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2024.05.13 20:53 za_dorov Siempre tuve esa sensacion de que absolutamente todo lo que hacemos y pensamos está pre-digitado, Programado. Creo que una amiga por accidente encontró pruebas. (Parte1)
Hace unas semanas, recibí un archivo de una amiga periodista y docente en una facultad privada acá en Montevideo. Mi vida cambió. Esta es mi historia.
Conozco a esta persona hace años y el intercambio con ella en nuestras noches de bar, básicamente me hizo querer intentar estudiar esto. Después de que comencé la carrera nos hicimos aún más unidos y compartimos inquietudes sobre el devenir de la información, las redes y la infame callosidad cerebral que adquirimos para soportar la tragedia.
No les voy a mentir, algunas que otra vez compartimos la cama. Pero en general somos muy buenos amigos. Ventilo esto último, porque quiero que entiendan que confió en esta persona ciegamente y ella en mí, sobre todo, teniendo en cuenta que decidió mandarme una pieza de información tan bizarra y perturbadora que hacerla pública podría tener consecuencias que ni alcanzo a imaginar.
Mi amiga, llamémosle Valeria, formó parte de un concurso público para acompañar una expedición científica menor a la base Antártica Uruguaya. Su tesis trataba sobre investigar cómo se comporta la recepción de información en áreas remotas y aisladas.
La leí muy por arriba, pero básicamente su tesis trata de demostrar que la información circula y es recibida de manera particular en estas circunstancias por un grupo de gente no familiar que convive bajo condiciones extremas climáticas y de aislamiento. llegando a tener como ejemplo la vida en submarinos y en bases militares en Siberia.
La base Antártida le daba la posibilidad de observar de cerca algunas de sus postulaciones. Finalmente, logró ser elegida y viajó con este grupo científico en vuelo comercial Montevideo - Santiago de Chile para después llegar a Punta Arenas y volar a la base Antártida.
La última comunicación que tuve con ella antes de que me mandara las casi 90 capturas fotográficas del Diario, fue el 15 de marzo de 2024, hablamos de cómo estaba el clima en Montevideo, que no deja de llover y que los autos flotan por las calles. Me comentó que el transporte que los iba a llevar de vuelta estaba con problemas mecanicos y que probablemente tuvieran que pedir repuestos para el avión desde Punta Arenas. Que hace frío, sus compañeros son todos muy aburridos y que nadie tiene whisky por las noches. Reímos sobre esto último porque le dije que lleve por lo menos una grappa en la mochila.
Antes de despedirse, me dijo que había visto unas viejas estructuras de metal al sur de la base, y que iba a ir a explorarlas. No estaban cuando recién llegaron y que la reciente y atípica ola de calor probablemente debe haberla dejado al descubierto. Le dije que tuviera cuidado y nos despedimos.
Tres días después recibí un mail. “Valeria compartió un archivo contigo”. Cuando empiezo a ver de qué se trataba me llama.
“Mauro? MAURO, ¿Me escuchas?¡”- Me dijo con voz nerviosa y exaltada.
“Vale, te escucho muy mal que paso?” - le dije todavía acostado en mi cama
“Escúchame, no hables, solo escuchame y haceme caso.”- Por la agitación se podía notar que estaba caminando rápido o puede que corriendo. Las pisadas chirriantes de la nieve se escuchaban de fondo y a lo lejos, una sirena del tipo catástrofe.
“¿Estás bien?¿Qué pasó?¿Qué es ese ruido?”- Le dije ya incorporado y preocupado.
“Te envié un archivo. Pasalo a un pendrive, borra historiales y formatea el celular, la computadora y tu dirección de email. Después te explico, va a valer la pena.”
“¿Qué? ¿De qué hablas Vale? ¿Para que? ¡Decime qué pasa!”- Empecé a gritarle ya un poco asustado.
“Escuchame, encontré algo que se supone no debería existir. En el diario lo explica todo, estoy volviendo a la base, porque activé una alarma o algo. Guardame eso hasta que llegue y acordate que…” -
Se escucharon dos estruendos muy fuertes y el sonido del agua que invadía la transmisión. Un sonido de burbujeo ahogado y de resquebraje me hizo acordar al hielo que se desploma. Mi amiga había caído al agua, en la Antártida.
“¡Vale! ¡¿HEY, estás bien?! ¡¿Qué pasó?!” - Seguí gritando histérico hasta que la llamada se cortó.
Mire el celular un segundo. Mis manos temblaban, intenté llamar varias veces pero el celular se apagó.
Mire el archivo comprimido. Me levanté de un salto y corrí hacia el mueble del comedor, busqué frenéticamente un pendrive blanco que tiene que estar en algún cajón. No lo encontré, volví a mi escritorio, tiré del cajón con tanta fuerza que se salió del riel y cayó al piso, empecé a revolver mis pertenencias en el piso, monedas, papeles, tarjetas, nada.
Pensé, hice fuerza para recordar dónde lo había puesto. Al fin vi como mi mochila asomaba desde atrás de la silla, me lanze sobre ella y en el segundo bolsillo chico de adentro, estaba un pendrive barato blanco de 16G. Lo puse en la PC, descargue el archivo directamente ahí, lo saque y formatee la computadora y mi celular como Valeria dijo.
En el momento ni me cuestioné si esas medidas de verdad evitan que fuese rastreado, y la idea de que ese fuera el motivo hizo que el pánico me atravesara el cuerpo como un rayo. De igual forma lo hice. Sentado en el piso de mi cuarto al lado del desorden, mi cuerpo estaba entumecido por la tensión. Volvi a prender el celular para llamar a Lucia, su hermana.
“¿Hola?”
“Lucia, escúchame, creo que algo malo le pasó a Valeria, sentí como si se cayera al agua, y unos estruendos. No sé bien que escuche, creo que se metió en algún problema o lugar que no debió.”
Mientras hablaba me percate que estaba desvariando y sin decir nada claro. Por alguna razón, no mencione el archivo.
“No puede ser Mauro, acabo de cortar con ella. Estaba en el aeropuerto de Santiago en la sala de embarque, hablamos como media hora, me dijo que traía un bourbon especial para compartir y…
Deje de escuchar, no tenía sentido, cómo podía ser? ¡Qué carajo está pasando!
“Mauro, estás bien? ¿te pasa algo? es muy temprano no lo habrás soñado?”
“¿Hablaste con ella?¿Hace media hora? Pero…,”- Exclamé sin poder disimular mi confusión. Y continúe
“¿Estas… segura que era ella?
“¡Si, claro, imbécil, es mi hermana! ¿volviste a fumar en ayunas?”
“No, tenes razón, Nada, Gracias Lucia, hablamos.” - Corte la llamada sin dejarla despedirse.
“¿Lo soñé? Borre todo ahora. ¿cómo voy a saber si lo soñé?”- Dude absurdamente.
De verdad que todo esto es surreal pensé mientras observaba el pendrive en mi mano. Me despabilé y fui a buscar al galpón la vieja laptop que me dejó mi hermano antes de irse a España. Era prácticamente inservible, pero para ver el archivo alcanzaba. La encendí, espere que el decrépito windows XP cargara, y coloque el pendrive, abrir la carpeta comprimida y me tope con dos archivos.
“Notas Laboratorio.pdf”
“Diario.pdf”
Decidí abrir primero el diario. Por lo que interprete en el orden de carga de las capturas, luego de leerlo, abrí la imagen de la última página.
Transcribo tal cual.
Día 243 de la 2da misión 10 40 am. 12 de marzo de 2019.
Soy Jefe científico del Área psicológica en la base Antártida de la ONU. En el proyecto clasificado Sísifo.
Esto va a sonar como una locura. La persona que vive con mi familia es mi clon.
Todavía me sigue sorprendiendo cuando lo escribo, pero luego de lograr poder replicar la historia cerebro-muscular (o sea la memoria) de cualquier persona y al haber dominado replicar nuestros cuerpos a cualquier edad, era cuestión de tiempo que el desarrollo de la biotecnología social surgiera. Ahora sí y por acuerdo mundial, como completo secreto. No hay absolutamente ninguna pizca de ética en lo que hacemos, ya no hay limitante sobre lo que podemos hacerles a los sujetos en esta base. Eso me atormenta cada día.
Todo se fue a la mierda muy rápido, dudo que alguien venga a rescatarnos. El protocolo lo dice, la base ante un riesgo inminente de seguridad se borrara así misma. La estructura fue diseñada para colapsar metódicamente siguiendo un protocolo de incineración y hundimiento.
Las inmediaciones poseen minas subacuáticas que hacen colapsar el hielo de manera casi imperceptible, pero mortal para el que intente irse. Nadie puede escapar de la base, ni el personal, ni los sujetos. Nuestro lugar en el mundo ya está ocupado.
Solo espero que este diario junto con mis notas de laboratorio sean encontradas en algún momento, logre construirle un pequeño empaque aislante así que confío que sobreviva en caso de que esta parte del edificio colapse también.
Por favor, usar estos datos para que el mundo sepa que paso aca y no dejen que una vez mas la perversidad nos defina.
A mi familia: los amo y extraño cada minuto.
B.
En el momento que termine de leer este pasaje, recibo una videollamada que me hace saltar del susto, es…
Valeria.
Con el pulso exaltado en temblor contesto la llamada.
“¡Hola! el vuelo se demoró, ¿podes creer? la verdad que uno de los peor viajes de mi vida. Tengo mucha hambre y todo es carisimo aca. ¿Vos qué haces? contame algo por favor que estoy muuuuy aburrida!”
La mire con confusión y no logré pronunciar palabras. Cuando fui a modular una respuesta me interrumpió.
"¿Qué te pasa Mauro? ¿Estas como en pausa? ¿Está bien la señal? ¡HOLA! ¿me escuchas, me ves?” - Empezó a caminar por la sala de embarque como buscando señal.
“Si si, te escucho bien Valeria”- le dije.
“¡No parece!”- Rió y me miró con cara ahora entre sensual y sería, continuo.
“¿Me extrañas?” Me pregunto y elevo el celular bromeando como típicamente hace en su pose de selfie.
“Valeria, ¿no te acordas de haberme llamado hoy más temprano?”
“¿Llamado? No. ¿Por qué? Ah! ¿Sabías que hay pingüinos en tierra del fuego? Me hubiera gustado ir…”-
Continuó con su verborragica conversación con tono despreocupado, con sus típicos ademanes de manos y jugando con su pelo.
“Bueno al fin! - se interrumpió y gritó parándose de un salto de la silla - Nos llaman a abordar, nos vemos en un par de horas, ¡chau!”-
Se despidió con sonoridad sonriente, y comenzó a caminar hacia la puerta de embarque. Pero en el último segundo, antes de cortar, su gesto cambió. Miró a la cámara con el rostro endurecido y sin expresión emocional alguna y de forma casi mecánica susurro.
“(Voy por el diario).”
Mi estómago cayó al suelo y la sangre se me helo, no pude sacudirme la horrenda sensación de que esta persona, que regresaba, a la cual nunca en la vida la había llamado por su nombre completo; no era mi amiga.
Todavía tengo algunas horas, pensé. Necesito transcribir todo esto. Ya.
submitted by za_dorov to HistoriasdeTerror [link] [comments]
Conozco a esta persona hace años y el intercambio con ella en nuestras noches de bar, básicamente me hizo querer intentar estudiar esto. Después de que comencé la carrera nos hicimos aún más unidos y compartimos inquietudes sobre el devenir de la información, las redes y la infame callosidad cerebral que adquirimos para soportar la tragedia.
No les voy a mentir, algunas que otra vez compartimos la cama. Pero en general somos muy buenos amigos. Ventilo esto último, porque quiero que entiendan que confió en esta persona ciegamente y ella en mí, sobre todo, teniendo en cuenta que decidió mandarme una pieza de información tan bizarra y perturbadora que hacerla pública podría tener consecuencias que ni alcanzo a imaginar.
Mi amiga, llamémosle Valeria, formó parte de un concurso público para acompañar una expedición científica menor a la base Antártica Uruguaya. Su tesis trataba sobre investigar cómo se comporta la recepción de información en áreas remotas y aisladas.
La leí muy por arriba, pero básicamente su tesis trata de demostrar que la información circula y es recibida de manera particular en estas circunstancias por un grupo de gente no familiar que convive bajo condiciones extremas climáticas y de aislamiento. llegando a tener como ejemplo la vida en submarinos y en bases militares en Siberia.
La base Antártida le daba la posibilidad de observar de cerca algunas de sus postulaciones. Finalmente, logró ser elegida y viajó con este grupo científico en vuelo comercial Montevideo - Santiago de Chile para después llegar a Punta Arenas y volar a la base Antártida.
La última comunicación que tuve con ella antes de que me mandara las casi 90 capturas fotográficas del Diario, fue el 15 de marzo de 2024, hablamos de cómo estaba el clima en Montevideo, que no deja de llover y que los autos flotan por las calles. Me comentó que el transporte que los iba a llevar de vuelta estaba con problemas mecanicos y que probablemente tuvieran que pedir repuestos para el avión desde Punta Arenas. Que hace frío, sus compañeros son todos muy aburridos y que nadie tiene whisky por las noches. Reímos sobre esto último porque le dije que lleve por lo menos una grappa en la mochila.
Antes de despedirse, me dijo que había visto unas viejas estructuras de metal al sur de la base, y que iba a ir a explorarlas. No estaban cuando recién llegaron y que la reciente y atípica ola de calor probablemente debe haberla dejado al descubierto. Le dije que tuviera cuidado y nos despedimos.
Tres días después recibí un mail. “Valeria compartió un archivo contigo”. Cuando empiezo a ver de qué se trataba me llama.
“Mauro? MAURO, ¿Me escuchas?¡”- Me dijo con voz nerviosa y exaltada.
“Vale, te escucho muy mal que paso?” - le dije todavía acostado en mi cama
“Escúchame, no hables, solo escuchame y haceme caso.”- Por la agitación se podía notar que estaba caminando rápido o puede que corriendo. Las pisadas chirriantes de la nieve se escuchaban de fondo y a lo lejos, una sirena del tipo catástrofe.
“¿Estás bien?¿Qué pasó?¿Qué es ese ruido?”- Le dije ya incorporado y preocupado.
“Te envié un archivo. Pasalo a un pendrive, borra historiales y formatea el celular, la computadora y tu dirección de email. Después te explico, va a valer la pena.”
“¿Qué? ¿De qué hablas Vale? ¿Para que? ¡Decime qué pasa!”- Empecé a gritarle ya un poco asustado.
“Escuchame, encontré algo que se supone no debería existir. En el diario lo explica todo, estoy volviendo a la base, porque activé una alarma o algo. Guardame eso hasta que llegue y acordate que…” -
Se escucharon dos estruendos muy fuertes y el sonido del agua que invadía la transmisión. Un sonido de burbujeo ahogado y de resquebraje me hizo acordar al hielo que se desploma. Mi amiga había caído al agua, en la Antártida.
“¡Vale! ¡¿HEY, estás bien?! ¡¿Qué pasó?!” - Seguí gritando histérico hasta que la llamada se cortó.
Mire el celular un segundo. Mis manos temblaban, intenté llamar varias veces pero el celular se apagó.
Mire el archivo comprimido. Me levanté de un salto y corrí hacia el mueble del comedor, busqué frenéticamente un pendrive blanco que tiene que estar en algún cajón. No lo encontré, volví a mi escritorio, tiré del cajón con tanta fuerza que se salió del riel y cayó al piso, empecé a revolver mis pertenencias en el piso, monedas, papeles, tarjetas, nada.
Pensé, hice fuerza para recordar dónde lo había puesto. Al fin vi como mi mochila asomaba desde atrás de la silla, me lanze sobre ella y en el segundo bolsillo chico de adentro, estaba un pendrive barato blanco de 16G. Lo puse en la PC, descargue el archivo directamente ahí, lo saque y formatee la computadora y mi celular como Valeria dijo.
En el momento ni me cuestioné si esas medidas de verdad evitan que fuese rastreado, y la idea de que ese fuera el motivo hizo que el pánico me atravesara el cuerpo como un rayo. De igual forma lo hice. Sentado en el piso de mi cuarto al lado del desorden, mi cuerpo estaba entumecido por la tensión. Volvi a prender el celular para llamar a Lucia, su hermana.
“¿Hola?”
“Lucia, escúchame, creo que algo malo le pasó a Valeria, sentí como si se cayera al agua, y unos estruendos. No sé bien que escuche, creo que se metió en algún problema o lugar que no debió.”
Mientras hablaba me percate que estaba desvariando y sin decir nada claro. Por alguna razón, no mencione el archivo.
“No puede ser Mauro, acabo de cortar con ella. Estaba en el aeropuerto de Santiago en la sala de embarque, hablamos como media hora, me dijo que traía un bourbon especial para compartir y…
Deje de escuchar, no tenía sentido, cómo podía ser? ¡Qué carajo está pasando!
“Mauro, estás bien? ¿te pasa algo? es muy temprano no lo habrás soñado?”
