The Rise and Fall of a Most Unpleasant Man: the Herb Brendle Saga

here's a flash fiction i wrote for The Synchronocity of Indeterminacy. the idea behind the site is that people look at a random photo and write a story about it in one minute. so far, i haven't read any mind blowing one minute stories. i didn't read the part about having to write the story in a minute until after i wrote for an hour. so, i cheated, but the work is far superior. i didn't formally submit the to the site because i didn't want to get a flurry of comments telling me i did the assignment wrong. anyway, here is the story based on the photo they posted on may, 25th. the photo, by itself, can be viewed here.

The Rise and Fall of a Most Unpleasant Man: the Herb Brendle Saga

or

A Two Act Comedy of Tragic Proportions

Herb: An Introduction

Herb had been sober two years. Coworkers noticed the difference. His shirts were correctly buttoned and free of that booze smell that used to permeate all he wore. The random stains from whereabouts unknown also faded away and were replaced by crisp and iron dress shirts, some even with monograms. At the two year anniversary of Herb’s sobriety, the office threw a party. Cake was served; chocolate, topped with fresh strawberries. Herb came late to his own party. People talked. Carol, one of the secretaries said he was probably barfing all over himself in the office bathroom, drunk and disheveled, eyes more red than the light he was going to run on the way home. Herb did, in fact, stumble out of the bathroom with red eyes and an intoxicated grin, the one that was usually hidden behind an unshaven face and the bloated cheeks of a four day booze binge. Everyone stopped their revelry. Carlisle, the floor supervisor, slammed the copy machine shut he was so disappointed at Herb’s apparent lack of self control. To break the silence, Herb said, “I’m drunk…..drunk on life.” Office workers looked around. Was he alcohol drunk or silly, stupid Herb drunk.

After a heated exchange between office janitor, Julio, and Herb, not to mention a plunger induced black eye, all was well. Herb explained that he had become so overcome by the support his coworkers gave him that day he went into the bathroom and cried. He was too ashamed to admit as much earlier and he apologized to everyone for the confusion concerning his condition.

Herb: The Fall

A year and a half later, Constance, the assistant floor manager, had received a promotion and was climbing the corporate ladder and even moved to an office three floors higher. Her old office, eager to support their coworker decided to throw a party. In order to accommodate the whole floor, it was decided that the party had to be moved outside the office and to another locale. Craig, the Human Resources guy, was supposed to make the arrangements. Due to an extreme allergic reaction to a paper clip he swallowed earlier in the week, Craig didn’t make the reservations until the night of the party. The only space available was a banquet room at an older roller skating rink on the far side of town, over by the Tupperware plant, where the streets have more weeds than asphalt.

Everyone called Craig an asshole for making the reservations so last minute. He shrugged and put on his black sweater, the one with the red and gray stripes, the one that was mysteriously found in the women’s restroom along with one of Carol’s earrings. Regardless of his sexually promiscuous past and poor planning skills, people grudgingly showed up to the Craig’s reserved banquet room at the Fiesta Roller Rink. Craig, being the master planner that he was, only managed to put up some streamers and a few balloons. He didn’t even spring for helium balloons. He made Tricia, the Supply Rep. blow all the balloons up herself. Everyone called Craig an asshole yet again and he was getting fed up with it. Carol wanted to comfort him in more ways than one, but she kept her distance. Craig noticed this and wished they could run away together and live off the land like Grizzly Adams. He wanted to be a manly man and support his lady love. However, he was just a modest man of modest means and could not support the likes of someone like Carol, so full of youth, vigor, and a fashion sense that dictated red print t-shirts and pink scarves were acceptable and even considered trendy in certain circles.

Herb brought chips and dip to the party, but refused to share. He stood in the corner of the room, cradling the chips like a kitten and stuffing his face with onion dip. It was gross. He later loosened up and let people use his dip as long as the chips didn’t have ruffles, ridges, or any other unnatural chip shape alteration. Pringles were strictly prohibited.

As the night progressed, a piñata was hung from the ceiling. Amelia, being one of the employees with a little extra weight on her was invited to take the first swing; maybe break off the poor elephant’s leg; get some goods early in the game. She took a swing blindfolded. She missed and everyone laughed. The men circled around and watched her breasts swing just a half second ahead of her body, testing the limits of her green, silk top. At swing 17 she finally cracked that sucker open. Candy flew everywhere. Herb, still angered by the fact that he had to share his dip, dove for the candy. He looked like a cross between an eagle swooping in for its prey and a beached manatee. He garbled the things up right quick. It wasn’t until candy 389 did he realize they were booze candies. Each little chocolate was wrapped in a liquor bottle style aluminum foil. The chocolates not only tasted like alcohol, but had alcohol in them. Herb tried to stand up and had to hang onto the piñata for balance. Dean, the mail boy, could barely keep the piñata in the air with Herb’s flab pulling down so hard on it. Herb walked over to the strawberry margarita mix and downed the whole pitcher like it was Kool-Aid. His lips turned red and matched his bloodshot eyes.

Everyone started to stare at Herb in disbelief. Craig, pained by the throbbing in his loins after secretly staring at Carol for most of the night, stared longingly at the bathroom door. Carol, missed Craig’s pained expression and was instead looking at the humiliating spectacle that was drunken Herb. Julio, sensing his long time crush Veronica was drunk, asked her to dance. He knew she was gone because only a drunk girl would go out in a sweater as funky as the one she was wearing; a furry, fuzzy thing that looked as if a blind lady knitted it with her arthritis addled feet. Veronica accepted Julio’s advances, which were quick and smooth. He wanted to spin her to look at her ass, but she refused such maneuvers. Ashamed at being a pervert, Julio stared at his feet and tried to play the coy, embarrassed love interest. Veronica took the bait and intertwined her hand with Julio’s. His palm was sweaty, but he didn’t care. He was too focused on Veronica’s ass to care about his sweaty palm.

Meanwhile, Carol, along with some of the interns, continued to watch Herb writhe on the floor. The interns twisted their necks to figure out how exactly Herb became so entangled with a cardboard elephant. They debated whether he was trying to stand up or hump the thing. The consensus was a little of each. The upper echelon of the office; the managers and more reserved suits of the company, stayed toward the back of the room. They watched in awe of Herb and the seeming lack of concern his coworkers had for his well being. What was once a group of empathetic individuals had turned into drunken revelers eager to watch a known alcoholic pour guacamole on his chest and do the Electric Slide with no musical accompaniment or pants. The suits took notes on tiny clipboards and PDA’s. This would all go in their employees’ files; this would all be considered when it came time for employee reviews. As for Herb…well, his antics were humorous enough that the execs were willing to let him slide, let him slip by for old time’s sake. As long he proved to be entertaining, there was no sense in firing him, not unless he affected production. Then, of course, he had to go. Alcoholics of that nature were not to be tolerated; people with little self control would not last at such an esteemed financial planning institution. If a person were to survive they had to be smart, driven, professional, or so completely wasted they couldn't help but do something hilarious. Lucky for Herb, he was just drunk enough to get that particular job done. That's the kind of drive and loyalty they look for at Sherman, Sherman and Owens. That's what keeps the morale high and the money flowing. God bless you, Herb. You you slurry worded little bastard.

Herb: The Later Years

died of psorosis of the liver. funeral. company helped pay. some employees attended. drank champagne at reception. some one crowned new, company alcoholic. etc. etc. (more to come...)