365 WP #9: Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious

I decided to switch up the theme for this blog. I wanted something with two columns and I wanted the column containing the actually post to be wider. I don’t know that I’m in love with the current theme, so we’ll see how long I keep it.

Today’s 365 Days of Writing Prompt: Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious – You get some incredibly, amazingly, wonderfully fantastic news. What’s the first thing you do?

Their usual table at the bar sat empty. No one had yet arrived to pull up extra chairs. A drink menu sat directly under the yellow bar light, woefully unread.

Not even a mile away, they toiled over humming computers in the basement of the University testing centers. Fingers clattered over ancient keyboards. The clock on the wall ticked down the final minutes of the qualifying exam. Each one new they could knock the quantitative portion out of the park, but only if they got everything down in time.

One by one, they pumped out their final answers. The few that had time enough to review past responses and execute any mistakes with prejudice did so. The others just had to hope for the best.

After they pressed the submit button, they exited the testing room in silence. First Nancy, then Joe, then Robin. They shoved overworked hands into their pockets and trudged to their old haunt, slowly adding numbers to the once bar empty table. It wasn’t long before Amal selected his last multiple choice. And Brandon. Ruth and Kylie.

Peter was the only one left. He thought back to the answers he’d give over the past three hours. There wasn’t enough time to honestly correct anything. He had to just hope for the best. His fingers trembled as he hit the last submit button. The computer whirred for a few seconds as it calculated his score. Waiting for the final grade: the worse part of the exam. Success meant he’d cleared the final hurdle for graduating with his degree. Failure meant facing a table full of eagerly awaiting classmates with his tail between his legs.

He took a deep breath and looked at the score as it flash onto his screen.

The others watched Peter closely as he approached the table, head down, hands in pockets. Each had order their drinks of choice to celebrate high marks. Everyone knew what Peter would choose if he’d passed: a nice, old fashion rusty nail.

“How’d you do?” Ruth asked carefully as she ran her finger around the rim of her second vodka cranberry. Peter sighed, ran his fingers through his hair, and looked at his friends.

“What’s a guy gotta do around here to get a rusty nail in his hand?” he asked through a smile.

This is sort of based on what my classmates and I did after we passed our first stats grad class (i.e. went to the local bar for celebratory dinner/drinks). I’m not in love with the story. This’ll probably be one I come back to edit later. It needs to pizzazz.




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