“¿Hablaste con ella?¿Hace media hora? Pero…,”- Exclamé sin poder disimular mi confusión. Y continúe
“¿Estas… segura que era ella?
“¡Si, claro, imbécil, es mi hermana! ¿volviste a fumar en ayunas?”
“No, tenes razón, Nada, Gracias Lucia, hablamos.” - Corte la llamada sin dejarla despedirse.
“¿Lo soñé? Borre todo ahora. ¿cómo voy a saber si lo soñé?”- Dude absurdamente.
De verdad que todo esto es surreal pensé mientras observaba el pendrive en mi mano. Me despabilé y fui a buscar al galpón la vieja laptop que me dejó mi hermano antes de irse a España. Era prácticamente inservible, pero para ver el archivo alcanzaba. La encendí, espere que el decrépito windows XP cargara, y coloque el pendrive, abrir la carpeta comprimida y me tope con dos archivos.
“Notas Laboratorio.pdf”
“Diario.pdf”
Decidí abrir primero el diario. Por lo que interprete en el orden de carga de las capturas, luego de leerlo, abrí la imagen de la última página.
Transcribo tal cual.
Día 243 de la 2da misión 10 40 am. 12 de marzo de 2019.
Soy Jefe científico del Área psicológica en la base Antártida de la ONU. En el proyecto clasificado Sísifo.
Esto va a sonar como una locura. La persona que vive con mi familia es mi clon.
Todavía me sigue sorprendiendo cuando lo escribo, pero luego de lograr poder replicar la historia cerebro-muscular (o sea la memoria) de cualquier persona y al haber dominado replicar nuestros cuerpos a cualquier edad, era cuestión de tiempo que el desarrollo de la biotecnología social surgiera. Ahora sí y por acuerdo mundial, como completo secreto. No hay absolutamente ninguna pizca de ética en lo que hacemos, ya no hay limitante sobre lo que podemos hacerles a los sujetos en esta base. Eso me atormenta cada día.
Todo se fue a la mierda muy rápido, dudo que alguien venga a rescatarnos. El protocolo lo dice, la base ante un riesgo inminente de seguridad se borrara así misma. La estructura fue diseñada para colapsar metódicamente siguiendo un protocolo de incineración y hundimiento.
Las inmediaciones poseen minas subacuáticas que hacen colapsar el hielo de manera casi imperceptible, pero mortal para el que intente irse. Nadie puede escapar de la base, ni el personal, ni los sujetos. Nuestro lugar en el mundo ya está ocupado.
Solo espero que este diario junto con mis notas de laboratorio sean encontradas en algún momento, logre construirle un pequeño empaque aislante así que confío que sobreviva en caso de que esta parte del edificio colapse también.
Por favor, usar estos datos para que el mundo sepa que paso aca y no dejen que una vez mas la perversidad nos defina.
A mi familia: los amo y extraño cada minuto.
B.
En el momento que termine de leer este pasaje, recibo una videollamada que me hace saltar del susto, es…
Valeria.
Con el pulso exaltado en temblor contesto la llamada.
“¡Hola! el vuelo se demoró, ¿podes creer? la verdad que uno de los peor viajes de mi vida. Tengo mucha hambre y todo es carisimo aca. ¿Vos qué haces? contame algo por favor que estoy muuuuy aburrida!”
La mire con confusión y no logré pronunciar palabras. Cuando fui a modular una respuesta me interrumpió.
"¿Qué te pasa Mauro? ¿Estas como en pausa? ¿Está bien la señal? ¡HOLA! ¿me escuchas, me ves?” - Empezó a caminar por la sala de embarque como buscando señal.
“Si si, te escucho bien Valeria”- le dije.
“¡No parece!”- Rió y me miró con cara ahora entre sensual y sería, continuo.
“¿Me extrañas?” Me pregunto y elevo el celular bromeando como típicamente hace en su pose de selfie.
“Valeria, ¿no te acordas de haberme llamado hoy más temprano?”
“¿Llamado? No. ¿Por qué? Ah! ¿Sabías que hay pingüinos en tierra del fuego? Me hubiera gustado ir…”-
Continuó con su verborragica conversación con tono despreocupado, con sus típicos ademanes de manos y jugando con su pelo.
“Bueno al fin! - se interrumpió y gritó parándose de un salto de la silla - Nos llaman a abordar, nos vemos en un par de horas, ¡chau!”-
Se despidió con sonoridad sonriente, y comenzó a caminar hacia la puerta de embarque. Pero en el último segundo, antes de cortar, su gesto cambió. Miró a la cámara con el rostro endurecido y sin expresión emocional alguna y de forma casi mecánica susurro.
“(Voy por el diario).”
Mi estómago cayó al suelo y la sangre se me helo, no pude sacudirme la horrenda sensación de que esta persona, que regresaba, a la cual nunca en la vida la había llamado por su nombre completo; no era mi amiga.
Todavía tengo algunas horas, pensé. Necesito transcribir todo esto. Ya.
2024.05.13 19:34 Relative-Obscurity My wife and I got cast in a reality show pilot. Unspeakable things happened on set.
Link to original nosleep post:
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/1b5iszd/my_wife_and_i_got_cast_in_a_reality_show_pilot/
I had just wrapped work on a Friday night, when my wife, Cara, first told me about the ad.
"I don't know how long I can work for this guy anymore." I said to her, closing my laptop for the weekend.
"Alan?" She replied.
"Yeah. He's such a prick. Everything's urgent, and everything's a fire drill. Until he doesn't care about it anymore."
"You know what you should do?"
"What?"
"Kick his ass."
"I wish. But you know full well that I don't have a threatening bone in my body. I'm a lover not a fighter." I said with a wink.
"Oh, that reminds me! Speaking of lovers." My wife said with a smile, pulling out her phone. "Look at this."
Taking the phone from her hand, I saw that she had saved a job posting.
"New Reality Series Seeks Married Couples For Chance To Win Once In A Lifetime Prize."
At first, I scoffed at it. Having been happily married for a few years now, and both of us gainfully employed, I was pretty confident that neither my wife nor I sought money or fame. We already had everything a couple could ever want.
"Why would we ever go on a reality show?" I asked.
"Keep reading," Cara replied, pointing to the bottom of the posting.
I did as she suggested.
"The winning couple will receive a once in a lifetime chance to work with one of the best fertility doctors in the world, to aid them in having a child."
Okay, maybe we didn't quite have everything a couple could want.
I looked at my wife. "Enticing, yes. But I mean, what are the chances we'd actually get cast?"
"Hey, you can't win if you don't play, right?" Cara replied, "And what other choice do we have?"
She had a point. We'd been trying to conceive for a few years, but no matter the approach, whether natural, IUI, or IVF, you name it, the outcome was always the same.
It was the one thing we didn't have. The one thing, save for surrogacy or adoption, that money couldn't buy...
...Having a child of our own.
And so...
...The next day, we reached out to the production company's nondescript email address...
...A couple days later, we heard back...
...And a week later, we found ourselves on a video call with a casting director, attempting to sell her on why they should choose us as one of the five couples competing in their pilot, and why we deserved the prize.
But my wife and I both left the meeting thinking we botched it, each of us walking away with the same feeling that one gets after a flubbed job interview.
And so, we both resolved to go back to our lives. Back to being realistic about the situation. And even started looking into some adoption agencies.
That is, until a week later, when Cara and I received an email from the production company...
...Informing us that we were selected to participate in the reality show pilot!
A few signed contracts, NDAs, and talent release forms later, and my wife and I were off on an all-expense paid trip to Los Angeles.
I remember pulling into the parking lot of the production studio that first day, and finding it a bit strange that a TV show would be filmed in such a rundown, dilapidated warehouse. But I knew nothing about production, and chalked it up to budgetary constraints. And, after all, we had already traveled too far, and there was too much on the line, to turn back now.
Upon entering the building's lobby, we were immediately welcomed in by the show's producer, Phil, whose warm greeting through his medical mask, quickly turned sour, "You're late! Literally the last couple to arrive! Hurry, hurry! Follow me! We're about to start!"
I thought it a bit rude, and noticed a concerned look wash over Cara's face. But then I remembered it was our fault, after all, that we underestimated LA traffic, so I bit my tongue.
Phil then confiscated both of our cell phones, before escorting us out of the lobby, down a long hallway, around a corner, and into a massive lounge, lit by professional lights, with five couches scattered about. Four of which were occupied by other couples, who were sitting there, patiently waiting, when we finally entered the room.
"So sorry!" I called out to them, while simultaneously waving "Hello," as I sat down in one of the loveseats.
"Thanks for your patience!" Cara added, as she took a seat beside me.
But our peers and competitors didn't even have a chance to react, as Phil suddenly ran into the room with a similarly masked production crew of about ten individuals, and got right down to business.
I thought it strange that they were all masked, assuming that covid regulations had long ended, but before I could dwell on the details too much, Phil yelled out, "Alright, places people! Sound!"
"Speed!" A few masked sound guys yelled back, as they hit record on their audio devices and aimed their boom microphones at the front of the room.
"Camera!" Phil continued.
"Speeding!" Several masked camera men replied, in unison, each carrying a broadcast camera on their shoulder.
"Slate!" Phil added, as a masked production assistant ran up to the front of the room, where there was a set of two doors on the far wall, and a door to the side that must have led offstage. He then opened his clapboard, for all of the cameras and microphones to see and hear.
I wondered why they hadn't filled out the section on the clapboard where the first take would go, but my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of it clapping.
CLAP!
Then Phil gestured to what must have been the director, who was hanging back in the shadows, his features hidden in the dark, outside of the set's bright lights.
"Action!" The director yelled out for all to hear.
And then...
...There was silence.
All of us couples looked at each other with a smile, literally on the edge of our seats, when suddenly, we heard the voice of a middle aged man ring out over the speakers that had been mounted to the ceiling of the lounge. "Ladies and gentlemen! Who's excited to make history?"
The cameras turned to the ten participants, including Cara and myself, and we all immediately started clapping and whistling, before they turned back to the man.
"I'm your anonymous host, four time husband, and five time divorcee!"
The group erupted in laughter, cheering him on, as they looked up at the speakers.
"And you know what? I'm not proud of that. Cause, much like you, deep down inside, I want to love and be loved. To have the fortitude, the patience, and the will to fight on through good times and bad, all in the name of love. Which is why I've brought you all here. Yes, you! Give yourselves a round of applause!" He said, before pausing to allow us all to react.
And so we did, all the couples clapping and smiling.
"Yes, I'm here, hosting and watching remotely, to learn from the five happily married couples before us, what the secret is to persevering through the challenges that life throws our way. To see what ends you'll all go to in support of your marriage, and if you'll do... anything for love. Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome... to Anything For Love."
Everyone let out a nervous laugh, but kept applauding anyway.
"And now... it's time for the rules. In this reality competition, the first of its kind, you'll be split up into two groups, five men and five women, and separated from each other for the duration of the game. Over the course of the show, both teams will compete in four challenges, with each challenge resulting in one loser, who will be promptly eliminated. At the end of the game, the winning player from each team will be revealed. If those two players are not members of the same couple, then no one wins. But if those two players happen to be members of the same couple, they win the game, and a once in a lifetime prize... The chance to work with one of the best fertility doctors in the world, to aid them in having a child. So before we begin, let me ask you this... Are you prepared to do anything for love?"
His voice blasted out from the speakers with so much enthusiasm, and so much energy, that in that moment, every single one of us hopped up out of our seats, and began cheering and clapping.
Eventually, the applause faded, and our host continued, "Now, will the men please line up on the left side of the room, and the women on the right?"
The couples did exactly as he asked, and when we had finally split up into two groups, men and women, our host simply said. "Now goodluck! And I can't wait to see who makes it to the end!"
Suddenly, the two doors at the front of the room opened, and each group was escorted by a masked production assistant through one of the doors, separating the husbands from the wives, until that fateful moment at the end of the show, when only the two winners will be reunited.
For the first couple games, I didn't know where they took the wives, or what kind of challenges my own wife was facing. All I knew were the games they presented to us husbands.
Games that were, let's just say...
...Utterly fucked.
As all five men entered the room for the first game, we all saw before us, a massive open factory space, that had been adorned with only one simple piece of art direction at its center... a small wooden table.
"Will the contestants please make their way to the table." The host called out over this room's ceiling-mounted speakers.
We did as he said, as the masked camera crew followed us to the center of the room.
"The rules of game one are simple. In marriage, you must sometimes sacrifice a piece of yourself, for the greater good. Today, that sacrifice... is your wedding ring. But not just your wedding ring... your entire ring finger!"
The five guys and myself all turned to one another and chuckled, assuming he was kidding.
But suddenly, a door opened into the factory, and a masked crew member proceeded to walk over to the table holding a steak knife.
He didn't say anything, and simply stared at us through his mask, as the host continued.
"The last person to cut their finger off, or the first to give up, is the loser. And will be promptly escorted from the premises."
What the fuck. I thought to myself, realizing the host wasn't kidding.
"Wait a minute," a few of the men mumbled.
But one of them, the most obnoxious in the group, could not have been less afraid, puffing out his chest and yelling into a camera, "Fine! I'll go first. I aint afraid."
He then slammed his hand down on the table, clenching his fist in a way that only exposed his ring finger.
There was a brief moment of silence until...
...Suddenly the masked crew member grabbed the husband's hand and brought down his blade so hard, that it cut the man's finger clean off, blood spraying all over the table.
It took the arrogant man a moment to process what had just happened, before he started screaming in pain, a scream that turned into a maniacal laugh, as medical staff ran over to tend to his wound.
Meanwhile, the rest of us guys looked on in horror, as we saw blood pouring from his hand, and realized we were next.
The wounded husband then looked directly into one of the cameras and defiantly said, "That was nothing." Before turning back to us and asking, "Come on. Who's next fellas?"
Two more of the men begrudgingly followed suit, each of their ring fingers being severed from their hands, leaving just myself and one husband left.
We were both shaking in fear, but the other guy was terrified, that he started begging the producer for a way out. "Wait you can't be serious? We really need to do that? Please. Please don't make me.
"The show is called Anything For Love." Phil replied. "And you signed paperwork that warned you things like this would come up."
"I didn't read that!" The nervous man yelled back.
But before he even had a chance to consider participating, I must have accidentally leaned on the table with my hand.
"Wait!" The nervous man yelled out...
...But it was too late. Before either he or I noticed, the masked man had already amputated my ring finger, blood spraying everywhere, as I let out a great scream that echoed throughout the factory.
And as the medical staff ran over to me, just as they had done for the others who had gone before me, I heard the host's voice on the speakers again. "Congratulations, gentlemen! Four of you have shown that you'll do anything for love. While the fifth, did not have what it takes, and must now return home."
And like that, a couple masked production assistants grabbed the nervous man by the shoulders, and escorted him out of the room.
It was in the aftermath of that first game, that I realized the title of the show, "Anything For Love," was not just a play on words, but the literal description of what we would need to do to win.
And then, the host continued.
"Will the remaining four husbands please walk through the open door, and into the next room."
We did as he asked.
On the way there, I looked down at my missing finger, its stump wrapped in gauze, and couldn't help but wonder if Cara had also been forced to make the same choice, and if she had gone through with it.
When we entered the second room, we all saw another giant warehouse space. Except this time, instead of being sparse, it was completely overgrown with shrubs of thorny vines, separating where we stood, from the other side.
"Love is both a rose, but also has thorns." The host called out over the room's speakers. "It can make you feel euphoric pleasure, but at the same time extreme pain. In game two, you'll need to prove that you can overcome that pain to get to the other side, and make it to game three. The last person to crawl through the thorns, or the first person to give up, will be promptly eliminated from the show and removed from the premises. Will you do anything for love? The game starts... now."
The four husbands all looked at each other, then back at the thorns, then back at each other, before the arrogant man, who was standing beside me, made me a proposition. "Let's team up. If we follow the same path, we can take turns, one of us pushing forward for a while, then the other, and it'll save us half the pain.”
But I didn't like the idea of cheating, or supporting such an asshole, so I politely declined. "Sorry man."
"Fine, have it your way, idiot. I don't need your help, I was just trying to help him out." The arrogant man said to one of the cameras, before he turned around and charged into the thorns.
The rest of us husbands, including myself, still in shock from what had happened in the first game and clenching our wounded hands, looked at each other, and then back at the production crew. But a group of them were standing behind us, ready to push us into the thorns, should we decide not to comply.
So we all proceeded to follow the arrogant husband into the thorns, and began a race, through what felt like a football field's length of sharp vines, each of us doing our best to avoid what we could, but inevitably getting scratched over and over and over again, to the point where our bodies were covered in blood.
And when I finally crossed the finish line, and stepped out of the thorny shrubs bloody and exhausted, I was relieved to find that only two husbands had beat me there. The arrogant man, of course, and another.
We all looked back, to find the fourth pour soul still halfway through the shrubs, his clothes caught in the thorns.
"Wait for me!" He called out. But it was too late.
"Congratulations, winners!" The host's voice called out over the speakers. "You've proven you would truly do anything for love, and can proceed on to the next game. And as for the loser, please remove him from the game."
