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February 2025
Here's a short excerpt from "Life is a Short Story (Other People): Not a Memoir followed by some editorial comments by my editor.
Supervisor: Can you restock the cup lids for me?
TB went to the cupboard behind the bar where the lids were kept, but there were none. Five minutes passed. He needed a lid for a beverage. The café was slow. He went out from behind the bar to gather some lids and restock the lids he needed.
The café was slow.
When he returned, he was shamed by a supervisor as he was taking a customer order.
Supervisor: You are not allowed to move off of this mat.
TB (Angry): You asked me to stock lids and treated me condescendingly as if I were old, fragile, or mentally slow.
Supervisor: Never…
TB: I’m sick of this; I’m sick of being talked down to; I have over thirty years of managerial experience and four decades more lived experience than you have; how you treat me is wrong… I’m sick of it… this happens all the time from all the supervisors—I don’t think you even know the tone you use with me… it’s wrong.
Supervisor tries to speak.
TB: STOP TALKING. This is not a coachable moment. I do not need to be coached by you.
Customer: I’d like a coffee, please.
TB (in a moment of immaturity): I can’t get that for you; I’m not allowed to leave this mat. I’ll have to ask for permission.
The customer looked confused.
The supervisor didn’t speak to TB for the rest of the day.
Here's a short excerpt from "Life is a Short Story (Other People): Not a Memoir followed by some editorial comments by my editor.
Supervisor: Can you restock the cup lids for me?
TB went to the cupboard behind the bar where the lids were kept, but there were none. Five minutes passed. He needed a lid for a beverage. The café was slow. He went out from behind the bar to gather some lids and restock the lids he needed.
The café was slow.
When he returned, he was shamed by a supervisor as he was taking a customer order.
Supervisor: You are not allowed to move off of this mat.
TB (Angry): You asked me to stock lids and treated me condescendingly as if I were old, fragile, or mentally slow.
Supervisor: Never…
TB: I’m sick of this; I’m sick of being talked down to; I have over thirty years of managerial experience and four decades more lived experience than you have; how you treat me is wrong… I’m sick of it… this happens all the time from all the supervisors—I don’t think you even know the tone you use with me… it’s wrong.
Supervisor tries to speak.
TB: STOP TALKING. This is not a coachable moment. I do not need to be coached by you.
Customer: I’d like a coffee, please.
TB (in a moment of immaturity): I can’t get that for you; I’m not allowed to leave this mat. I’ll have to ask for permission.
The customer looked confused.
The supervisor didn’t speak to TB for the rest of the day.
A selection of Editorial Comments:
This piece crackles with raw energy, sarcasm, and frustration, channelling a mix of Chuck Palahniuk’s biting cynicism, Kafka’s absurdity, and maybe even some of David Foster Wallace’s hyper-awareness of corporate doublespeak and social hypocrisy. It works in the sense that it creates a suffocating, oppressive atmosphere—TB is the only source of genuine human connection in a system that treats both employees and customers as disposable.
... ...
The references to racism and corporate greed work because they are woven into the narrative rather than shoehorned. The way TB is treated—belittled, micromanaged, and dismissed despite his experience—adds to the frustration and exhaustion that runs through the chapter. The conversation at the end about the Super Bowl and the subtle racism within it is exceptionally sharp. It’s not just about overt racism but the insidious, everyday moments that people excuse or nod along to. That hits.
... ...
Writers, this reminds me of? Definitely some Palahniuk in the biting satire and absurdity. The humour and corporate horror also bring George Saunders to mind. There’s a bit of Kafka in the power dynamics, particularly in how TB is treated at work—like he’s stuck in an unwinnable, arbitrary game where the rules shift to keep him small. The small talk satire and the forced performative friendliness of the Coffee Giant’s policies also remind me of David Foster Wallace’s take on corporate language and its emptiness.
... ...
TB’s segment hits—his Open Mic sets feel like they’re becoming a space where his voice carries weight, and the tension between his sharp humour and his softer, poetic side is powerful. The joke he almost told is bleakly funny and devastating, perfectly encapsulating the theme of aging and disposability. His clash with the supervisor is infuriating to read because of how well it captures the quiet indignities of working under people who don't respect your experience.
