman--tall and handsomely dressed--wearing a
dark suit and tie. His hair was immaculately combed,
his face freshly shaven. He looked nervously about
as he shifted the brief case he carried awkwardly from
one hand to the other to remove a piece of paper from
his inside coat pocket.
"Yeah, ah... hi. I'm looking for a..." he paused to refer
to the crumpled slip of paper, "... Mr. Pritchard." He glanced
up from the paper. "C-Can you tell me where his office is?"
"Down the hall and to your right," the receptionist smiled.
Turning back to her computer the receptionist had
begun typing again when she noticed that the scent of
gabardine lingered still fresh in the air. She paused and
turned back around.
"Is there anything else I can help you with?" she asked
politely, sensing an uneasiness in the visitor's demeanor.
"Well, yeah. I kind of ..." the man began, then chuckled
nervously lowering his voice to a husky whisper. "I'm here
for an interview and I'm kind of uneasy about--- well, I
really need this job you see and well... is my tie straight?
I mean I hear the boss has got this thing about ... ties."
The receptionist smiled, realizing the gentleman hadn't
noticed her impairment. Amused, she leaned forward in
her chair. "Well, is it yellow?" she asked softly.
Preoccupied, removing his resume from his briefcase, the
man paused to glance back down at the receptionist. "Huh?"
"It doesn't have an Hawaiian thing going on with it, does
it?" she asked, "You know...all flowery and all?"
The man blinked, and for the first time noticed the eyes of the
receptionist. He glanced slowly around her desk -- computer
keys in Braille -- books and documents, all in Braille, sat neatly
on top. Folded and laying on top of it all, was her cane. Feeling
slightly foolish, a flush rose to color his cheeks.
"Well..no," he answered hesitantly, running a hand across
the back of his neck. "It's ah, n-not all flowery."
"Then it's perfect I'm sure, " the receptionist smiled
turning back to her work.
Embarrassed for his oversight the man drew in a breath
to apologize, "Look..I'm...sorry. I-I guess I'm more nervous
than I thought. I didn't realize---" he paused abruptly to
introduce himself. "Gary Hobson," he said and held out
a hand to shake then withdrew it immediately just as the
receptionist held out hers in return.
"Marissa Clark," the receptionist said with her hand
extended. " And, it's okay. Just because one has
sight, doesn''t always mean that he sees. Besides, I
hate sorry."
An uneasy silence followed as the man stood staring
blankly at the receptionist.
After a moment, the receptionist slowly lowered her
unshaken hand to drummed her fingers idly on the
top of her desk instead. "Well," she sighed, "I suppose
I should get back to work."
She was turning back to her computer when a loud crash
exploded from down the hall. Startled, the receptionist
and the man turned quickly towards the sound.
Rounding the corner from the right, came a gentleman
clutching a partially opened briefcase, papers spilling
out from it. He looked as though he just been through
the ringer his tie, shirt and coat--all disheveled. As he
scrambled passed, he shot a wary glance at the man
standing at the counter, opened his mouth to utter
something but decided against it and hurriedly exited
the office leaving a trail of papers cluttering the floor
behind him.
"I need sharks here!" A loud voice bellowed, coming from
in the same direction the man had come. " What's with
these goldfishes coming through here lately!!!? Sharks
are what this company need!! Sharks!! Sharks make
profit! Sharks to do a man's job! Goldfish need not apply!!!"
The office door slammed shut with a loud bang, rattling the
doors and windows in the building. Suddenly there was silence.
The man at the counter glanced back down at the receptionist
who sat clutching a vase of flowers that teetered on the edge of
her desk. Swallowing hard he stammered, "Ah, d-did you say
down th-the hall---?"
"And to your right," the receptionist added softly, her eyes wide
with concern.
"Oh boy," he mumbled. Stuffing his resume into his pocket,
the man picked up his briefcase then turned back to the
receptionist. "Well, ah...thanks huh?"
Sliding a hand through his hair, he started slowly down the
long corridor pausing briefly to peer left before making a
hesitant-right, at the corner.
The receptionist drew in a nervous breath then let it
out slowly. "Good luck," she whispered.
The end