Then, a couple crew members wearing rubber suits and carrying shears, cut their way through the thorns, freed the fourth husband from the thorns, and escorted him out of the factory.
As the three remaining husbands left the second room and entered the third, my thoughts once again returned to my wife, and wondered whether she too was faced with the same challenge, and had made it through the thorns.
Game three is where things... escalated.
When we entered the next factory, I saw three beds in the center of the room, each with a TV next to it.
"Remaining contestants, welcome to the semi final challenge." The host bellowed out over the room's speakers. "Will you each please choose a bed."
The three of us did as he asked, and walked to the center of the room, each of us standing in front of one the beds.
Then, a door opened and three masked women emerged, making their way to the center of the room, and each lying down on one of the beds.
"The rules of game three are as follows." He continued. "You simply have to sex with the stranger before you..."
The arrogant husband looked at me and smiled.
"...While watching your partner do the same."
Suddenly, the three TVs turned on, each displaying our wives in the very same situation. And lying on each of their beds, was a masked man.
"First off, we assure you that the women and men before you complied consensually, and have been tested for STDs. So the test of this game is not about morality, or safety, but fidelity. Would you cheat on your significant other, for the greater good of the relationship? The last couple to have sex, or the first to refuse, will lose. While the others, will proceed on to the final challenge."
I looked at my wife on the TV screen, relieved that she had made it this far, but started in shaking fear of what we both have to do to win.
Meanwhile, the arrogant husband started unclipping his belt button and turned to one of the cameras. "You call this a semi final? My wife and I are in an open relationship. Bring it on!"
While the third man, simply stared at his TV screen, sweating and pacing, clearly terrified to go through with it, and watch his wife do the same.
"The game begins... now!” The host called out.
As the arrogant man began to have sex with the woman on his bed, his naked body still littered with fresh scratches from the thorns, I thought about trying to escape, but then I saw the timid husband, and realized his hesitation was an opportunity for me to make it to the next round.
And so, I too removed my clothes and exposed my wounded body, crawling into bed with the masked woman, as my wife did the same with the masked man.
Before long, it was over, the arrogant man laying there naked and smiling into one of the cameras, while I, also naked, hung my head in shame for what I had just done.
I looked at the TV screen, and saw my wife put her clothes back on too. We had both made it.
The same could not be said for the nervous man and his wife, who both stayed true to their values, neither engaging in the act, before masked crew members promptly escorted them out of the factory.
And then there were two. Well, two couples that is. Myself against the arrogant man, my wife against his.
Masked production assistants then brought myself and my competitor into the room where the final challenge would be held.
It, much like the first room, was completely bare save for a dinner table at its center, where two plates and sets of utensils were set out.
"Finalists. Welcome to the fourth and last challenge. Will both contestants please take a seat at the dinner table."
We followed his instructions, as we had done previously, and sat down at the table, before a couple production assistants ran over and helped us tuck bibs into our shirts.
"The rules of game four are perhaps the most simple of all. You'll be presented with an item that you must eat. The first to finish eating it, is the winner." The host said over the room's speakers.
That's when a door opened and two masked PAs came out holding trays, and began rushing them over to us.
As they approached us, I began to panic, knowing that whatever it was that they were about to present to us, would likely even be more terrifying than anything we had encountered in the previous games.
"Sometimes you have to break a heart, to win another." The host called out, "In this challenge, the item you'll need to eat is..."
At that exact moment, the two PAs each removed a pair of tongs from their pocket, uncovered their tray, and placed the item on our plates.
"...A human heart."
I gasped, and nearly threw up in my mouth, as I saw the disgusting bloody organ lying there on my plate.
"May the best husband win! Goodluck, the game starts... now!"
For a minute, I hesitated, disgusted by the challenge set before me, but then I thought about what was on the line, and saw the arrogant husband immediately biting into his heart, blood pouring down his face.
I hurried to catch up, briefly fumbling my own heart, before chomping into it, and attempting to eat it as fast as I could, as blood sprayed all over my own face.
But the arrogant husband had gotten a head start, and was moving too quickly. No matter how fast I ate it, it was becoming clear that if nothing was done, he would surely beat me..
So, not knowing what else to do…
…I slammed what was left of my heart onto the plate, removed my bib, stood up, and proceeded to tackle the arrogant man out of his seat, sending his heart sliding across the concrete floor.
"What the fuck are you doing, man?" He asked, likely surprised that I was capable of such an act.
"I'm doing what needs to be done for love." I replied, before pummeling him over and over in the face with my fist, as I channeled my innermost frustrations, ranging from the traumatic experience we had just gone through, the arrogant husband’s obnoxious behavior throughout the game, years of belittlement from asshole boss, and my wife and my countless failed attempts at getting pregnant over the years.
I kept pummeling him, until he had completely shut the fuck up, and was simply mumbling incoherent words, his face a bloody pulp, blood bubbling out of his mouth.
I then stood up, walked back to the table, sat down, put the bib back on, and took the last bite of my heart.
"Congratulations, you’ve proved that you'll truly do anything for love, and have won the show! Please remove the loser."
Rather than celebrate, my mind once again returned to my wife, worried about her well being and wondering if she too, had mustered up the courage to eat the heart, and had become the winning wife.
A couple masked production assitants then ran over and dragged the arrogant husband away, as he simply stared at me in shock.
I looked down at my hands, which were still covered in blood, then up at one of the cameras, which was now right up in my face.
“How do you feel?” Phil asked, prompting me to speak to the camera.
But I couldn’t bring myself to speak any words.
I tried to think of something to say, but before I could, a door opened, and the masked PAs grabbed me by the arms and escorted me out of the last room and into an adjacent hallway, which led to a huge set of double doors.
"Winners,” the host said over the hallway’s speakers. “You stand here before us, victorious, each of you on one side of the doors. Now it is time, to find out if the person on the other side… is your partner… and if you both had what it takes, to do anything for love."
I took a deep breath, expecting the worst. Expecting to see the arrogant man’s wife on the other side. After all that.
But when the doors opened, I simply saw…
...My wife, standing there on the other side.
We ran to each other and embraced, both of us missing our ring fingers, littered in scratches, emotionally exhausted, and with faces and hands that were covered in blood.
"Congratulations!" The host continued, "You're the winners of Anything for Love!"
Both crying, we smiled at each other, but our smiles quickly turned into looks of sadness.
We'd won. But at what cost? I wondered, before the thought was overshadowed by that of the once in a lifetime prize that awaited us.
The producer, Phil, then brought us into yet another room, where we met a doctor, his face covered by a surgical mask, and both shook his hand.
"When you two showed up late,” Phil began, “I never thought you'd be the ones to win. But you did. So we stand by our promise. After you return home, you’ll be contacted by the doctor, who will provide you with the guidance and resources to hopefully have a baby of your own. That part, is obviously not guaranteed."
"Thank you." My wife replied, clearly torn by saying those words. “Understood.”
"Thank you." I added, also torn, before realizing that the camera crew didn't follow us into the room with the doctor. "But can I ask, why aren't you filming this part?"
"Oh, our audience only cares about watching the games." Phil replied with a chuckle.
"Audience? But we just filmed it."
"Oh, yeah we were livestreaming the whole time."
"I thought it was just a pilot. Who was watching?"
"The subscribers."
"Who are they?"
"A very small, very privileged group of people, who can't be bothered by pedestrian entertainment. They desire something more... elevated."
"Will this ever be a real show?"
"This? Of course not." Phil laughed, "No one else will ever watch this again. And no one but the small group of contestants and this crew, will ever know of what went on here."
"What happened to the other couples?"
"Oh they're fine. Aside from missing fingers, and being a little physically and emotionally scratched up. We'll do with them exactly what we'll do with you. Drop them off somewhere just far enough away that after we give them their phones back, if they choose to call the police or tell anyone about this place, by the time they come here to investigate, they'll find this factory abandoned, without a trace of what went on here today. The same goes for you. By the way, we better get you ready to go, your car will be arriving any minute now.”
Neither my wife nor myself had the energy to conjure up a reply.
"Thank you again for playing!" Phil said through his mask, "And on behalf of the subscribers, please enjoy your prize!"
He then led us out down a long hallway, through a back door, and into an alley, where a car was waiting to take us away.
"The chauffeur will provide you with your phones upon your arrival."
An hour or so later, the driver pulled over on the side of a highway, and let us off, handing us our phones just as Phil had promised.
But rather than call the police, we just stood there for a while, still horrified by the terrifying experience we had just been put through.
And ultimately… we decided that since we had won, it'd be best to leave it alone.
We hitched a ride back home, and sure enough, about a week later...
...We received a call from the doctor...
...And less than a year after that, my wife gave birth to our baby boy.
Sometimes, I think back to that day, and the terrible games they set before us, and wonder if my wife and I went too far to win…
...But then I look at my newborn son, and all the doubt, all the shame, all the horror, washes away.
And as for the subscribers. Every once in a while, when a car drives suspiciously slow past our house, or I get the feeling that my baby monitor might have just moved on its own, I wonder if they're still watching us, and if this is just the next episode of their reality show.
submitted by Relative-Obscurity to relativeobscurity [link] [comments]
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/1b5iszd/my_wife_and_i_got_cast_in_a_reality_show_pilot/
I had just wrapped work on a Friday night, when my wife, Cara, first told me about the ad.
"I don't know how long I can work for this guy anymore." I said to her, closing my laptop for the weekend.
"Alan?" She replied.
"Yeah. He's such a prick. Everything's urgent, and everything's a fire drill. Until he doesn't care about it anymore."
"You know what you should do?"
"What?"
"Kick his ass."
"I wish. But you know full well that I don't have a threatening bone in my body. I'm a lover not a fighter." I said with a wink.
"Oh, that reminds me! Speaking of lovers." My wife said with a smile, pulling out her phone. "Look at this."
Taking the phone from her hand, I saw that she had saved a job posting.
"New Reality Series Seeks Married Couples For Chance To Win Once In A Lifetime Prize."
At first, I scoffed at it. Having been happily married for a few years now, and both of us gainfully employed, I was pretty confident that neither my wife nor I sought money or fame. We already had everything a couple could ever want.
"Why would we ever go on a reality show?" I asked.
"Keep reading," Cara replied, pointing to the bottom of the posting.
I did as she suggested.
"The winning couple will receive a once in a lifetime chance to work with one of the best fertility doctors in the world, to aid them in having a child."
Okay, maybe we didn't quite have everything a couple could want.
I looked at my wife. "Enticing, yes. But I mean, what are the chances we'd actually get cast?"
"Hey, you can't win if you don't play, right?" Cara replied, "And what other choice do we have?"
She had a point. We'd been trying to conceive for a few years, but no matter the approach, whether natural, IUI, or IVF, you name it, the outcome was always the same.
It was the one thing we didn't have. The one thing, save for surrogacy or adoption, that money couldn't buy...
...Having a child of our own.
And so...
...The next day, we reached out to the production company's nondescript email address...
...A couple days later, we heard back...
...And a week later, we found ourselves on a video call with a casting director, attempting to sell her on why they should choose us as one of the five couples competing in their pilot, and why we deserved the prize.
But my wife and I both left the meeting thinking we botched it, each of us walking away with the same feeling that one gets after a flubbed job interview.
And so, we both resolved to go back to our lives. Back to being realistic about the situation. And even started looking into some adoption agencies.
That is, until a week later, when Cara and I received an email from the production company...
...Informing us that we were selected to participate in the reality show pilot!
A few signed contracts, NDAs, and talent release forms later, and my wife and I were off on an all-expense paid trip to Los Angeles.
I remember pulling into the parking lot of the production studio that first day, and finding it a bit strange that a TV show would be filmed in such a rundown, dilapidated warehouse. But I knew nothing about production, and chalked it up to budgetary constraints. And, after all, we had already traveled too far, and there was too much on the line, to turn back now.
Upon entering the building's lobby, we were immediately welcomed in by the show's producer, Phil, whose warm greeting through his medical mask, quickly turned sour, "You're late! Literally the last couple to arrive! Hurry, hurry! Follow me! We're about to start!"
I thought it a bit rude, and noticed a concerned look wash over Cara's face. But then I remembered it was our fault, after all, that we underestimated LA traffic, so I bit my tongue.
Phil then confiscated both of our cell phones, before escorting us out of the lobby, down a long hallway, around a corner, and into a massive lounge, lit by professional lights, with five couches scattered about. Four of which were occupied by other couples, who were sitting there, patiently waiting, when we finally entered the room.
"So sorry!" I called out to them, while simultaneously waving "Hello," as I sat down in one of the loveseats.
"Thanks for your patience!" Cara added, as she took a seat beside me.
But our peers and competitors didn't even have a chance to react, as Phil suddenly ran into the room with a similarly masked production crew of about ten individuals, and got right down to business.
I thought it strange that they were all masked, assuming that covid regulations had long ended, but before I could dwell on the details too much, Phil yelled out, "Alright, places people! Sound!"
"Speed!" A few masked sound guys yelled back, as they hit record on their audio devices and aimed their boom microphones at the front of the room.
"Camera!" Phil continued.
"Speeding!" Several masked camera men replied, in unison, each carrying a broadcast camera on their shoulder.
"Slate!" Phil added, as a masked production assistant ran up to the front of the room, where there was a set of two doors on the far wall, and a door to the side that must have led offstage. He then opened his clapboard, for all of the cameras and microphones to see and hear.
I wondered why they hadn't filled out the section on the clapboard where the first take would go, but my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of it clapping.
CLAP!
Then Phil gestured to what must have been the director, who was hanging back in the shadows, his features hidden in the dark, outside of the set's bright lights.
"Action!" The director yelled out for all to hear.
And then...
...There was silence.
All of us couples looked at each other with a smile, literally on the edge of our seats, when suddenly, we heard the voice of a middle aged man ring out over the speakers that had been mounted to the ceiling of the lounge. "Ladies and gentlemen! Who's excited to make history?"
The cameras turned to the ten participants, including Cara and myself, and we all immediately started clapping and whistling, before they turned back to the man.
"I'm your anonymous host, four time husband, and five time divorcee!"
The group erupted in laughter, cheering him on, as they looked up at the speakers.
"And you know what? I'm not proud of that. Cause, much like you, deep down inside, I want to love and be loved. To have the fortitude, the patience, and the will to fight on through good times and bad, all in the name of love. Which is why I've brought you all here. Yes, you! Give yourselves a round of applause!" He said, before pausing to allow us all to react.
And so we did, all the couples clapping and smiling.
"Yes, I'm here, hosting and watching remotely, to learn from the five happily married couples before us, what the secret is to persevering through the challenges that life throws our way. To see what ends you'll all go to in support of your marriage, and if you'll do... anything for love. Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome... to Anything For Love."
Everyone let out a nervous laugh, but kept applauding anyway.
"And now... it's time for the rules. In this reality competition, the first of its kind, you'll be split up into two groups, five men and five women, and separated from each other for the duration of the game. Over the course of the show, both teams will compete in four challenges, with each challenge resulting in one loser, who will be promptly eliminated. At the end of the game, the winning player from each team will be revealed. If those two players are not members of the same couple, then no one wins. But if those two players happen to be members of the same couple, they win the game, and a once in a lifetime prize... The chance to work with one of the best fertility doctors in the world, to aid them in having a child. So before we begin, let me ask you this... Are you prepared to do anything for love?"
His voice blasted out from the speakers with so much enthusiasm, and so much energy, that in that moment, every single one of us hopped up out of our seats, and began cheering and clapping.
Eventually, the applause faded, and our host continued, "Now, will the men please line up on the left side of the room, and the women on the right?"
The couples did exactly as he asked, and when we had finally split up into two groups, men and women, our host simply said. "Now goodluck! And I can't wait to see who makes it to the end!"
Suddenly, the two doors at the front of the room opened, and each group was escorted by a masked production assistant through one of the doors, separating the husbands from the wives, until that fateful moment at the end of the show, when only the two winners will be reunited.
For the first couple games, I didn't know where they took the wives, or what kind of challenges my own wife was facing. All I knew were the games they presented to us husbands.
Games that were, let's just say...
...Utterly fucked.
As all five men entered the room for the first game, we all saw before us, a massive open factory space, that had been adorned with only one simple piece of art direction at its center... a small wooden table.
"Will the contestants please make their way to the table." The host called out over this room's ceiling-mounted speakers.
We did as he said, as the masked camera crew followed us to the center of the room.
"The rules of game one are simple. In marriage, you must sometimes sacrifice a piece of yourself, for the greater good. Today, that sacrifice... is your wedding ring. But not just your wedding ring... your entire ring finger!"
The five guys and myself all turned to one another and chuckled, assuming he was kidding.
But suddenly, a door opened into the factory, and a masked crew member proceeded to walk over to the table holding a steak knife.
He didn't say anything, and simply stared at us through his mask, as the host continued.
"The last person to cut their finger off, or the first to give up, is the loser. And will be promptly escorted from the premises."
What the fuck. I thought to myself, realizing the host wasn't kidding.