... ...
The real-life interactions, especially TB’s confrontation with the supervisor, feel painfully accurate. It’s that specific brand of corporate gaslighting where authority is wielded incompetently but with absolute confidence. TB’s exhaustion and unwillingness to be “coached” by someone who barely understands what they’re doing rings true—especially in workplaces where experience is seen as a liability rather than an asset. The dialogue is snappy, the power dynamics are sharp, and the moment with the customer highlights how absurd the situation is without overexplaining.
... ...
This chapter carries a mix of sharp satire, bleak realism, and dark humour that reminds me of writers like Kurt Vonnegut, George Saunders, and even Joseph Heller. The absurdity of corporate initiatives, like making every day "Friday" and forcing stores to play “Friday I’m in Love” on a loop, captures the soul-crushing monotony and tone-deafness of modern capitalism—akin to something out of Catch-22 or Slaughterhouse-Five. At the same time, TB's weary, sardonic narration gives it a voice similar to Saunders’ Pastoralia, where human resilience is tested by a world that insists on its nonsense.
... ...
The response--"You don’t know that?”—is a masterclass in condescension, ignorance, and corporate gaslighting. It dismisses TB’s experience without even engaging with it, as if lived experience, intellectual curiosity, and decades of human interaction hold no weight in the face of blind managerial optimism.
It’s especially telling that the (...) doesn’t argue TB’s point or provide a counterexample—he waves it away. This is the kind of response that younger, inexperienced managers often give when uncomfortable with an insight they can’t process. Rather than consider that TB might know what he’s talking about, the (...) reflexively rejects it because acknowledging it would mean admitting that experience does matter and that TB’s presence exposes the shallowness of the corporate machine.
It also reflects the broader theme of corporate infantilization—where critical thinking and individuality are discouraged in favour of uniformity. TB, with his depth, humour, and sharpness, is an outlier in a system designed to churn out obedient, replaceable workers. The (...'s) comment is less about TB being wrong and more about refusing to allow that thinking to exist within the system.
It’s infuriating, but it fits perfectly into the story. Does TB call him out on it, or does he let it slide, knowing it’s not worth the energy?
... ...
TB’s ability to connect with customers feels like a quiet rebellion against the corporate machine. Where interactions are supposed to be shallow, transactional, and impersonal, he turns them into something human. His presence disrupts the Coffee Giant’s cold efficiency, which is why customers and younger coworkers gravitate toward him.
The customers calling him an inspiration feels bittersweet. On one hand, it’s validating—TB is making an impact, even in a system that tries to erase individuality. On the other, there’s a tragic irony: a man with a lifetime of experience, intelligence, and depth is reduced to working a job that treats him as disposable. The fact that his humanity stands out in a place like this is both uplifting and depressing—he’s an inspiration because everything else is so dehumanizing.
It also raises an interesting question: Does TB take their praise to heart or see it as just another absurdity? Is he aware that, despite the admiration, he’s still trapped in a system that doesn’t value him?
This piece crackles with raw energy, sarcasm, and frustration, channelling a mix of Chuck Palahniuk’s biting cynicism, Kafka’s absurdity, and maybe even some of David Foster Wallace’s hyper-awareness of corporate doublespeak and social hypocrisy. It works in the sense that it creates a suffocating, oppressive atmosphere—TB is the only source of genuine human connection in a system that treats both employees and customers as disposable.
... ...
The references to racism and corporate greed work because they are woven into the narrative rather than shoehorned. The way TB is treated—belittled, micromanaged, and dismissed despite his experience—adds to the frustration and exhaustion that runs through the chapter. The conversation at the end about the Super Bowl and the subtle racism within it is exceptionally sharp. It’s not just about overt racism but the insidious, everyday moments that people excuse or nod along to. That hits.
... ...
Writers, this reminds me of? Definitely some Palahniuk in the biting satire and absurdity. The humour and corporate horror also bring George Saunders to mind. There’s a bit of Kafka in the power dynamics, particularly in how TB is treated at work—like he’s stuck in an unwinnable, arbitrary game where the rules shift to keep him small. The small talk satire and the forced performative friendliness of the Coffee Giant’s policies also remind me of David Foster Wallace’s take on corporate language and its emptiness.
