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Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Comedy · #1594575
One mistake at work costs a senior citizen his job.

    Steve Jackson’s blood pressure was dangerously close to stroke-level. The veins in his neck were bulging. “You did WHAT?”

    Larry nervously repeated his confession to the CEO standing before him. “The advertisements for the sheep ranch have already been sent to the newspaper for insertion, sir. By the time I caught the typo in the ranch's name, it was too late to stop the late edition.”

    Larry Price knew his days were numbered at Jackson and Smith Printing Company. He had been with the prestigious advertising company, located in the rural ranching community, for twenty-five years as its top type-setter and editor. Nothing like this had ever happened before. 

    His sixty-five-year-old body didn’t carry out its required duties lately, and Larry felt his arthritic legs refusing to hold his stout frame. “Can I sit down, Mr. Jackson...uh...sir?” Larry’s barely audible request was met with a volcanic tirade. 

    “Sit down? Sit down? You’re not going to be in my office long enough to sit down, Price. You’re fired!  Pack up and get out!” 

    “But, Mr. Jackson, it was an accident, an honest mistake, sir. It was just one letter—” 

    “You don’t single-handedly ruin the credibility of this establishment and have the audacity to call it a MISTAKE!”  Steve Jackson held the evidence in his fist as he aimed it at Larry. “What am I suppose to tell Charlie? That the ads he ordered from us were type-set by a blind man? He‘s our best customer, for God‘s sake!”

    Larry knew it was hopeless. He limped out of the executive’s office muttering, “I’m sorry, sir. I was just one letter off on the print job.” He headed to his little shop in the back of the warehouse. Larry picked up the framed picture of his wife and wondered what he was going to tell her. He tucked the picture under his arm and left through the loading dock doors.


    Steve Jackson swiveled in his desk chair and looked at the sample of the advertisement Larry had given him. The ads would be in all the city’s newsstands any minute now. The sheep ranch’s name was printed at the top in bold, red letters, two inches high, the typo clearly evident. He couldn’t stifle the grin forming across his face. It is kind of funny, he thought. 

    Steve picked up his phone and dialed Charlie’s number.

         After three rings he heard the familiar voice answer,  “This is Charlie Ruck with Ruck Ewe...”


Winner of the Writer's Cramp Contest 8/27/09

© Copyright 2009 Winnie Kay (winniekay at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1594575