"Wait a minute," a few of the men mumbled.
But one of them, the most obnoxious in the group, could not have been less afraid, puffing out his chest and yelling into a camera, "Fine! I'll go first. I aint afraid."
He then slammed his hand down on the table, clenching his fist in a way that only exposed his ring finger.
There was a brief moment of silence until...
...Suddenly the masked crew member grabbed the husband's hand and brought down his blade so hard, that it cut the man's finger clean off, blood spraying all over the table.
It took the arrogant man a moment to process what had just happened, before he started screaming in pain, a scream that turned into a maniacal laugh, as medical staff ran over to tend to his wound.
Meanwhile, the rest of us guys looked on in horror, as we saw blood pouring from his hand, and realized we were next.
The wounded husband then looked directly into one of the cameras and defiantly said, "That was nothing." Before turning back to us and asking, "Come on. Who's next fellas?"
Two more of the men begrudgingly followed suit, each of their ring fingers being severed from their hands, leaving just myself and one husband left.
We were both shaking in fear, but the other guy was terrified, that he started begging the producer for a way out. "Wait you can't be serious? We really need to do that? Please. Please don't make me.
"The show is called Anything For Love." Phil replied. "And you signed paperwork that warned you things like this would come up."
"I didn't read that!" The nervous man yelled back.
But before he even had a chance to consider participating, I must have accidentally leaned on the table with my hand.
"Wait!" The nervous man yelled out...
...But it was too late. Before either he or I noticed, the masked man had already amputated my ring finger, blood spraying everywhere, as I let out a great scream that echoed throughout the factory.
And as the medical staff ran over to me, just as they had done for the others who had gone before me, I heard the host's voice on the speakers again. "Congratulations, gentlemen! Four of you have shown that you'll do anything for love. While the fifth, did not have what it takes, and must now return home."
And like that, a couple masked production assistants grabbed the nervous man by the shoulders, and escorted him out of the room.
It was in the aftermath of that first game, that I realized the title of the show, "Anything For Love," was not just a play on words, but the literal description of what we would need to do to win.
And then, the host continued.
"Will the remaining four husbands please walk through the open door, and into the next room."
We did as he asked.
On the way there, I looked down at my missing finger, its stump wrapped in gauze, and couldn't help but wonder if Cara had also been forced to make the same choice, and if she had gone through with it.
When we entered the second room, we all saw another giant warehouse space. Except this time, instead of being sparse, it was completely overgrown with shrubs of thorny vines, separating where we stood, from the other side.
"Love is both a rose, but also has thorns." The host called out over the room's speakers. "It can make you feel euphoric pleasure, but at the same time extreme pain. In game two, you'll need to prove that you can overcome that pain to get to the other side, and make it to game three. The last person to crawl through the thorns, or the first person to give up, will be promptly eliminated from the show and removed from the premises. Will you do anything for love? The game starts... now."
The four husbands all looked at each other, then back at the thorns, then back at each other, before the arrogant man, who was standing beside me, made me a proposition. "Let's team up. If we follow the same path, we can take turns, one of us pushing forward for a while, then the other, and it'll save us half the pain.”
But I didn't like the idea of cheating, or supporting such an asshole, so I politely declined. "Sorry man."
"Fine, have it your way, idiot. I don't need your help, I was just trying to help him out." The arrogant man said to one of the cameras, before he turned around and charged into the thorns.
The rest of us husbands, including myself, still in shock from what had happened in the first game and clenching our wounded hands, looked at each other, and then back at the production crew. But a group of them were standing behind us, ready to push us into the thorns, should we decide not to comply.
So we all proceeded to follow the arrogant husband into the thorns, and began a race, through what felt like a football field's length of sharp vines, each of us doing our best to avoid what we could, but inevitably getting scratched over and over and over again, to the point where our bodies were covered in blood.
And when I finally crossed the finish line, and stepped out of the thorny shrubs bloody and exhausted, I was relieved to find that only two husbands had beat me there. The arrogant man, of course, and another.
We all looked back, to find the fourth pour soul still halfway through the shrubs, his clothes caught in the thorns.
"Wait for me!" He called out. But it was too late.
"Congratulations, winners!" The host's voice called out over the speakers. "You've proven you would truly do anything for love, and can proceed on to the next game. And as for the loser, please remove him from the game."
Then, a couple crew members wearing rubber suits and carrying shears, cut their way through the thorns, freed the fourth husband from the thorns, and escorted him out of the factory.
As the three remaining husbands left the second room and entered the third, my thoughts once again returned to my wife, and wondered whether she too was faced with the same challenge, and had made it through the thorns.
Game three is where things... escalated.
When we entered the next factory, I saw three beds in the center of the room, each with a TV next to it.
"Remaining contestants, welcome to the semi final challenge." The host bellowed out over the room's speakers. "Will you each please choose a bed."
The three of us did as he asked, and walked to the center of the room, each of us standing in front of one the beds.
Then, a door opened and three masked women emerged, making their way to the center of the room, and each lying down on one of the beds.
"The rules of game three are as follows." He continued. "You simply have to sex with the stranger before you..."
The arrogant husband looked at me and smiled.
"...While watching your partner do the same."
Suddenly, the three TVs turned on, each displaying our wives in the very same situation. And lying on each of their beds, was a masked man.
"First off, we assure you that the women and men before you complied consensually, and have been tested for STDs. So the test of this game is not about morality, or safety, but fidelity. Would you cheat on your significant other, for the greater good of the relationship? The last couple to have sex, or the first to refuse, will lose. While the others, will proceed on to the final challenge."
I looked at my wife on the TV screen, relieved that she had made it this far, but started in shaking fear of what we both have to do to win.
Meanwhile, the arrogant husband started unclipping his belt button and turned to one of the cameras. "You call this a semi final? My wife and I are in an open relationship. Bring it on!"
While the third man, simply stared at his TV screen, sweating and pacing, clearly terrified to go through with it, and watch his wife do the same.
"The game begins... now!” The host called out.
As the arrogant man began to have sex with the woman on his bed, his naked body still littered with fresh scratches from the thorns, I thought about trying to escape, but then I saw the timid husband, and realized his hesitation was an opportunity for me to make it to the next round.
And so, I too removed my clothes and exposed my wounded body, crawling into bed with the masked woman, as my wife did the same with the masked man.
Before long, it was over, the arrogant man laying there naked and smiling into one of the cameras, while I, also naked, hung my head in shame for what I had just done.
I looked at the TV screen, and saw my wife put her clothes back on too. We had both made it.
The same could not be said for the nervous man and his wife, who both stayed true to their values, neither engaging in the act, before masked crew members promptly escorted them out of the factory.
And then there were two. Well, two couples that is. Myself against the arrogant man, my wife against his.
Masked production assistants then brought myself and my competitor into the room where the final challenge would be held.
It, much like the first room, was completely bare save for a dinner table at its center, where two plates and sets of utensils were set out.
"Finalists. Welcome to the fourth and last challenge. Will both contestants please take a seat at the dinner table."
We followed his instructions, as we had done previously, and sat down at the table, before a couple production assistants ran over and helped us tuck bibs into our shirts.
"The rules of game four are perhaps the most simple of all. You'll be presented with an item that you must eat. The first to finish eating it, is the winner." The host said over the room's speakers.
That's when a door opened and two masked PAs came out holding trays, and began rushing them over to us.
As they approached us, I began to panic, knowing that whatever it was that they were about to present to us, would likely even be more terrifying than anything we had encountered in the previous games.
"Sometimes you have to break a heart, to win another." The host called out, "In this challenge, the item you'll need to eat is..."
At that exact moment, the two PAs each removed a pair of tongs from their pocket, uncovered their tray, and placed the item on our plates.
"...A human heart."
I gasped, and nearly threw up in my mouth, as I saw the disgusting bloody organ lying there on my plate.
"May the best husband win! Goodluck, the game starts... now!"
For a minute, I hesitated, disgusted by the challenge set before me, but then I thought about what was on the line, and saw the arrogant husband immediately biting into his heart, blood pouring down his face.
I hurried to catch up, briefly fumbling my own heart, before chomping into it, and attempting to eat it as fast as I could, as blood sprayed all over my own face.
But the arrogant husband had gotten a head start, and was moving too quickly. No matter how fast I ate it, it was becoming clear that if nothing was done, he would surely beat me..
So, not knowing what else to do…
…I slammed what was left of my heart onto the plate, removed my bib, stood up, and proceeded to tackle the arrogant man out of his seat, sending his heart sliding across the concrete floor.
"What the fuck are you doing, man?" He asked, likely surprised that I was capable of such an act.
"I'm doing what needs to be done for love." I replied, before pummeling him over and over in the face with my fist, as I channeled my innermost frustrations, ranging from the traumatic experience we had just gone through, the arrogant husband’s obnoxious behavior throughout the game, years of belittlement from asshole boss, and my wife and my countless failed attempts at getting pregnant over the years.
I kept pummeling him, until he had completely shut the fuck up, and was simply mumbling incoherent words, his face a bloody pulp, blood bubbling out of his mouth.
I then stood up, walked back to the table, sat down, put the bib back on, and took the last bite of my heart.
"Congratulations, you’ve proved that you'll truly do anything for love, and have won the show! Please remove the loser."
Rather than celebrate, my mind once again returned to my wife, worried about her well being and wondering if she too, had mustered up the courage to eat the heart, and had become the winning wife.
A couple masked production assitants then ran over and dragged the arrogant husband away, as he simply stared at me in shock.
I looked down at my hands, which were still covered in blood, then up at one of the cameras, which was now right up in my face.
“How do you feel?” Phil asked, prompting me to speak to the camera.
But I couldn’t bring myself to speak any words.
I tried to think of something to say, but before I could, a door opened, and the masked PAs grabbed me by the arms and escorted me out of the last room and into an adjacent hallway, which led to a huge set of double doors.
"Winners,” the host said over the hallway’s speakers. “You stand here before us, victorious, each of you on one side of the doors. Now it is time, to find out if the person on the other side… is your partner… and if you both had what it takes, to do anything for love."
I took a deep breath, expecting the worst. Expecting to see the arrogant man’s wife on the other side. After all that.
But when the doors opened, I simply saw…
...My wife, standing there on the other side.
We ran to each other and embraced, both of us missing our ring fingers, littered in scratches, emotionally exhausted, and with faces and hands that were covered in blood.
"Congratulations!" The host continued, "You're the winners of Anything for Love!"
Both crying, we smiled at each other, but our smiles quickly turned into looks of sadness.
We'd won. But at what cost? I wondered, before the thought was overshadowed by that of the once in a lifetime prize that awaited us.
The producer, Phil, then brought us into yet another room, where we met a doctor, his face covered by a surgical mask, and both shook his hand.
"When you two showed up late,” Phil began, “I never thought you'd be the ones to win. But you did. So we stand by our promise. After you return home, you’ll be contacted by the doctor, who will provide you with the guidance and resources to hopefully have a baby of your own. That part, is obviously not guaranteed."
"Thank you." My wife replied, clearly torn by saying those words. “Understood.”
"Thank you." I added, also torn, before realizing that the camera crew didn't follow us into the room with the doctor. "But can I ask, why aren't you filming this part?"
"Oh, our audience only cares about watching the games." Phil replied with a chuckle.
"Audience? But we just filmed it."
"Oh, yeah we were livestreaming the whole time."
"I thought it was just a pilot. Who was watching?"
"The subscribers."
"Who are they?"
"A very small, very privileged group of people, who can't be bothered by pedestrian entertainment. They desire something more... elevated."
"Will this ever be a real show?"
"This? Of course not." Phil laughed, "No one else will ever watch this again. And no one but the small group of contestants and this crew, will ever know of what went on here."
"What happened to the other couples?"
"Oh they're fine. Aside from missing fingers, and being a little physically and emotionally scratched up. We'll do with them exactly what we'll do with you. Drop them off somewhere just far enough away that after we give them their phones back, if they choose to call the police or tell anyone about this place, by the time they come here to investigate, they'll find this factory abandoned, without a trace of what went on here today. The same goes for you. By the way, we better get you ready to go, your car will be arriving any minute now.”
Neither my wife nor myself had the energy to conjure up a reply.
"Thank you again for playing!" Phil said through his mask, "And on behalf of the subscribers, please enjoy your prize!"
He then led us out down a long hallway, through a back door, and into an alley, where a car was waiting to take us away.
"The chauffeur will provide you with your phones upon your arrival."
An hour or so later, the driver pulled over on the side of a highway, and let us off, handing us our phones just as Phil had promised.
But rather than call the police, we just stood there for a while, still horrified by the terrifying experience we had just been put through.
And ultimately… we decided that since we had won, it'd be best to leave it alone.
We hitched a ride back home, and sure enough, about a week later...
...We received a call from the doctor...
...And less than a year after that, my wife gave birth to our baby boy.
Sometimes, I think back to that day, and the terrible games they set before us, and wonder if my wife and I went too far to win…
...But then I look at my newborn son, and all the doubt, all the shame, all the horror, washes away.
And as for the subscribers. Every once in a while, when a car drives suspiciously slow past our house, or I get the feeling that my baby monitor might have just moved on its own, I wonder if they're still watching us, and if this is just the next episode of their reality show.
