Author’s Intro: No new blog post this week, but I do have a new story to share. It’s a flash fiction prompted by an assignment in my local writers’ group to write about E.S.P. The following story is loosely based on my own life. (I’ll leave it up to you to decide which parts are “true”). 😛 Enjoy!

Pizza and a Psychic

By Nathan Marchand

            Like Garfield, I hate Mondays. Nothing happens, especially at Pizza Barn, and when you’re a delivery driver, that means no tip money and, worse yet, unending boredom. I spend my time folding boxes and oiling pans. Mundane. Menial. Mind-numbing. There’s just one problem with that: I churn out crazy ideas when I’m bored. Like answering customers’ phone calls with obviously phony names. One time on Independence Day, I answered the phone saying I was George Washington. I was disappointed the customer didn’t notice.

As I was folding what seemed like my thousandth box, the phone rang. I jogged over since no one else liked answering phones. The customer’s name and phone number flashed up on the computer screen. I pressed my thumb on the fingerprint scanner and picked up the phone.

“Thank you for calling Pizza Barn. This is Joey. How may I help you?” I droned reflexively, trying to smile (my manager says customers can “hear a smile” on the phone).

“I’d like to place an order for pick-up,” replied the woman on the phone.

Darnit. Not a delivery! I thought.

I tapped the name flashing on the screen and brought up the customer’s info.

“Is this for Smith?” I asked.

A brief pause. “Yes,” said the customer, surprised.

“Is your address 234 Main Street?”

“Yes. How did you know that?”

My boredom suddenly seized my mouth. I can’t be held responsible for what I said next.

“I’m psychic.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Another pause. “What do I want to order?”

I figured I’d take a shot in the dark, get it wrong, and explain we have caller ID. We’d both have a good laugh, and then I’d take her order.

So, I said, “A large pepperoni pizza and an order of breadsticks with cheese.” That’s about as bland and generic an order you can get—and I learned I was dealing with an equally bland and generic customer!

“That’s right! Oh, my gosh!”

I raised my eyebrows. Talk about luck, I thought.

Ms. Smith kept raving about my E.S.P. as I keyed in her order. After a minute or so, I read back her order and gave her a total. But instead of saying goodbye, she asked me another question.

“Can you tell me my fortune? What will happen to me tonight?”

I rolled my eyes. I wanted to tell her the truth, but she sounded so earnest, I decided to humor her.

“You’ll meet the man of your dreams and win five-hundred dollars in the state lottery.”

Ms. Smith squealed. “I’ll pick up a ticket on my way to the concert tonight! Thank you!” With that, she hung up.

I didn’t think much of it the rest of the evening.

The next day, I was equally as bored folding boxes when the phone rang again. I reflexively answered, not looking at the computer screen.

“Thank you for calling Pizza Barn. This is Joey. How may I help you?”

“Joey! Thanks for answering. You were right!”

“What?!”

I looked at the screen—it was Ms. Smith.

“I won five-hundred dollars and snagged a boyfriend last night at the concert!”

“That’s…great, Miss Smith….” What else could I say?

“I told him about you, and he asked me to call you for advice before he went to the horse races today.”

“Well, um…”