| General Fiction posted June 8, 2024 |
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There are actors and there are fakes
Hoity Toity
by Claire Tennant
Years ago, when I was still quite young, I really had no discernment about how fickle people could be, particularly those who seemed to have it all together and yet hid insecurities.
I refer to a former work colleague whose ability as a physiotherapist I could not judge but whose Oscar-winning performances of concern in public or on private calls, which I was privy to, merited attention of some kind.
With her head held high, she escorted her patients to the cubicles, her voice high-pitched and condescending. Her colleagues, by comparison, were simply friendly, and laughter could occasionally be heard. Bonding with patients helped ease tension.
One day, Molly clearly was not well but soldiered on. I took pity on her and asked if I could get her anything.
"Oh, if only I had a cough sweet or something."
I did and was happy to give the packet to her if necessary. Not thinking too clearly, though, I opened the packet, took the wrapper from the lozenge and presented it to her.
Her face was a study. Horror and dismay showed in her expression. Her hands were raised as though to protect herself from vermin. Instead of the task being a good thing, I realised too late that hygiene mattered more than my concern.
Fifty or so years down the track, I know someone now whose insecurities, like a grease-stained top, are evident. How she hovers to put "the servants"; who think they are friends in their place. She, too, acts as though she is practising for the Oscars.
I have a little scheme, though. You may or may not approve. One of these days, I will make a fuss of her and tell our little world that Beth is worthy of an Oscar following her performance. I shall present her with something fitting, perhaps a T-shirt of Oscar the Grouch!
Talk about mean!!
A Good Turn Gone Wrong writing prompt entry
Years ago, when I was still quite young, I really had no discernment about how fickle people could be, particularly those who seemed to have it all together and yet hid insecurities.
I refer to a former work colleague whose ability as a physiotherapist I could not judge but whose Oscar-winning performances of concern in public or on private calls, which I was privy to, merited attention of some kind.
With her head held high, she escorted her patients to the cubicles, her voice high-pitched and condescending. Her colleagues, by comparison, were simply friendly, and laughter could occasionally be heard. Bonding with patients helped ease tension.
One day, Molly clearly was not well but soldiered on. I took pity on her and asked if I could get her anything.
"Oh, if only I had a cough sweet or something."
I did and was happy to give the packet to her if necessary. Not thinking too clearly, though, I opened the packet, took the wrapper from the lozenge and presented it to her.
Her face was a study. Horror and dismay showed in her expression. Her hands were raised as though to protect herself from vermin. Instead of the task being a good thing, I realised too late that hygiene mattered more than my concern.
Fifty or so years down the track, I know someone now whose insecurities, like a grease-stained top, are evident. How she hovers to put "the servants"; who think they are friends in their place. She, too, acts as though she is practising for the Oscars.
I have a little scheme, though. You may or may not approve. One of these days, I will make a fuss of her and tell our little world that Beth is worthy of an Oscar following her performance. I shall present her with something fitting, perhaps a T-shirt of Oscar the Grouch!
Talk about mean!!
I refer to a former work colleague whose ability as a physiotherapist I could not judge but whose Oscar-winning performances of concern in public or on private calls, which I was privy to, merited attention of some kind.
With her head held high, she escorted her patients to the cubicles, her voice high-pitched and condescending. Her colleagues, by comparison, were simply friendly, and laughter could occasionally be heard. Bonding with patients helped ease tension.
One day, Molly clearly was not well but soldiered on. I took pity on her and asked if I could get her anything.
"Oh, if only I had a cough sweet or something."
I did and was happy to give the packet to her if necessary. Not thinking too clearly, though, I opened the packet, took the wrapper from the lozenge and presented it to her.
Her face was a study. Horror and dismay showed in her expression. Her hands were raised as though to protect herself from vermin. Instead of the task being a good thing, I realised too late that hygiene mattered more than my concern.
Fifty or so years down the track, I know someone now whose insecurities, like a grease-stained top, are evident. How she hovers to put "the servants"; who think they are friends in their place. She, too, acts as though she is practising for the Oscars.
I have a little scheme, though. You may or may not approve. One of these days, I will make a fuss of her and tell our little world that Beth is worthy of an Oscar following her performance. I shall present her with something fitting, perhaps a T-shirt of Oscar the Grouch!
Talk about mean!!
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Writing Prompt Please write a very short story based on trying to help someone, but it's not appreciated. Fun or serious. No poetry. |
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