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 | https://preview.redd.it/zqsbbtwta50d1.jpg?width=1920&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=beb0c256e5dbb47c19e1ad6ff958894d7688f5d9 submitted by twindigital to u/twindigital [link] [comments] Cara mencuci tumbler mempengaruhi kesehatan tubuh kita. Faktanya, botol tumbler juga menjadi salah satu sumber bakteri. Dengan kata lain, menggunakan tumbler tidak serta merta menghindarkan kita dari risiko penyebaran penyakit. Tumbler yang jarang dicuci atau tidak dicuci dengan cara yang benar juga memicu perkembangan bakteri. Mengutip Gue Sehat tempat lembab dan basah sangat disukai mikroorganisme (bakteri, jamur, parasit, virus) untuk berkembangbiak. Bakteri-bakteri ini dapat berpindah ke dalam tubuh karena bibir kerap menempel di botol tumbler. Oleh karena itu, sangat penting mengetahui cara membersihkan tumbler yang benar. Jangan-jangan selama ini kita masih salah mencucinya. Memangnya bagaimana sih cara mencuci botol minum yang benar? Pada artikel kali ini, Twin Digital ingin membagikan cara mencuci tumbler yang benar. Bagaimana Cara Mencuci Tumbler?Apakah tumbler bisa dicuci? Jawabannya, tentu saja bisa. Justru kamu harus mencuci tumbler yang kamu gunakan sebelum dan sehabis memakainya. Tujuannya supaya tumbler tersebut terjaga kebersihannya. Pasti kamu merasa jijik kan kalau tumbler yang gunakan untuk minum terlihat kotor. Nah, berikut ini cara membersihkan tumbler sesuai dengan bahan yang digunakan. Simak sampai habis di bawah ini yuk!1. Cara Mencuci Tumbler Stainless SteelTumbler dengan jenis stainless steel harus dicuci dengan air hangat. Tujuannya untuk menghilangkan bau tak sedap yang membandel. Mencuci tumbler ini cukup mudah. Kamu hanya perlu membuang sisa minuman yang ada. Kemudian, tuangkan air hangat secukupnya. Tutup tumbler, dan diamkan selama beberapa saat. Setelah itu, kamu bisa kocok-kocok tumbler untuk menjangkau tumbler secara menyeluruh. Jika masih juga tersisa noda yang membandel, kamu bisa membersihkannya dengan sikat pembersih botol yang lembut. Ulangi beberapa kali hingga kamu yakin benar-benar bersih.2. Cara Mencuci Tumbler PlastikCara mencuci tumbler plastik termasuk yang susah-susah gampang. Dari segi bahan, tumbler plastik tidak begitu tahan dengan air panas. Jadi jika kamu ingin membersihkannya dengan air panas, usahakan air itu terasa hangat-hangat kuku. Sebab jika terlalu panas, tumbler plastik kamu bisa saja menjadi meleleh. Hal ini karena tidak semua bahan plastik tahan dengan air panas. Namun jika kamu membelinya di Twin Digital, kamu nggak perlu khawatir karena bahan plastik yang digunakan telah berlabel BPA free.3. Cara Mencuci Tumbler LEDSama seperti jenis tumbler lainnya, cara mencuci tumbler LED sebaiknya juga dicuci dengan air panas. Isi tumbler dengan air panas dan tambahkan setetes sabun cuci piring. Kamu bisa mendiamkannya selama tiga menit untuk memastikan tumbler telah benar-benar bersih. Setelah itu, buang air cucian tumbler dan bilas tumbler dengan air bersih. Kocok-kocok berulang kali dengan air yang berbeda. Kemudian, kamu bisa lap tumbler tersebut dengan kain bersih sebelum akhirnya disimpan ke tempat penyimpanan.Sekarang sudah paham kan cara menjaga kebersihan tumbler. Mulai sekarang jangan malas lagi ya mencuci tumbler. Jika tumbler kamu mulai usang atau rusak, ada baiknya kamu menggantinya dengan yang baru. Kamu bisa pesan tumbler custom di Twin Digital.Kami menyediakan berbagai jenis tumbler dengan desain yang eye-catching. Menariknya, kamu bisa custom desain sesuka kamu. Beli sekarang dan dapatkan penawaran harga terbaik! Temukan Twin Digital di:Situs Web: twindigital.id Situs Blog : twindigital.co.id Facebook. : twindigital.id Instagram: twindigital.id Tiktok: twindigital.id Shopee: twindigitalprinting dan twin_creative Tokopedia: twin digital dan digital printing indonesia |
2024.05.13 08:39 twindigital 4 Fungsi Hangtag yang Bikin Produk Cepat Terjual
 | https://preview.redd.it/szjzsrf4350d1.jpg?width=8000&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=8f935c92d6dbe25cf5efdf6165bd13b610bf92e4 submitted by twindigital to u/twindigital [link] [comments] Fungsi hangtag sangat esensial untuk kesuksesan bisnis. Kalau kamu mau produk jualanmu cepat laku, pastikan kamu memaksimalkan fungsi hangtag pada produk kamu. Salah satu fungsi terbaik dari hang tag adalah menarik perhatian konsumen. Misalnya saja, kamu menjual produk fashion berupa kaos, label hangtag dapat membuat produkmu lebih menonjol. Sayangnya, sebagian merek belum mengidentifikasi pentingnya label hangtag untuk produk. Bersama Twin Digital, mari pelajari aspek-aspek yang membuat label tag punya fungsi yang optimal bagi penjualan produk kamu. Bagaimana Hangtag Meningkatkan Prospek Bisnis?1. Fungsi Hangtag Menyuarakan MerekKamu dapat mendeskripsikan sisi menyenangkan dan profesionalitas dari merek melalui hang tag. Menempelkan hangtag dengan teks yang relevan secara tidak langsung dapat membangun kesadaran merek bagi pelanggan potensial. Pastikan kamu melampirkan logo perusahaan kamu ke dalam hang tag. Cara ini membantu membangun ingatan pelanggan tentang brand kamu, dan membangkikan minat pada penawaran produk kamu yang lainnya.2. Hangtag Menyoroti Fitur ProdukFungsi hangtag yang utama adalah meng-highlight fitur produk kamu. Maksimalkan ruang hangtag dengan mencantumkan manfaat unik dari produk kamu. Jika kamu menjual produk bantal custom, cantumkan metode cetak yang diunggulkan. Jadi ketika pelanggan sedang memindai produk kamu di etalase, mereka juga mengetahui manfaatnya dari hangtag. Fitur-fitur yang dicantumkan di hang tag dapat memperkuat alasan pelanggan untuk melakukan pembelian.3. Desain yang Kreatif Menarik Perhatian PelangganBuatlah desain hangtag yang menarik, kreatif, dan inovatif. Ini adalah cara yang sempurna untuk menonjolkan produk kamu dari produk lain yang serupa yang dijajarkan bersamaan. So, kamu harus menjamin desain hang tag yang sangat baik untuk tag produk kamu dengan tali tag yang berkualitas. Custom hang tag di Twin Digital dapat membantu kamu membuat tampilan yang menarik untuk tag produk. Hang tag yang menarik akan mudah terhubung dengan pelanggan, terutama generasi milenial. Milenial semakin selektif dalam memutuskan pilihan produk. Mereka menginginkan sesuatu yang memberi nilai pada pandangan pertama mereka.4. Label Produk Meningkatkan PenjualanFungsi hangtag yang jarang diketahui orang sebagai bagian dari strategi marketing. Hang tag adalah salah satu alat pemasaran yang kuat. Kamu dapat mencetak kode promosi atau diskon untuk menarik perhatian pelanggan potensial agar membeli produk tersebut. Pelanggan yang membeli produk dapat merobek kupon ini dan menggunakannya untuk pembelian di masa mendatang. Selain itu, hang tag juga dapat mendorong pelanggan untuk melakukan pembelian segera untuk memanfaatkan diskon yang hanya tersedia untuk satu hari. Ini sangat menguntungkan jika kamu berencana untuk berkolaborasi dengan perusahaan serupa yang tidak bersaing dalam basis pelanggan yang sama.So, itulah fungsi hangtag yang esensial untuk kesuksesan bisnis kamu. Desain memainkan peran penting dalam seberapa efektif bisnis mengambil fungsionalitas label tag. Jika kamu kesulitan membuat desain yang menarik, Twin Digital memiliki berbagai variasi hang tag dengan template desain eksklusif. Untuk pesan, hubungi di sini! Temukan Twin Digital di:Situs Web: twindigital.id Situs Blog : twindigital.co.id Facebook. : twindigital.id Instagram: twindigital.id Tiktok: twindigital.id Shopee: twindigitalprinting dan twin_creative Tokopedia: twin digital dan digital printing indonesia |
2024.05.13 08:26 twindigital Fashion Kekinian yang Wajib Kamu Punya
 | https://preview.redd.it/jowkn7cs050d1.jpg?width=1920&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=1e07331e5de0f5150ddccaff06a8a53661a06d73 submitted by twindigital to u/twindigital [link] [comments] Hoodie jumper adalah salah satu produk fashion yang digemari banyak kawula muda. Pakaian luaran ini biasa dikenakan dalam gaya busana casual. Bahkan sekarang, hoodie jumper juga menjadi pakaian yang dikenakan dalam gaya formal. Misalnya saja, kamu bisa memadankan outfit kerja kamu dengan hoodie jumper. Sebetulnya, apa sih hoodie jumper itu? Apa saja model dan jenis hoodie jumper lainnya? Twin Digital ingin menjelaskannya di bawah ini! Simak selengkapnya yuk, Twin Creative! Apakah Hoodie Termasuk Jenis Jaket?Hoodie jumper adalah jenis outer modern yang erat dengan anak muda. Walaupun bukan berbahan kulit, sebagian besar orang menganggap hoodie sebagai salah satu jenis jaket. Hal ini karena keduanya memiliki persamaan. Misalnya, berbahan tebal dan lembut untuk menutupi tubuh sebagai pakaian tambahan. Ketika kamu merasa cuaca terlalu hangat untuk mengenakan jaket, kamu dapat mengenakan hoodie sebagai penggantinya.Apa Bedanya Hoodie Zipper dan Hoodie Pullover?Meski sama-sama pakaian luaran (outer), zipper dan hoodie memiliki perbedaan. Hoodie pullover pada dasarnya adalah kaos yang memiliki tudung yang dijahit di bagian atasnya. Ini lebih mirip dengan sweater daripada jaket karena sweater dan pullover dirancang untuk ditarik ke atas kepala untuk dikenakan.Sementara hoodie zipper adalah adalah kaus bertudung yang ritsleting alih-alih ditarik ke atas kepala. Mereka lebih mirip dengan jaket dalam cara pemakaiannya. Tapi hoodie zipper dianggap sebagai jaket yang lebih kasual. Lalu, zipper jaket itu apa? Zipper jaket adalah jaket yang memiliki resleting di bagian tengahnya sebagai pembuka jaket. Seperti yang kamu tahu, jaket memiliki model yang bermacam-macam seperti zipper (dengan resleting), dan kancing. Apa Bedanya Jaket Hoodie dan Sweater?Tahukah kamu bahwa jaket, hoodie, dan sweater berbeda? Apa perbedaan di antara ketiganya? Kalau kamu belum mengetahui perbedaannya sebaiknya kamu terus membaca artikel ini ya.Jaket merupakan sebutan untuk pakaian berbahan tebal dan biasanya terbuat dari kulit asli maupun kulit sintetis. Namun di beberapa negara lain, jaket juga merujuk ke jenis pakaian berbahan lainnya, termasuk bahan fleece. Sedangkan hoodie adalah pakaian tebal yang terbuat dari bahan fleece yang memiliki penutup kepala (tudung). Bagaimana dengan jumper? Jumper adalah nama lain dari hoodie yang tidak memiliki resleting. Jumper merupakan jaket luar yang longgar, terutama yang dikenakan oleh para pekerja dan pelaut. Mengutip Wikidiff, kata jumper di negara Inggris dan Australia berpadanan dengan kata sweater atau pullover. Dapat dikatakan hoodie jumper adalah hoodie yang tidak memiliki belahan depan alias nyambung semua. Biasanya pemakaian hoodie jumper dari bawah. Seperti hoodie pada umumnya, jumper juga memiliki penutup kepala. Adapun sweater atau crewneck adalah pakaian tebal tanpa penutup kepala dan tanpa saku atau kantong di kedua sisinya. Crewneck umumnya diproduksi dengan bahan double face fleece yang tidak berbulu di bagian dalam. Ketika dikenakan sweater akan terasa lembut dan hangat, namun tidak panas. Item fashion ini cocok dipadukan dengan gaya apapun. Mulai dari gaya casual hingga formal. Rekomendasi Hoodie Jumper TerbaikNah, sekarang kamu sudah tahu kan tentang hoodie jumper. Ingin tambah koleksi hoodie jumper di lemari kamu? Yuk tambahkan hoodie jumper dari Twin Digital. Kamu bisa custom desain, gambar, atau teks yang kamu sukai untuk ditambahkan ke bagian depan hoodie kamu loh. Untuk pesan produk fashion yang menarik ini klik di sini!Temukan Twin Digital di:Situs Web: twindigital.id Situs Blog : twindigital.co.id Facebook. : twindigital.id Instagram: twindigital.id Tiktok: twindigital.id Shopee: twindigitalprinting dan twin_creative Tokopedia: twin digital dan digital printing indonesia |
2024.05.13 02:15 nomorelandfills No, You Beg - 2021 article from The Cut about the difficulty in adopting in the COVID era
 | Another copied article to keep in reserve. It's an odd article from the pandemic, recounting the boom in rescue adoptions. It is a fairly pointless article in that it uses some really shifty rescuers, including Pixies and Paws, as sources, brightly highlights a bioethicist who uses her own foolish adoption of two pit bull mixes as evidence that most people shouldn't own dogs, and chronicles but fails to understand the loathing rescuers have for adopters. It does, however, wonderfully illustrate how rapidly the good times ended in rescue. Anyone reading the the current "we've never been so overwhelmed with dogs" rescue laments should know that there's a link between today's problems and yesterday's reckless opportunism. submitted by nomorelandfills to PetRescueExposed [link] [comments] The "bioethicist" “I think it’s probably true that the majority of people who want to adopt a dog should not,” Jessica Pierce, a bioethicist who studies human-animal relationships, tells me. “They don’t have the wherewithal and don’t have what they need to give the animal a good life.” She herself ended up with two pets that didn’t get along at all — a herding mix and a pointer mix whose constant fighting made the idea of hosting a dinner party both perhaps “bloody” and definitely “scary and miserable.” She says shelters shouldn’t “drive away potentially loving and appropriate adopters because they don’t meet predetermined criteria,” but she also sees the importance of a thorough application process that prepares humans for the pitfalls of pet parenthood. “You need to be ready to have a dog who doesn’t like people very much,” says Pierce. When Bella, the 11-year-old she got from the Humane Society, dies, she’s not sure she will get a replacement, noting that the pandemic puppy boom is “driven by a reflection of human narcissism and neurosis.” However, this is a fantastic truth long overdue for the telling. “I started to talk to shelter leaders across the country,” Cushing says. “And one by one, they said any adoptable dog without a medical issue is gone by noon on Saturday. But the public didn’t know that. Only the dog seekers and the experts did.” https://preview.redd.it/v2owlquz230d1.png?width=1139&format=png&auto=webp&s=a95a7983b4f018f043125a0819a16941cec1e6aa Jack, adopted by Tori and Paris through In Our Hands Rescue. It was a rainy Sunday in June, and Danielle had fallen in love. The 23-year-old paralegal spent the first part of her afternoon in McCarren Park, envying the happy dog owners with their furry companions. Then she stumbled upon an adoption event in a North Brooklyn beer garden, where a beagle mix being paraded out of the rescue van reminded her of the dog she grew up with, Snickers. It all felt like fate, so she filled out an application on the spot. She was then joined by her best friend and roommate, Alexa, in sitting across from a serious-looking young woman with a ponytail who was searching for a reason to break her heart. Danielle and Alexa were confident they would be leaving with Millie that day: After all, they had a 1,000-square-foot apartment within blocks of McCarren and full-time employment with the ability to work from home for the foreseeable future. But the volunteer kept posing questions that they hadn’t prepared for. What if they stopped living together? What if Danielle’s girlfriend’s collie mix didn’t get along with her new family member? What would be the solution if the dog needed expensive training for behavioral issues? Which vet were they planning to use? All of which, upon reflection, were reasonable questions. But when it came to the diet they planned for the dog, they realized they were out of their depth. Danielle recalled that Snickers had lived to 16 and a half on a diet of Blue Buffalo Wilderness, the most expensive stuff that was available at her parents’ Bay Area pet store. “Would you want to live on the best version of Lean Cuisine for the rest of your life?” sniffed the volunteer with a frown. She would instead recommend a small-batch, raw-food brand that cost, when they looked it up later, up to $240 a bag. “If you were approved, you’d need to get the necessary supplies and take time off from work starting now,” the dog gatekeeper said. “And the first 120 days would be considered a trial period, meaning we would reserve the right to take your dog back at any time.” The would-be adopters nodded solemnly. The friends rose from the bench and thanked the volunteer for her time. Believing they were out of earshot, the volunteer summed up the interview to a colleague: “You just walked by, and you’re fixated on this one dog, and it’s because you had a beagle growing up, but you want to make your roommate the legal adopter?” When Danielle and Alexa were young, one could still show up at a shelter, pick out an unhoused dog that just wanted to have someone to love, and take it home that same day. Today, much of the process has moved online — to Petfinder, a.k.a. Tinder for dogs, and various animal-shelter Instagram accounts that send cute puppy pics with heartrending stories of need into your feed and compel you to fill out an adoption application as you sit on the toilet. Posts describing the dogs drip with euphemisms: A dog that might freak out and tear your house up if left alone is a “Velcro dog”; one that might knock down your children is “overly exuberant”; a skittish, neglected dog with trust issues is just a “shy party girl.” Certain shelters have become influencers in their own right, like the L.A.-based Labelle Foundation, which has almost 250,000 Instagram followers and counts Dua Lipa and Cara Delevingne among its A-list clients. Rescue agencies abound, many with missions so specific that you could theoretically find one that deals in any niche breed you desire, from affenpinschers to Yorkshire terriers. This deluge of rescue-puppy content has arrived, not coincidentally, during a time of growing awareness of puppy mills as so morally indefensible that even Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez could draw fire for seemingly buying a purebred French bulldog in early 2020. Then came the pandemic puppy boom, a lonely, claustrophobic year in which thousands of white-collar workers, sitting at home scrolling through their phones, seemed simultaneously to decide they were finally ready to adopt a dog. The corresponding demand spike in certain markets has simply overwhelmed the agencies: New York shelters that were used to receiving 20 applications a week were now receiving hundreds, with as many as 50 people vying for a single pup. The rescue dog is now, indisputably, a luxury good, without a market pricing system at work to manage demand. A better analogy might be an Ivy League admissions office. But even Harvard isn’t forced to be as picky as, say, Korean K9 Rescue, whose average monthly applications tripled in 2020. And yet someone has to pick the winners — often an unpaid millennial Miss Hannigan doling out a precious number of wet-nosed Orphan Annies to wannabe Daddy Warbuckses and thus empowered to judge the intentions and poop-scooping abilities of otherwise accomplished urban professionals, some of whom actually did go to Harvard. This has led to some hard feelings. Every once in a while, someone will complain on Twitter about being rejected by a rescue agency, and it will reliably set off a cascade of attacks on “entitled rich white millennials assuming they can have whatever they want,” followed by counter-attacks on those who “appoint themselves the holy sainted guardian of all animals.” Danielle was ultimately deemed unworthy, not even receiving a generic rejection letter over email. After all, there isn’t really that much incentive for the rescue agencies to be polite these days. The modern animal-rescue movement grew alongside the child-welfare movement in the mid-19th century. It got another boost in the years following World War II, when Americans were moving out to the suburbs in droves, according to Stephen Zawistowski, a professor of animal behavior at Hunter College. Suddenly, there were highways, yards, and space. Walt Disney was making movies about children and dogs that promoted the idea that no new home was complete without a loyal animal companion. (Zawistowski said that one might call this the Old Yeller Effect, but there were various riffs on the same theme over the ensuing decades. Essentially, Flipper was “Let’s put Lassie in the water.”) In the early ’80s, University of Pennsylvania researchers confirmed the effects that animal companionship has on everything from blood pressure to heart conditions to anxiety. Pets were no longer just how you taught Junior to be responsible; they might be critical to maintaining adults’ physical and mental health. The way people spoke about animals started changing. The idea that “homeless” dogs were sent to the “pound” because they were “bad” went out of fashion. “Suddenly, you had ‘rescue’ dogs brightly lit in the mall,” says Ed Sayres, a former president of the ASPCA who now works as a pet-industry consultant. “Basically, we gave animals a promotion.” Meanwhile, in the late ’80s, spay and neuter procedures had been streamlined and were being recommended by vets as well as by Bob Barker on The Price Is Right. Then came The Ad. Released in 2007, it featured close-ups of three-legged dogs and one-eyed cats rescued by the ASPCA over a wrenching rendition of Sarah McLachlan’s “Angel.” The commercial warned that “for hundreds of others, help came too late.” In just a year, the ad raised 60 percent of the ASPCA’s annual $50 million budget. The organization was reportedly able to increase the grant money it gave to other animal-welfare organizations by 900 percent in ten years. It is difficult to overstate the emotional hangover The Ad inflicted on millennials and members of Gen Z. Janet M. Davis is a historian at the University of Texas at Austin, where she lectures on animal rights to a demographically diverse body of students — everyone from cattle ranchers to vegan punks — most of whom cry when she shows The Ad in class. “It absolutely brings down the house,” she says. “Every time.” Theoretically, the point of dog adoption is that there are more dogs born into the world than there are humans lined up to care for them. But as interest grew, the supply problem became less acute. Thanks to widespread spay and neuter policies, there are simply too few unwanted litters for what the adoption market wants. National chains like PetSmart partnered with local shelters to supply its animals for sale. Savvy rescues in dog deserts like New York hooked up with shelters in the Deep South, where cultural attitudes toward spaying and neutering pets are much more lax. While there is no official registry of how many shelter dogs are available in the U.S., in 2017, researchers at the College of Veterinary Medicine for Mississippi State University published a study reporting that the availability of dogs in animal shelters was at an all-time low. “That is,” says Sayres, “an environment that leads to a kind of irrational, competitive behavior.” The rescue mutt had become not just a virtue signal but a virtue test. Who was a good enough human being to deserve a dog in need of rescuing? Heather remembers the old easy days. “I went on Craigslist and an hour later, I had a puggle,” she says of her first dog-getting experience with her boyfriend in college. George the puggle humped everything in sight, shed everywhere, and chewed through furniture until the end of his life, but she loved him all the same. Flash-forward 16 years: She and that boyfriend are married, have two kids, and can’t seem to get a new dog no matter what they try. Yes, she could find a breeder easily online (currently for sale on Craigslist: a Yorkie-poo puppy from a breeder asking $350 and just a few screening questions). But instead, in the middle of the pandemic, “I was sending ten to 12 emails a night and willing to travel anywhere, and no one would give us any sort of animal,” she remembers. Shelters would send snappy emails about how her family wasn’t suited for a puppy, even though they made good money and had clearly cared for their dearly departed George — they once drove three hours to get the dog a specially made knee brace. “I was trying to be really up front with people and would say that my daughter has autism and that I have a 3-year-old, and they would say no. It felt like they were saying, ‘We don’t give dogs to people who have disabilities.’ ” It didn’t matter what kind of dog she applied for — older, younger, bigger, smaller — there was always an official-sounding excuse as to why her family wasn’t suitable. (“Pups this age bite and jump and scratch and while they are cute to look at, they are worse than a bratty ADHD toddler, without diapers,” one rescue wrote. “Sorry.”) She considered looking at emotional-support animals that work specifically with autistic youth but found out they could cost 18 grand and require a two-year waiting period. She couldn’t stomach the idea of setting up a GoFundMe, as other people in the community had. “It got to the point of me wondering, Okay, so what dogs do children get?” she recalls. “I always thought that dogs and children go together.” By the fall of 2020, Heather had turned back to breeders. “People get a little spicy when you say you paid for a dog. You want to scream that you tried your hardest, but it wasn’t possible,” she says. Others, like Zainab, figured out ways to work the system. She blanketed agencies with applications in the early months of the pandemic, applying for 60 dogs. (The ease of applying online might also explain the statistics.) She thought the fact that she had a leadership role in public education would demonstrate that she was both successful and nurturing. “I’m a professional, I make good money, and I have a master’s degree,” she tells me. She was rejected all the same. Finally, a co-worker suggested Zainab make a résumé in order to stand out. The multipage document — which features testimonials from high-powered friends, including local elected officials — is what got her an exclusive meeting with Penny the pug in a parking lot. She was handed over with a leash tied around her neck and vomited in the front seat of Zainab’s car about three blocks later. Success! Or take Lauren, who’d had dogs all her life and found living solo during COVID lonely. “You can’t be without an animal at this particular time,” she told herself. So she started applying for dogs on Petfinder and boutique-rescue websites. “I would look up at my clock, and it would be two in the morning,” she says. Her hopes were high when she got a meeting with a Chihuahua mix in the suburbs named Mary Shelley. Lauren thought the meeting went well, but it ultimately didn’t result in the interviewer granting the adoption. “Then I was in conspiracy-theory mode, thinking she doesn’t like gay people, or single people, or people who live in the city,” she says. “It was a crazy-making experience. It’s a pandemic, so your world is already turned upside down, but I became psychotic. “The people who run rescue organizations — this was their moment to shine,” she adds. “Even though they were totally bogged down with requests, they got to feel the power. They got to make someone’s dreams come true or smash them to the ground.” The inquiries can get extremely personal. “I found the questions very offensive,” says Joanna, a Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center nurse who tried to adopt last year with her architect husband. “I was like, ‘What does this have to do with getting a dog?’ ” Her husband didn’t even want to put the thought out into the universe, but he was forced to admit that he’d probably be the one to take a shared pet in the event of a divorce. The two also had to grapple with what would happen if one or both of them died of COVID during the pandemic. And would both of them be able to take three days off at a moment’s notice to help the dog acclimate to its new home? “I was frank with her and said, ‘I take care of cancer patients,’ ” says Joanna. “She was very unsatisfied with our answer.” “The more popular the rescue is on the internet, the more clout they have,” says Molly, a writer in New York. “If you have a really good social-media presence, you can throw your weight around.” (The clout goes both ways: Posting about your rescue dog on Instagram is an indirect way of broadcasting that someone out there deemed you morally worthy enough to be chosen.) She inquired about eight dogs in six weeks from about five different rescues, only to be continually rejected. She finally got an interview with a rescue agency whose cute dogs she had seen on social media. They asked to tour her apartment over Zoom. Fine. They asked for her references. Great. But then they asked if she would pay for an expensive trainer. She asked if she could wait — not only was it during the height of COVID, but the cost of the sessions with the trainer could be close to $1,000. The person she was dealing with said over email that dogs were investments and suggested she look elsewhere. “I was like, This is so Brooklyn,” she says. Still, others wished the warning about trainers had been more explicit. At the height of the pandemic, Steven remembers scrolling through social-media post after social-media post saying things like “URGENT: NEED TO FIND THIS GUY A HOME” while “picturing this dog on a conveyor belt going toward this whirring saw. And meanwhile I am screaming at my phone, ‘I applied and you turned me down!’ ” But after securing a dog, he came to believe the process, while tough on the human applicants, wasn’t tough enough when it came to the dog’s needs. Right off the bat, Cooper was very hyper and mouthy when playing. “We were doing the thing that everyone does, like, posting pics: ‘We’re at the park, isn’t this fun, hahaha,’ ” he says. But the reality was much less Instagram-worthy. Cooper became difficult to handle, especially in a small New York apartment; mouthiness escalated to gnashing his teeth and guarding food. “It’s embarrassing, and I hate having to tell people we had to give the dog back,” he says. (So much so that Steven requested a pseudonym for himself and for Cooper.) “To be frank, the experience we had with the dog was pretty traumatic. If this volunteer had felt so powerful, I wish that they had said we wouldn’t be able to handle this dog.” Although Steven’sInstagram is replete with photos of other friends’ dogs, evidence of Cooper’s existence has disappeared from the account. The rescue-dog demand has also been stressful for the overwhelmed (and overwhelmingly volunteer) workforce that keeps the supply chain running. On a recent Saturday, Jason was speeding toward JFK airport in a windowless white van covered in graffiti. Though he was on his way to help rescue dogs, he is the first to admit he’s not the biggest fan of the animals. “I just need something to do,” he says. “I was going crazy sitting around the house.” His friend, who was employed at a rescue, recommended him for an unpaid gig. Prior to the pandemic, he managed an Off Broadway play in the city. The 34-year-old, who is athletically built with a shaved head, has a compulsive need to be coordinating a production, and getting dogs to New York City from a different continent is definitely that. Many of the city’s rescue dogs come from other parts of the world these days, brought over by volunteers who take them through a complicated Customs process. This is part of what Pet Nation author Mark Cushing calls the “canine freedom train.” A former corporate trial attorney, Cushing had thought that American shelters were filled with dogs with a figurative hatchet outside their kennel; that was until his daughter, a shelter volunteer, said that, in fact, scores of people were lined up around the block every weekend in hopes of adopting a handful of dogs. “I started to talk to shelter leaders across the country,” Cushing says. “And one by one, they said any adoptable dog without a medical issue is gone by noon on Saturday. But the public didn’t know that. Only the dog seekers and the experts did.” Jason waited in arrivals, ready to stop anyone who walked by with dog crates. When he saw some, he swooped in. It turned out that he had ended up with an extra animal — one that was yowling like it needed to get out and pee. He couldn’t figure out to whom it belonged, and after about 40 minutes of drama in the pickup area, two large men jumped out of a truck with out-of-state plates. They handed Jason $20 before he knew what was happening, loaded the dog into their Silverado, and sped off toward North Carolina. It was unclear if they were adopters themselves or worked for a shelter. With that out of the way, Jason tried to carefully maneuver a luggage cart full of the remaining dog crates to the lot where he was parked. When one fell, the animal inside didn’t make a sound, presumably zonked from its long journey across the ocean. More volunteers were waiting at the shelter with food, water, and an enormous number of puppy pads when he arrived. After the animals decompressed from their long flight, they would be taken to an adoption event, where they would hopefully meet their new humans. Emily Wells hasn’t taken a vacation in years. She works full time on Wall Street but is also the coordinator for Pixies & Paws Rescue — a job that she does in between calls and meetings and emails. That means responding to DMs on Instagram about available dogs, attending adoption events on weekends, and getting on the phone with a vet at 10 p.m. because one of her fosters got sick. That also means screening applications, which more than doubled during the height of the pandemic. Typically, she denies about one-third. This part of her job might not be the most physically demanding, but it does take a psychic toll. “What I’ve found is a lot of people are very entitled,” she says. “They send nasty emails. I’ve been called every name in the book. But there are reasons we deny. We are entrusted with placing a living, breathing thing in someone’s home for the rest of its life.” She wishes people would understand that the rescue is just her and one other person trying their best to deal with off-the-charts levels of demand. “I know rescues that don’t even reply,” she says. “So the fact that we do and still get shit for that is annoying.” And explaining why someone was rejected can create its own problems: What if they use that information to fib on their next application? Rescues like Wells’s are largely dependent on foster parents to house the dogs they import. Foster-to-adopt is one way that people adopt pets, a means of testing out compatibility and increasing one’s chances of adopting in a hypercompetitive city. But demand for dogs was so high last year that even proven volunteers couldn’t get their hands on a foster. Take Suchita, an animal lover who moved from India to New Jersey for her husband’s VP job with a big bank in 2019. Unable to work owing to visa issues, she became a prolific dog fosterer for a rescue in Queens. She also worked with a program that pairs volunteers with elderly animal owners who need help taking their pets out on walks. That program was suspended during COVID, which left Suchita desperate for more dog time. Figuring that online volunteer work might fill the void, she started helping another organization wade through its massive backlog of applications by calling references. She offered to foster more dogs but didn’t hear back, nor did her attempts to adopt pan out. When she went ahead and adopted Sasha, a Pomeranian, through another rescue agency, the first organization was not happy. “After I posted Sasha on Instagram, they called me saying it was a conflict of interest to have worked with another agency,” Suchita says. “I was not at all prepared for that. Then they unfollowed me. It really hurt, but no hard feelings.” She is humbly aware of the fact that in New York, there is always someone who has a nicer apartment, a better job, and more experience than you. If everything else is equal, why shouldn’t a shelter try to give a dog to someone who can afford to give it the best life possible? “They don’t treat humans nicely, but at least they treat dogs nicely,” she says. In some corners of the rescue world, a reckoning is taking place. Rachael Ziering, the executive director of Muddy Paws Rescue, which found homes for around 1,000 dogs last year, got her start volunteering at other nonprofits whose adoption processes she found abhorrent. She saw, for instance, people look at adoption applications and say, “Oh, that’s a terrible Zip Code. I’m not adopting to them.” Or they would judge people based on their appearance. “I know a lot of groups that will ask for your firstborn along with your application,” she says. “I think it’s well intentioned, but I think it just took a turn at some point. It’s morphed into sort of an unhealthy view that no one’s ever gonna be good enough. Nobody’s ever perfect — the dog or the person.” Muddy Paws is instead embracing what is known as “open adoption,” a philosophy that allows for rescue volunteers to be more open-minded about what a good dog home might look like. It has started gaining traction among groups like the ASPCA in recent years, in part because the organization’s current president was denied a dog — twice. Instead of rejecting applicants outright based on their giving the “wrong” answers, Ziering’s team speaks with hopeful dog owners at length, learning about their lifestyles and histories to match them with the pet best for their family. Still, even a more inclusive philosophy toward profiling adoption applicants comes up against the intractable math: There are only so many dogs that need homes. Though Muddy Paws rejects less than one percent of applicants, some decide to adopt elsewhere if it means getting a dog faster. Is any of this good for the dogs? Depends on whom you ask. If the intense questions involved in securing the dog cause someone to reflect before making a decision they’ll regret — sure. Others note that the average dog’s life span has hovered around 11 years for decades. “I think it’s probably true that the majority of people who want to adopt a dog should not,” Jessica Pierce, a bioethicist who studies human-animal relationships, tells me. “They don’t have the wherewithal and don’t have what they need to give the animal a good life.” She herself ended up with two pets that didn’t get along at all — a herding mix and a pointer mix whose constant fighting made the idea of hosting a dinner party both perhaps “bloody” and definitely “scary and miserable.” She says shelters shouldn’t “drive away potentially loving and appropriate adopters because they don’t meet predetermined criteria,” but she also sees the importance of a thorough application process that prepares humans for the pitfalls of pet parenthood. “You need to be ready to have a dog who doesn’t like people very much,” says Pierce. When Bella, the 11-year-old she got from the Humane Society, dies, she’s not sure she will get a replacement, noting that the pandemic puppy boom is “driven by a reflection of human narcissism and neurosis.” “A lot of this is driven by Instagram,” she says. “We have this expectation that dogs are not really dogs; they’re toys or fashion accessories.” I’m not pushing you, but it seems like you want to bring him home,” the Badass Animal Rescue volunteer said with the controlled energy of a used-car salesperson. Bill and Sherrie, a middle-aged couple who had lost their English bulldog three years ago, were looking for a replacement. The dog with a bright-red boner jumped on Bill, and everyone pretended not to notice. “He definitely has energy,” Bill said brightly. The couple were on the fence, and the volunteer could sense the close slipping away. Although this organization saw applications rise 200 percent during the pandemic, things are now recalibrating back to normalcy. We are, it seems, witnessing the cooling of the puppy boom. The unbearable loneliness of the pandemic has abated, replaced with anxiety about how to possibly do all the things all of us used to do every day. New Yorkers are being summoned back to the office or planning vacations. Many young professionals are finding that, when given the option between scrolling through rescue websites until 2 a.m. or doing drunken karaoke in a room full of friends, Dog Tinder is losing its appeal. Local shelters are seeing application numbers slip — many say they have returned to pre-COVID levels — which, in turn, has made it slightly more of an adopter’s market. Bill and Sherrie went to the hallway to talk it over. He was definitely a puller like their old dog, Xena. And he was also a hell of a shedder. The volunteer kept talking about something called a “love match,” but was this really one? “We’re just gonna need a little more time,” Sherrie confessed when they came back inside. No one was making eye contact. As they prepared to leave, the dog jumped up on Bill again, his tongue flopping sideways and his wagging tail spraying white fur. He was clearly not aware that the tenor of the room had shifted. “We might be back,” Bill said with an obvious twinge of guilt. “Don’t worry!” We will probably look back on the class of pandemic dogs adopted in 2020 as the most desirable unwanted dogs of all time — the ultimate market-scarcity score for a slice of virtuous, privileged New York City. People like Danielle will see them paraded around places like McCarren Park, the living, breathing trophies for self-satisfied owners who made it through the gauntlet. At least for the next 11 years or so. |
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submitted by SlotOnlineJackpot88 to u/SlotOnlineJackpot88 [link] [comments]
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 | submitted by androbuntu to androbuntu [link] [comments] |
2024.05.11 04:26 Ok-Glove-1484 Vazaram meus dados
Pessoal por vacilo meu, um cara conseguiu puxa meus dados com CPF e email devo me preocupar e oq fazer agora?
submitted by Ok-Glove-1484 to u/Ok-Glove-1484 [link] [comments]
2024.05.11 02:43 Ok-Total-464 WORST CUSTOMER SERVICE EVER /RUINED BIRTHDAY PARTY
On my Birthday last November we ordered a festive special and a regular chicken dinner, it came 20min late was cold and missed the stuffing , chocolates and scratch tickets, when i complained to CR, they transferred me to the manager at the Birchmount and Lawrence East store who was very rude and would not give me a refund until i made further calls to CR, he finally gave us a credit for$50 on our next order.
