Today’s words: Unveil, Document, Opifice (craftsman, artisan or maker of things), Libyan
Word count: 568
Summary: Baker, a self-confessed professional of sorts,
comes up with a flawless idea to save everyone from being unfriendly ever again
“Euston, we have a problem...” Baker said with distress as
she walked across the room, trench coat flapping behind her knees.
“Yes?” Euston responded, putting the tip of his shoe on the
end of the desk and tilting his chair back slightly, more amused by the water
stains on the ceiling than Baker’s ‘problem’.
Slapping several papers onto the desk, she looked at her
partner, flicking her eyes at the paper then back at Euston. “I am an opifice
by profession, but there’s more to me than being a master of crafts; I’m a
thinker too, you know? I use my hands and
my head.”
“I know.” A nod to verify her words.
“There’s a little too much...hostility in the world, don’t
you think?” A deliberate pause as she waited for Euston to agree.
“...Yes?”
“Yes,” satisfied, she continued. “Well, detailed in this
document are plans to end this negative behaviour once and for all.” She
perched on the edge of the desk, crossing one ankle over the other. “I thought
to myself: what do people, as a whole, like...?”
Euston raised his eyebrows expectantly as he folded his
arms.
“You might want to put all four legs of your chair on the
floor for this.”
After opening his mouth to protest a little, he complied.
“I now unveil to you...” she pointed at the papers behind
her, “Project Make-People-Be-Friends-Because-No-One-Likes-A-Bellend.” Nodding
slowly, she widened her eyes at Euston, forcing him to nod, too.
“You’re a poet, too?” Euston sniggered as he looked away.
“Evidently I am, yes.” No hint of humour. “Anyway, here’s my
hypothesis: people are generally a lot friendlier to people who have said
something nice to them. Case in point: earlier on I was on the tube which, as
you know, is one of the most hostile, claustrophobic, unfriendly places in
London. I was just standing up,” she mimed holding onto a rail, “looking sadly at
a newspaper that someone was holding, skim reading about the Libyan Interior Minister’s
resignation, when someone complimented my hairpin.” Another pause.
Assuming that she desired a response of some kind, Euston
offered: “And...?”
“I’m glad you asked,” uncrossing her legs, she stood up,
spun around once and smiled. “I was happy...the compliment made me happy!”
“That’s generally what compliments are designed for.”
“I’d had a really
rotten day,” she emphasised ‘really’ by putting both of her hands up like she
was hushing some children, “and those few words of reassurance completely
reversed my mood. So, all we need to do to prevent another Word War is to have
designated ‘Complimenters’ to compliment all involved and bam...world peace.”
Holding both palms out like she had completed a dance routine, she looked eagerly
at Euston.
A heavy pause from Euston this time. “You’re serious?”
“When am I ever not serious ?”
she questioned, taking out some red lipstick from her pocket and applying it to
her lips before extending it to both cheeks, creating a make-shift Chelsea-smile.
“Something as serious as war can’t be solved
by...compliments!” Voice raised, he too stood. “It’s like you’re making a
mockery of world issues! They’re a serious thing, people die every day; you
think they’re going to put their guns down just because someone comes out of
nowhere and says, ‘What nice grenades you have’? You know sometimes, I really
think you--”
“Nice belt buckle, Euston.”
“...Really? Aw thanks, it’s the Batman logo.”
Baker smirked.
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