Friday Funny

What do you get when you cross a writer with a deadline?

A really clean house.

                                                 

Friday Funny

Friday Funny * humor for writers

Mining Our Lives for Writing Ideas

I lost a boy at the zoo today.

Unfortunately, this is a true story and not the first sentence of a fiction piece I’m working on.

Writers are often asked where we get our ideas from.

The answer is everywhere.

Writers, and artists in general, get ideas from everything around us—our family, work, friends, movies, shows, dreams, songs, memories, smells, books, articles, hospitals, restaurants, zoos, everywhere.

All it takes is seeing something on our way to work or smelling a certain scent, and—bam!—an idea is born.

Take this zoo field trip I went on. I was thrilled to be chosen as a chaperone for my daughter’s kindergarten class—my first time chaperoning! I pictured a fun morning strolling the zoo with adorable, curious kindergarteners pointing out the monkeys, koalas, bears.

The reality of what actually happened was very different.

I was assigned five children—three boys and two girls, including my daughter and her best friend. I got down to eye level with my five kids and told them my name and that were to stay close to me as we walked around the zoo.

The three boys must suffer from short term amnesia. They completely disregarded my instructions, and ran up ahead, sometimes out of my sight, until I would yell at them to come back or walk fast enough to catch up to them, all the while making sure I didn’t leave the two girls behind.

That was not the only naughty thing they did. All of the children climbed the animal sculptures around the zoo. To be fair, it was unclear whether they were allowed to do this, but I didn’t think so. The sculptures were bronzed metal with gold-plated dedication plaques. They looked a little too fancy for climbing. I told the kids not to climb them, but they continued to do it despite my stern instructions not to.

This naughtiness continued for the next two hours. Meanwhile one thought is repeating in my head: I am never volunteering for another field trip.

Finally it's noon, and I take my five kids near the exit. This is where we're supposed to meet the other groups. Slowly they start to appear. I stare at one group with envy—the one that has three parents.

I stick my hand in my pocket and find a banana from one of the boys that was leftover from his lunch. I ask him if he would like it, and he says yes. The boy eats the banana, and when he’s done, he asks me where he can throw away the peel. I point to a garbage can not too far away.

He goes to throw the peel away. I bend down and ask the other four kids if they had a good time at the zoo. They all say yes.

I look towards the trash can and I don’t see the boy. I scan the area again. I see lots of parents, kids, grandparents—but not the boy.

I ask the other four kids if they’ve seen their classmate. No, they tell me, they haven’t. I tell them if they see him to please let me know. I keep looking for him.

The Class Mom is calling me. I go over to her with my four kids. She tells me they’re letting the kids on the bus. She asks me how many kids I have. I tell her five. She says, I only see four. I tell her that I sort of lost one.

Her eyes widen. Are you serious? she says.

She takes my four children to the bus while I go look for the boy I lost. He’s not hiding behind the trash can. And he didn’t fall in the tiny half-inch deep creek beside the trash can either.

Someone took him.

Oh God.

I think about the boy’s mom who could be working in a cubicle at the moment. I don't know. I've never met her.

But I’ve lost her son.

I can’t believe this happening. I can’t believe this is happening.

The Class Mom is calling me again. She’s saying something, but I can’t hear her, I’m too far away. I walk over to her in a daze.

He’s on the bus, she tells me. He left with another group.

Relief floods through me. But so does anger. I’m angry with myself. And I’m angry at the boy.

Fifteen minutes later, I get in my car and I just sit there, shaking. I still can't believe I lost someone's kid.

When I get home, I’m still trembling. I need to take my mind off what happened. A show. I need to watch a show. That’ll distract me.

I head to the TV, but I stop and go in the opposite direction, to my desk. I open up my laptop and start typing: I lost a boy at the zoo today.

Ideas are everywhere.