When we tried to order again we were told the credit was only for 3 months and when I said that we were never told this by the manager at that time, she again put us in contact with the same manager who this time was super rude and lied to us about the time limit
I told him I had a witness to both conversations with him who was on the other line and clearly remembers we were never told about the condition
After a very long argument with him , he finally offered an insulting $20 credit, which we refused.
I have made numerous attempts to get this resolved, I have written a letter and numerous emails to the president of Swiss Chalet a Mr.L. Vetrone and Mr Frank Hennessey, CEOs of the parent company Recipe Unlimited and Cara Services and they have not returned any of my correspondence
It is the absolute worst customer service ever, we have been a customer for many years spending hundreds of dollars.
Swiss Chalet needs to stand by they're promise to deliver within the time period promised and to honour credit without a time limit, and to refund the order if it is late and incomplete
I still hope they will compensate me my $50, and ruined Birthday Party
I think Swiss Chalet should now be known as Swizz Shatay
submitted by Ok-Total-464 to SwissChalet [link] [comments]
When we tried to order again we were told the credit was only for 3 months and when I said that we were never told this by the manager at that time, she again put us in contact with the same manager who this time was super rude and lied to us about the time limit
I told him I had a witness to both conversations with him who was on the other line and clearly remembers we were never told about the condition
After a very long argument with him , he finally offered an insulting $20 credit, which we refused.
I have made numerous attempts to get this resolved, I have written a letter and numerous emails to the president of Swiss Chalet a Mr.L. Vetrone and Mr Frank Hennessey, CEOs of the parent company Recipe Unlimited and Cara Services and they have not returned any of my correspondence
It is the absolute worst customer service ever, we have been a customer for many years spending hundreds of dollars.
Swiss Chalet needs to stand by they're promise to deliver within the time period promised and to honour credit without a time limit, and to refund the order if it is late and incomplete
I still hope they will compensate me my $50, and ruined Birthday Party
I think Swiss Chalet should now be known as Swizz Shatay
2024.05.10 23:04 Elegant_Woodpecker10 COMO ESTOU CONFIGURANDO MEU CELULAR PARA SER MENOS VICIANTE. (DICAS)
Bom começando que meu celular é um s20 FE. Modelo android.
Sem muita enrolação vou mostrar o que eu faço. O principal é você sempre evitar o algoritmo, pois ele é quem faz vc ficar viciado. O aplicativo em si não é viciante.
Aplicativos de tempo e bloqueadores não funcionam pelo simples fato de que se você quiser, você mesmo desbloqueia, desativa. Ficar sem também não é uma opção não é? Niguém quer passar a vida sem Youtube.
Para Youtube:
NEWPIPE:
https://newpipe.net/
Versão alternativa de youtube, sem propagandas, permite você baixar os vídeos, não tem reels.
Eu salvo alguns canais que eu gosto. E coloco a homepage pra entrar já nos meus escolhidos.
Navegador:
Eu uso o Firefox Nighly. Ele permite eu instalar extensões, a qual eu uso a Social focus, que me impede de ver conteúdos do youtube , instagram e Etc.
O Firefox Focus é muito bom também, mas ele não impede de você num momento de tédio logar no seu perfil e aí cair no algoritmo. E lá se vão dois dias até eu notar que não deveria estar usando isso.
Instagram:
Distraction Free Instagram:
https://www.distractionfreeapps.com/
Ele simplesmente deixa tudo preto. A home não tem nada, os círculos de storys somem, não consegue acessar explorar e simplesmente desativa o inferno dos REELS. Mas não te impede de entrar no perfil de alguém e ver o que ela postou nos storys ou a sua nova foto, o mensagens é totalmente funcional ainda. Nota 11 pra esse APP.
Nas configurações do App você seleciona e clica em desabilitar para sempre. No caso esse pra sempre é até você desinstalar.
Reddit:
Tem diversos clientes alternativos de Reddit, ainda vou testá-los.
https://search.f-droid.org/?q=reddit&lang=en
Pra quem quiser ver a lista, tá aí.
CONFIGURAÇÕES DE CELULAR
Baixar o que for necessário e desativar a Play Store, Youtube, e principalmente navegador Chrome. Pois com ele é muito fácil logar em um serviço, vai tudo no automático. Tiktok, Instagram, Excluir completamente.
Modo Preto e Branco
Se assim desejar, pode colocar em preto e branco em acessibilidade. Às vezes ajuda. Mas eu não deixo direto, não vou mentir.
Ocultar Ícones de aplicativos pouco usados. No Samsung existe esta opção de ocultar todo o resto.
Então deixo:
Calculadora, câmera, navegador, galeria, email, arquivos, mapas, relógio. Banco.
Os apps modificados.
Whats, Obsidian, Kindle e Spotify pirata também rs.
Desinstalação Total com ABD
Às vezes torna-se necessário para você não cair no vício, uma vez que apenas desativado está a alguns cliques de distância o vício, então existe um programa que desinstala totalmente qualquer aplicativo do celular por meio do PC, é bem simples. Então se quiser remover a PlayStore, Chrome de vez, pode tentar.
Launchers
Não uso, pois acho que mais atrapalham que ajudam.
São aplicativos que deixar o seu celular com cara de "minimalista". Se quiserem posso recomendar algumas.
Bom, se tiverem dicas, dúvidas ou sugestões só dar um Feedback do que eu descobri/testei.
submitted by Elegant_Woodpecker10 to TDAH_Brasil [link] [comments]
Sem muita enrolação vou mostrar o que eu faço. O principal é você sempre evitar o algoritmo, pois ele é quem faz vc ficar viciado. O aplicativo em si não é viciante.
Aplicativos de tempo e bloqueadores não funcionam pelo simples fato de que se você quiser, você mesmo desbloqueia, desativa. Ficar sem também não é uma opção não é? Niguém quer passar a vida sem Youtube.
Para Youtube:
NEWPIPE:
https://newpipe.net/
Versão alternativa de youtube, sem propagandas, permite você baixar os vídeos, não tem reels.
Eu salvo alguns canais que eu gosto. E coloco a homepage pra entrar já nos meus escolhidos.
Navegador:
Eu uso o Firefox Nighly. Ele permite eu instalar extensões, a qual eu uso a Social focus, que me impede de ver conteúdos do youtube , instagram e Etc.
O Firefox Focus é muito bom também, mas ele não impede de você num momento de tédio logar no seu perfil e aí cair no algoritmo. E lá se vão dois dias até eu notar que não deveria estar usando isso.
Instagram:
Distraction Free Instagram:
https://www.distractionfreeapps.com/
Ele simplesmente deixa tudo preto. A home não tem nada, os círculos de storys somem, não consegue acessar explorar e simplesmente desativa o inferno dos REELS. Mas não te impede de entrar no perfil de alguém e ver o que ela postou nos storys ou a sua nova foto, o mensagens é totalmente funcional ainda. Nota 11 pra esse APP.
Nas configurações do App você seleciona e clica em desabilitar para sempre. No caso esse pra sempre é até você desinstalar.
Reddit:
Tem diversos clientes alternativos de Reddit, ainda vou testá-los.
https://search.f-droid.org/?q=reddit&lang=en
Pra quem quiser ver a lista, tá aí.
CONFIGURAÇÕES DE CELULAR
Baixar o que for necessário e desativar a Play Store, Youtube, e principalmente navegador Chrome. Pois com ele é muito fácil logar em um serviço, vai tudo no automático. Tiktok, Instagram, Excluir completamente.
Modo Preto e Branco
Se assim desejar, pode colocar em preto e branco em acessibilidade. Às vezes ajuda. Mas eu não deixo direto, não vou mentir.
Ocultar Ícones de aplicativos pouco usados. No Samsung existe esta opção de ocultar todo o resto.
Então deixo:
Calculadora, câmera, navegador, galeria, email, arquivos, mapas, relógio. Banco.
Os apps modificados.
Whats, Obsidian, Kindle e Spotify pirata também rs.
Desinstalação Total com ABD
Às vezes torna-se necessário para você não cair no vício, uma vez que apenas desativado está a alguns cliques de distância o vício, então existe um programa que desinstala totalmente qualquer aplicativo do celular por meio do PC, é bem simples. Então se quiser remover a PlayStore, Chrome de vez, pode tentar.
Launchers
Não uso, pois acho que mais atrapalham que ajudam.
São aplicativos que deixar o seu celular com cara de "minimalista". Se quiserem posso recomendar algumas.
Bom, se tiverem dicas, dúvidas ou sugestões só dar um Feedback do que eu descobri/testei.
2024.05.10 19:23 OpheliaCyanide [That Time I Ran Over A God] --- Chapter 11
What started as a panicked attempt to get her over-intoxicated friend to a hospital ended up in a disastrous car crash that claimed the lives of her friends... and a careless God crossing the street. But Sammi's adventure wasn't about to end there. In her dying breath, the God curses Sammi to take up her mantel. Now with her three friends resurrected as ghosts, Sammi has to navigate the tricky world of godhood.
Previous Chapter Next chapter coming soon!
Start here! Patreon (up to chapter 9)
The door to the jail cells opened with a squeak. Technically there were two squeaks, cause as prepared as I was, I couldn’t stop a little jump and gasp from escaping me. The cops probably hadn’t noticed, though, right? With how loud and dim it was in here?
“Bit twitchy, eh?”
I winced a bit before slowly turning to face them, hands in the air just in case. “I didn’t sleep very well last night,” I said, swallowing hard. “Uh. New bed. You know how it is. Also a new place I was sleeping in. Er, I was sleeping in a new place. Makes you a bit nervous, so I was a bit nervous while sleeping, which I think probably also contributes–” holy fuck what was I saying. I had to physically bring one of my raised hands down over my mouth just to shut myself up.
I could do this. I could! I was the God, Joni was the familiar, I didn’t need her!
“Right.” The police officer who’d spoken fixed me with a long, nasty grin, his sardonic response rolling off his tongue like I imagined chewing tobacco would. Not that tobacco is necessarily something that rolls off the tongue, but this ‘riiiiight’ sure was. “I see you’ve already got your hands up, Miss Ashe. Makes me think, you know exactly why we’re here.”
Okay. Minimal lies, minimal words, minimal thoughts.
“You’re here to collect bail,” I said. “I’m paying Cara’s bail so I can bring her home for a bit. Get her someplace comfortable before the trial.”
The officer hitched his thumbs in his belt, still fixing me with that long, lip curling stare. “Yup. I don’t like it. My boys Emerson and Conroy don’t like it,” he added, gesturing at his backup. “But rules are rules, says you get to post bail no matter how much you deserve to be locked up in here til we can put you away for good.”
I swallowed again, my mouth getting drier with each subsequent swallow. “Yeah. Uh. Shame. Them’s the rules.”
“So, like, you also totally don’t have the money, right?” Christopher asked, leaning back in the air like he was reclining in a theatre seat.
This was something I had actually thought of. I took a deep breath. “Right. So, since I’ve already paid the bail, you’re going to let us out. I’m not involved in this whole crime one way or another, I’m just here to pay Cara’s bail and get her someplace comfortable.”
The leer didn’t let up a micromilimeter as I spoke. I fully expected him to hock a wad of tobacco at me.
“We’re here to escort you out,” he said, eyes giving us a disgusted once over. “Make sure you don’t go wandering in the station. Just cause she’s free to leave this cell doesn’t mean either of you just to roam around here wherever you like.” As he spoke, he took a few heavy steps forward, motioning for his boys to follow. The balding one, Conroy, pulled a key ring out and started fidgeting among a buncha jangly little gold keys until he found the one that fit Cara’s door.
The shorter one, Emerson, hitched up his big sunglasses and cleared his throat. “Few things we gotta run by you, so you know the terms and conditions–”
“You already emailed me those,” I said, the words rushing out of my mouth in a desperate attempt to avoid a lengthy legal spiel. We were on borrowed time before they sent backup in. “We’re going out the back door, right? You’re supposed to take us out the way with the least, uh, witnesses.”
Witness was a bad word, and Cara’s eyes bugged when I said it. But I couldn’t think of the right word, and I was just trying to avoid a lot of interference.
“Witnesses? Bro are you killing people?”
I cringed at Christopher’s words but didn’t respond as the police officer gestured us to follow.
“Oh one more thing.” I took a deep breath. “You just gotta tell your guard buddies–uh, the police chief… or, you know, actually, you were just about to radio whoever sent you in here and tell them that you got this handled.”
The main guy who’d been leading this little fetch mission nodded, pulling out his radio. Cara and I followed the other two out the back door as he began spinning up a yarn to tell his boss.
I probably should have stuck around and listened to what he said, just so I knew what the official story was. But before I even thought that, we were several halls away, winding down narrow corridors that made me feel like I was in an optical illusion painting. Like the ones on the back of cereal boxes.
Beside me, Cara’s body was stiff as rocks. I couldn’t even imagine what she was thinking. I also didn’t have the brain space to think about it right now. This was a ‘plot one step at a time’ kinda afternoon.
“Real nice of you to offer us a ride,” I said as we finally stepped through the last door into the lot outside the station. “You guys are definitely the coolest taxi drivers on the planet. I mean, you got the outfits and kitted up cars and everything. Just super rad.”
Emerson peered down his sunglasses at us. “Bro you know it. That’s just how we do here at Cops Cop and Taxi Service.”
“Yeah.” Conroy tipped his hat. “Nothing but the most totally epic and awesome service for every customer.”
They had both adopted heinous Californian surfer dude accents, and I had to wonder who’s definition of ‘coolest taxi drivers on the planet’ we were going by.
“Just razzle on in girlies,” Conroy said as he opened one of the squad cars. “Emmy J and C-Roy got you from coast to coast, from all to most.”
Literally who was coming up with this? Was this the old God’s idea of cool? Was it the officers’?
Cara looked horrified by it. Her eyes were the size of waffles as she watched the cops slide into the car.
“So where’s it gonna be, my home dawgs?” Emerson asked as he turned the car on. “Y’all’s got a destination or we j chilling?”
“Edge of town,” I said. I didn’t have a destination in mind yet, but I wanted off cop territory. “Like, uh, west end. Uh, by the, uh, you know the… we asked you to take us to Pizza Dog’s.”
“Man, totally sick.” Conroy nodded. “We gotchu.” The two cops whipped out a shockingly intricate and in sync handshake before gassing it out of the complex.
“Just make sure to turn off the scanner?” I suggested as we hightailed it towards the main road. “Uh, tracker. Er. New policy says any devices in the car that can be tracked need to be turned off.”
“Right right, totally.” Conroy began flipping switches. “New protocol’s rad though. Fuck the man, you know? Trying to track us and all?” He turned around and smoothed his almost hairless head. “Mind turning off your phones? NSA’s all up in that shit.”
“Uh, no. Not ours. Mine. Uh, customer devices don’t count. Or, I dunno, maybe they should. Can they track my phone?” Better be safe than sorry, right? Probably? I switched off my phone for good measure before looking at Cara. “Wait, do you even have a phone?”
“Uh. Mine is still at the police office.” Cara’s voice was so quiet I could barely hear it.
“Rad,” Conroy said. “No chance the fuzz get a blipper on us, track us to our destination.”
Cara looked at me and did a slight double take because I was probably looking at least as baffled by all this as she was.
“Dude this is the funniest shit,” Christopher said, floating behind me as we whirred down the road. “Shame Joni’s not here. She’d find this hysterical.”
“Blair maybe,” I said. “Joni not so…” My voice died as I slowly looked behind me. Where were the others? Were they just forever left behind? Would I have to reclaim them? They typically flew faster than a person walked, but not faster than a car. Was there a limit to how much distance could go between us?
“Blair?” Cara asked.
I ignored her. It was getting a little old, hearing my words parroted back to me every time I forgot to make it look like I was on the phone. I slid my eyes to Christopher and jerked my head back behind us.
“Seriously, no idea,” he said, thankfully getting my point. “I haven’t really noticed any kind of range but usually that’s cause you don’t go much further than the bathroom.”
“Have you ever, like, gotten a weird feeling if I get too far away from you?” I asked.
“No, I–are you on the phone again?”
I shot Cara a glare before looking at Christopher.
He shrugged unhelpfully.
Shit. So maybe that was gonna be a sneaky little Step 2. Recover my familiars. Cause as much as I could whine and bitch about them, I did really need them and I was going to be pretty screwed if they didn’t just–
“Eep!” The noise wrenched itself from my lips as a chilling shock washed over me, and the next thing I knew, I was literally engulfed in the ectoplasmic bodies of Joni and Blair, both of whom wore looks of anger and surprise. I’ll let you guess who was wearing which.
