Daydreaming on your way to work, you get into a car accident. Frustrated because you will be late for an important meeting, you curse and yell as you get out of the car. When you go to confront the other drive, you find out it is your boss. Write this scene.
“Sir?” The color drained from my face slowly, like air hissing out of a tire.
“Justin,” My boss said, “your regular vocabulary seems to have grown.”
My boss shakes a hand my direction dismissively. “These things happen. At least we won’t have to go to that stupid meeting anymore.”
I blinked. My boss didn’t like his own meetings either?
“How about we just head on over to the bar. Get a few drinks?”
I tried not to let my shock show on my face, but I did glance down at our smoldering cars, resting on the side of the busy street. Was this the same man that everyone in the building called a tyrant? Maybe we’d all misjudged him somehow. My boss followed my gaze.
“I’ll have someone from the office swing by and take care of this. Just leave your insurance info inside the car.”
I was too stunned to even question it. He gestured to a nearby sports bar in the strip mall we’d had the misfortune to crash in front of. Pirates Bar and Grill, the sign read. It could have been a worse name, I guess.
“After you.” He said, holding open the door.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Please call me Earl.”
Earl? I didn’t even know he had a first name.
The barista seated us at a small table shaped like a boat and Earl ordered us drinks. Shanghai martini’s they were called. I didn’t care much for martinis, more of a scotch drinker myself, but if he was paying I wasn’t about to complain. I couldn’t believe my luck. And then I drank the martini.
When I woke up, I was aboard a different kind of ship. One actually on the water, locked in a hold with a dozen other dirty, disheveled men. Shanghai’d. I guess Earl really was a tyrant after all.