By Joel Hanson
Stepping out the door, Brock was immediately disturbed by the wind in his face. He checked the weather application on his phone. Brock hated wind more than rain, more than snow, heat, hail or sleet. Wind ruffled your clothes and sent you hat or newspaper flying. Wind got up your sleeves and gave you a chill. Wind messed up your hair. They’ve made hair gel that can stop bullets, but not one that stops moving air. Brock dug the bulletproof hair gel, though. It was also exceptionally bright out today, but he carried sunglasses for just the occasion. You could wear a windbreaker, but they don’t completely stop the wind, they just lessen the sensation. Wind. Right?
Noting that he needed a better weather application, he silenced his phone before putting it back into his pocket in exchange for the silver aviators waiting there. He took his phone back out to snap a picture of himself for Facebook’s sake. “Lookin’ sly, my man.” he said as he uploaded it. Great new default. For all of wind’s downfalls, it did make you look badass. If only he’d had a cigarette dangling from his lip, he’d be a real Steve McQueen, but who could light one in this stupid wind?
“Oh, shit.” he thought, realizing that while fooling around on his phone, he’d been unwillingly heading toward work. He tried to enjoy the few moments he got between stepping out the door and arriving, but it didn’t take any time at all to get there. Once he took that first step out of the door, it was just natural. He couldn’t stop if he wanted to, maybe just slow down. If he did though, who knows how late he’d be? At the end of the week he would joke with his buds over a few beers about going postal. Just running in and shooting up the place. Ha. Ha.
His thoughts were interrupted when his coworker Cheryl approached him. “Hey there Brockie.”
“Oh, morning, Cheryl.” he groaned.
“What?” she yelled.
“Oh, I said good morning! But who can hear a damn thing in this stupid wind?” Brock yelled.
“Ha! Sounds like somebody’s got a case of the Mondays!” she yelled back over the breeze.
“Only every Monday.” he muttered under his breath.
“Well I’m going on in, see you in a few!” she yelled, waving as she continued on to work.
Cheryl was okay, if not a little too bubbly. He could never maintain a conversation that wasn’t work-related with her, but that’s fine. Brock kept work at work. He didn’t really want anything else getting into his job, or his job getting into his private life. Noticing how close he was, he began to ready himself for the grueling say ahead. Brock tugged at the cord.
“Something wrong, Magnus?” yelled Bill, clapping Brock on the back.
“My parachute won’t open, sir!” replied Brock.
“It’s probably just snagged on something, keep pulling on it! The backup’s easier to see! Don’t use it unless you have to! Afghanis don’t like to see parachutes! What are you carrying?”
“M4A1 sir!”
“Have it on standby if you use the emergency! See you on the ground!”
“Sir!” he saluted Captain Briggs as he drifted away. Brock hated Mondays, but someone had to bust up those terror cells, right?
Biography
Joel Hanson is a mediocre writer and amateur cowboy. He spends his spare time golfing, at the beach, napping in his hammock, wooing your little sister, making cocktails, playing PlayStation, cooking things he sees Emeril make, and bowling. His favorite television shows are Archer, Rescue Me, How I Met Your Mother, Jersey Shore, Rob Dyrdek’s Fantasy Factory, and Dragon Ball Z. Joel dreams of someday starting one of those giant bar brawls that you see in old western movies, pulling a gun on an attacker armed with a knife, rewriting Jaws to star the ocean’s real apex predator-the orca, and retiring to someplace exotic with a petite blonde to do his laundry. In the meantime, Joel is content to take long naps, drink tall beers, and cook short orders.