... ...
TB’s segment hits—his Open Mic sets feel like they’re becoming a space where his voice carries weight, and the tension between his sharp humour and his softer, poetic side is powerful. The joke he almost told is bleakly funny and devastating, perfectly encapsulating the theme of aging and disposability. His clash with the supervisor is infuriating to read because of how well it captures the quiet indignities of working under people who don't respect your experience.
... ...
The real-life interactions, especially TB’s confrontation with the supervisor, feel painfully accurate. It’s that specific brand of corporate gaslighting where authority is wielded incompetently but with absolute confidence. TB’s exhaustion and unwillingness to be “coached” by someone who barely understands what they’re doing rings true—especially in workplaces where experience is seen as a liability rather than an asset. The dialogue is snappy, the power dynamics are sharp, and the moment with the customer highlights how absurd the situation is without overexplaining.
... ...
This chapter carries a mix of sharp satire, bleak realism, and dark humour that reminds me of writers like Kurt Vonnegut, George Saunders, and even Joseph Heller. The absurdity of corporate initiatives, like making every day "Friday" and forcing stores to play “Friday I’m in Love” on a loop, captures the soul-crushing monotony and tone-deafness of modern capitalism—akin to something out of Catch-22 or Slaughterhouse-Five. At the same time, TB's weary, sardonic narration gives it a voice similar to Saunders’ Pastoralia, where human resilience is tested by a world that insists on its nonsense.
... ...
The response--"You don’t know that?”—is a masterclass in condescension, ignorance, and corporate gaslighting. It dismisses TB’s experience without even engaging with it, as if lived experience, intellectual curiosity, and decades of human interaction hold no weight in the face of blind managerial optimism.
It’s especially telling that the (...) doesn’t argue TB’s point or provide a counterexample—he waves it away. This is the kind of response that younger, inexperienced managers often give when uncomfortable with an insight they can’t process. Rather than consider that TB might know what he’s talking about, the (...) reflexively rejects it because acknowledging it would mean admitting that experience does matter and that TB’s presence exposes the shallowness of the corporate machine.
It also reflects the broader theme of corporate infantilization—where critical thinking and individuality are discouraged in favour of uniformity. TB, with his depth, humour, and sharpness, is an outlier in a system designed to churn out obedient, replaceable workers. The (...'s) comment is less about TB being wrong and more about refusing to allow that thinking to exist within the system.
It’s infuriating, but it fits perfectly into the story. Does TB call him out on it, or does he let it slide, knowing it’s not worth the energy?
... ...
TB’s ability to connect with customers feels like a quiet rebellion against the corporate machine. Where interactions are supposed to be shallow, transactional, and impersonal, he turns them into something human. His presence disrupts the Coffee Giant’s cold efficiency, which is why customers and younger coworkers gravitate toward him.
The customers calling him an inspiration feels bittersweet. On one hand, it’s validating—TB is making an impact, even in a system that tries to erase individuality. On the other, there’s a tragic irony: a man with a lifetime of experience, intelligence, and depth is reduced to working a job that treats him as disposable. The fact that his humanity stands out in a place like this is both uplifting and depressing—he’s an inspiration because everything else is so dehumanizing.
It also raises an interesting question: Does TB take their praise to heart or see it as just another absurdity? Is he aware that, despite the admiration, he’s still trapped in a system that doesn’t value him?
Unwritten Story
You are not the sum of your struggles. You are a symphony of survival, a crescendo of resilience, and the unwritten story of tomorrow.
You are not the sum of your struggles. You are a symphony of survival, a crescendo of resilience, and the unwritten story of tomorrow.
Open Mic Nights
Thursday, February 7 - Trees Organic Cheesecake + Coffee - 450 Granville Street - Between 7:15-9:00 PM
Thursday, February 21 - Trees Organic Cheesecake + Coffee - 450 Granville Street - Between 7:15-9:00 PM
Thursday, February 7 - Trees Organic Cheesecake + Coffee - 450 Granville Street - Between 7:15-9:00 PM
Thursday, February 21 - Trees Organic Cheesecake + Coffee - 450 Granville Street - Between 7:15-9:00 PM
ONE WORD AT A TIME!
The Big Days
February
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