“Oh.” Blair’s lips jutted in a pout. “So she did forget us.”
“All good back there, girlio?” asked Emerson. He leaned back, giving me a lazy grin. “You sounded spookered.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Joni asked.
Before I could formulate an answer to either (which honestly probably would have taken me a while, let’s be real) Conroy jerked the car to a graceless stop.
“As you requested,” he said. “We are at our destination.”
Thank god.
“Ahh, thank you so much,” I said, forcing a sunny smile as I pulled Cara out with me. “Really appreciate it, you did us a real solid, thanks! Your next passenger is three towns over and you’re running late so best get on that. Bye!”
They waved bye back and hopped into their car, off to ruin their lives just slightly more while I tried to figure out what the fuck was next.
First things first.
I turned to Cara. “Hey look, this is gonna sound weird, but I need you to not look at me all funny when I sound like I’m talking to no one. I know that it doesn’t always make sense, but just try to act like it’s normal and don’t just repeat back what I say cause that kinda drives me crazy.”
She barely looked like she heard me as she glanced up and down the quiet road we’d been deposited on. “Huh? I mean, okay, if you need me to. That’s kinda the least weird thing that’s going on right now. Were those two your… accomplices?”
Did I tell her I was a God here? That was honestly seeming like the least harmful way to proceed. Another lie would gum up her brain even more, especially since we were probably stuck with each other for a bit. She couldn’t go home, and I knew how shitty that felt cause I also couldn’t go home. She had no money, that was the whole reason she was stealing CD drives. What else was she going to do but stick with me?
“Uh. I’ll explain more in a bit. Let’s just…” I looked up at Pizza Dog’s. Could we justify going in? It’s not like anyone knew where we were, and I could go for some secluded booths and sketchy pizza. “Just get some food. Recharge. I need to sort out a thing. A few things, actually.”
Top of mind had been ‘find Sammi a home’ because I was tired of running around, but I’d just been distracted by some new glowing lights in the corner of my vision. I had broken Cara out of jail after all.
Cara definitely looked like Pizza Dog’s wasn’t top on her list, but after a moment of looking around, probably looking for anything else to do, she sighed and followed my lead towards the bar.
Once we were inside, I sent her to the front to get our orders. Told her it was a seedy spot, so she’d have to watch the food while it was prepped so no one made off with it.
That wasn’t even a lie. I’ve had three pizzas stolen at this place.
Meanwhile, I snagged a booth and read over my scheme rewards.
Difficulty Level: Blue
Participants: Cara Geraldo
Status: Success!
Details: Cara Geraldo was liberated from her jail cell.
Reward: Partial level up. New Scheme! “Find a safehouse for Cara.”
~~~
I wrinkled my nose. That should’ve been a level for sure. But whatever, I wasn’t gonna argue with the Source here. Besides, I had a feeling that I was damn close to my next level. Like even a small self-scheme would get me there. So finding a place to live would definitely get me there.
Cara arrived with a big, greasy pizza shortly after I debriefed a very pissed off Joni and a very sad Blair about why we’d left them behind.
“Oh shoot, so you’re going to jail for killing Noah now?” Blair asked, maybe picking up about half of what I said.
Fortunately, Joni had been listening, and she took savage pleasure in filling Blair in as condescendingly as possible.
While my ghosts set each other straight, I helped Cara put the pizza down, grabbing myself a thin paper plate and big honking slice.
“So,” Cara said, her voice a lot more even now. “You have some explaining to do.”
Damn she really had a one track mind. I held up a hand, already wincing. “Yes, I do. I know. But this isn’t the place for it.” She opened her mouth, so I rushed over her impending interruption. “I know I know I know. But it’s not. There is a spot, New Olympia, that’s safe from police and armed fences and pizza thieves alike, and once we’re there, I swear, I’ll tell you everything. I just… I don’t have the time to say it all right now.” I didn’t have the time to even think about what I was gonna tell her, if I was being honest. Which I wasn’t, really, I guess, since I was lying about it. “Just… I might need your help getting there.” I pulled out my phone, switching it back on.
“Okay, fine. Fine, I’ll wait.” Cara leaned over to look at my screen as she started chewing on a slice of pizza. “Where’s New Olympia?
“That,” I said, pulling up my apps library and tapping HouzeHunting, “is the million dollar question we’re about to answer.”
Sammi's about to get herself a new pad. Hopefully she'll have a place she can settle down a bit, since she's been running nonstop for a while.
Also a note on posting and Patreon. Once I finagle some cover art (yes, we have art coming down the road!!!) I'm going to start posting on Royal Road. Once RR and RS are synced, then I'll start posting on Patreon again. I'll drop my content pretty quickly over there, so that they can catch up with here. So stay tuned!
submitted by OpheliaCyanide to redditserials [link] [comments]
Previous Chapter Next chapter coming soon!
Start here! Patreon (up to chapter 9)
“Bit twitchy, eh?”
I winced a bit before slowly turning to face them, hands in the air just in case. “I didn’t sleep very well last night,” I said, swallowing hard. “Uh. New bed. You know how it is. Also a new place I was sleeping in. Er, I was sleeping in a new place. Makes you a bit nervous, so I was a bit nervous while sleeping, which I think probably also contributes–” holy fuck what was I saying. I had to physically bring one of my raised hands down over my mouth just to shut myself up.
I could do this. I could! I was the God, Joni was the familiar, I didn’t need her!
“Right.” The police officer who’d spoken fixed me with a long, nasty grin, his sardonic response rolling off his tongue like I imagined chewing tobacco would. Not that tobacco is necessarily something that rolls off the tongue, but this ‘riiiiight’ sure was. “I see you’ve already got your hands up, Miss Ashe. Makes me think, you know exactly why we’re here.”
Okay. Minimal lies, minimal words, minimal thoughts.
“You’re here to collect bail,” I said. “I’m paying Cara’s bail so I can bring her home for a bit. Get her someplace comfortable before the trial.”
The officer hitched his thumbs in his belt, still fixing me with that long, lip curling stare. “Yup. I don’t like it. My boys Emerson and Conroy don’t like it,” he added, gesturing at his backup. “But rules are rules, says you get to post bail no matter how much you deserve to be locked up in here til we can put you away for good.”
I swallowed again, my mouth getting drier with each subsequent swallow. “Yeah. Uh. Shame. Them’s the rules.”
“So, like, you also totally don’t have the money, right?” Christopher asked, leaning back in the air like he was reclining in a theatre seat.
This was something I had actually thought of. I took a deep breath. “Right. So, since I’ve already paid the bail, you’re going to let us out. I’m not involved in this whole crime one way or another, I’m just here to pay Cara’s bail and get her someplace comfortable.”
The leer didn’t let up a micromilimeter as I spoke. I fully expected him to hock a wad of tobacco at me.
“We’re here to escort you out,” he said, eyes giving us a disgusted once over. “Make sure you don’t go wandering in the station. Just cause she’s free to leave this cell doesn’t mean either of you just to roam around here wherever you like.” As he spoke, he took a few heavy steps forward, motioning for his boys to follow. The balding one, Conroy, pulled a key ring out and started fidgeting among a buncha jangly little gold keys until he found the one that fit Cara’s door.
The shorter one, Emerson, hitched up his big sunglasses and cleared his throat. “Few things we gotta run by you, so you know the terms and conditions–”
“You already emailed me those,” I said, the words rushing out of my mouth in a desperate attempt to avoid a lengthy legal spiel. We were on borrowed time before they sent backup in. “We’re going out the back door, right? You’re supposed to take us out the way with the least, uh, witnesses.”
Witness was a bad word, and Cara’s eyes bugged when I said it. But I couldn’t think of the right word, and I was just trying to avoid a lot of interference.
“Witnesses? Bro are you killing people?”
I cringed at Christopher’s words but didn’t respond as the police officer gestured us to follow.
“Oh one more thing.” I took a deep breath. “You just gotta tell your guard buddies–uh, the police chief… or, you know, actually, you were just about to radio whoever sent you in here and tell them that you got this handled.”
The main guy who’d been leading this little fetch mission nodded, pulling out his radio. Cara and I followed the other two out the back door as he began spinning up a yarn to tell his boss.
I probably should have stuck around and listened to what he said, just so I knew what the official story was. But before I even thought that, we were several halls away, winding down narrow corridors that made me feel like I was in an optical illusion painting. Like the ones on the back of cereal boxes.
Beside me, Cara’s body was stiff as rocks. I couldn’t even imagine what she was thinking. I also didn’t have the brain space to think about it right now. This was a ‘plot one step at a time’ kinda afternoon.
“Real nice of you to offer us a ride,” I said as we finally stepped through the last door into the lot outside the station. “You guys are definitely the coolest taxi drivers on the planet. I mean, you got the outfits and kitted up cars and everything. Just super rad.”
Emerson peered down his sunglasses at us. “Bro you know it. That’s just how we do here at Cops Cop and Taxi Service.”
“Yeah.” Conroy tipped his hat. “Nothing but the most totally epic and awesome service for every customer.”
They had both adopted heinous Californian surfer dude accents, and I had to wonder who’s definition of ‘coolest taxi drivers on the planet’ we were going by.
“Just razzle on in girlies,” Conroy said as he opened one of the squad cars. “Emmy J and C-Roy got you from coast to coast, from all to most.”
Literally who was coming up with this? Was this the old God’s idea of cool? Was it the officers’?
Cara looked horrified by it. Her eyes were the size of waffles as she watched the cops slide into the car.
“So where’s it gonna be, my home dawgs?” Emerson asked as he turned the car on. “Y’all’s got a destination or we j chilling?”
“Edge of town,” I said. I didn’t have a destination in mind yet, but I wanted off cop territory. “Like, uh, west end. Uh, by the, uh, you know the… we asked you to take us to Pizza Dog’s.”
“Man, totally sick.” Conroy nodded. “We gotchu.” The two cops whipped out a shockingly intricate and in sync handshake before gassing it out of the complex.
“Just make sure to turn off the scanner?” I suggested as we hightailed it towards the main road. “Uh, tracker. Er. New policy says any devices in the car that can be tracked need to be turned off.”
“Right right, totally.” Conroy began flipping switches. “New protocol’s rad though. Fuck the man, you know? Trying to track us and all?” He turned around and smoothed his almost hairless head. “Mind turning off your phones? NSA’s all up in that shit.”
“Uh, no. Not ours. Mine. Uh, customer devices don’t count. Or, I dunno, maybe they should. Can they track my phone?” Better be safe than sorry, right? Probably? I switched off my phone for good measure before looking at Cara. “Wait, do you even have a phone?”
“Uh. Mine is still at the police office.” Cara’s voice was so quiet I could barely hear it.
“Rad,” Conroy said. “No chance the fuzz get a blipper on us, track us to our destination.”
Cara looked at me and did a slight double take because I was probably looking at least as baffled by all this as she was.
“Dude this is the funniest shit,” Christopher said, floating behind me as we whirred down the road. “Shame Joni’s not here. She’d find this hysterical.”
“Blair maybe,” I said. “Joni not so…” My voice died as I slowly looked behind me. Where were the others? Were they just forever left behind? Would I have to reclaim them? They typically flew faster than a person walked, but not faster than a car. Was there a limit to how much distance could go between us?
“Blair?” Cara asked.
I ignored her. It was getting a little old, hearing my words parroted back to me every time I forgot to make it look like I was on the phone. I slid my eyes to Christopher and jerked my head back behind us.
“Seriously, no idea,” he said, thankfully getting my point. “I haven’t really noticed any kind of range but usually that’s cause you don’t go much further than the bathroom.”
“Have you ever, like, gotten a weird feeling if I get too far away from you?” I asked.
“No, I–are you on the phone again?”
I shot Cara a glare before looking at Christopher.
He shrugged unhelpfully.
Shit. So maybe that was gonna be a sneaky little Step 2. Recover my familiars. Cause as much as I could whine and bitch about them, I did really need them and I was going to be pretty screwed if they didn’t just–
“Eep!” The noise wrenched itself from my lips as a chilling shock washed over me, and the next thing I knew, I was literally engulfed in the ectoplasmic bodies of Joni and Blair, both of whom wore looks of anger and surprise. I’ll let you guess who was wearing which.
“Oh.” Blair’s lips jutted in a pout. “So she did forget us.”
“All good back there, girlio?” asked Emerson. He leaned back, giving me a lazy grin. “You sounded spookered.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Joni asked.
Before I could formulate an answer to either (which honestly probably would have taken me a while, let’s be real) Conroy jerked the car to a graceless stop.
“As you requested,” he said. “We are at our destination.”
Thank god.
“Ahh, thank you so much,” I said, forcing a sunny smile as I pulled Cara out with me. “Really appreciate it, you did us a real solid, thanks! Your next passenger is three towns over and you’re running late so best get on that. Bye!”
They waved bye back and hopped into their car, off to ruin their lives just slightly more while I tried to figure out what the fuck was next.
First things first.
I turned to Cara. “Hey look, this is gonna sound weird, but I need you to not look at me all funny when I sound like I’m talking to no one. I know that it doesn’t always make sense, but just try to act like it’s normal and don’t just repeat back what I say cause that kinda drives me crazy.”
She barely looked like she heard me as she glanced up and down the quiet road we’d been deposited on. “Huh? I mean, okay, if you need me to. That’s kinda the least weird thing that’s going on right now. Were those two your… accomplices?”
Did I tell her I was a God here? That was honestly seeming like the least harmful way to proceed. Another lie would gum up her brain even more, especially since we were probably stuck with each other for a bit. She couldn’t go home, and I knew how shitty that felt cause I also couldn’t go home. She had no money, that was the whole reason she was stealing CD drives. What else was she going to do but stick with me?
“Uh. I’ll explain more in a bit. Let’s just…” I looked up at Pizza Dog’s. Could we justify going in? It’s not like anyone knew where we were, and I could go for some secluded booths and sketchy pizza. “Just get some food. Recharge. I need to sort out a thing. A few things, actually.”
Top of mind had been ‘find Sammi a home’ because I was tired of running around, but I’d just been distracted by some new glowing lights in the corner of my vision. I had broken Cara out of jail after all.
Cara definitely looked like Pizza Dog’s wasn’t top on her list, but after a moment of looking around, probably looking for anything else to do, she sighed and followed my lead towards the bar.
Once we were inside, I sent her to the front to get our orders. Told her it was a seedy spot, so she’d have to watch the food while it was prepped so no one made off with it.
That wasn’t even a lie. I’ve had three pizzas stolen at this place.
Meanwhile, I snagged a booth and read over my scheme rewards.
Scheme Update:
Type: BreakoutDifficulty Level: Blue
Participants: Cara Geraldo
Status: Success!
Details: Cara Geraldo was liberated from her jail cell.
Reward: Partial level up. New Scheme! “Find a safehouse for Cara.”
~~~
I wrinkled my nose. That should’ve been a level for sure. But whatever, I wasn’t gonna argue with the Source here. Besides, I had a feeling that I was damn close to my next level. Like even a small self-scheme would get me there. So finding a place to live would definitely get me there.
Cara arrived with a big, greasy pizza shortly after I debriefed a very pissed off Joni and a very sad Blair about why we’d left them behind.
“Oh shoot, so you’re going to jail for killing Noah now?” Blair asked, maybe picking up about half of what I said.
Fortunately, Joni had been listening, and she took savage pleasure in filling Blair in as condescendingly as possible.
While my ghosts set each other straight, I helped Cara put the pizza down, grabbing myself a thin paper plate and big honking slice.
“So,” Cara said, her voice a lot more even now. “You have some explaining to do.”
Damn she really had a one track mind. I held up a hand, already wincing. “Yes, I do. I know. But this isn’t the place for it.” She opened her mouth, so I rushed over her impending interruption. “I know I know I know. But it’s not. There is a spot, New Olympia, that’s safe from police and armed fences and pizza thieves alike, and once we’re there, I swear, I’ll tell you everything. I just… I don’t have the time to say it all right now.” I didn’t have the time to even think about what I was gonna tell her, if I was being honest. Which I wasn’t, really, I guess, since I was lying about it. “Just… I might need your help getting there.” I pulled out my phone, switching it back on.
“Okay, fine. Fine, I’ll wait.” Cara leaned over to look at my screen as she started chewing on a slice of pizza. “Where’s New Olympia?
“That,” I said, pulling up my apps library and tapping HouzeHunting, “is the million dollar question we’re about to answer.”
Also a note on posting and Patreon. Once I finagle some cover art (yes, we have art coming down the road!!!) I'm going to start posting on Royal Road. Once RR and RS are synced, then I'll start posting on Patreon again. I'll drop my content pretty quickly over there, so that they can catch up with here. So stay tuned!
2024.05.10 06:04 androbuntu Cara Melihat Alamat Email Sendiri di HP Android - Androbuntu
 | submitted by androbuntu to androbuntu [link] [comments] |
2024.05.10 06:01 jhon_dbd Novo quadro de RH na empresa
Não vou postar o nome da empresa por motivos obvios, mas devo me preocupar que em poucos meses mandaram um email/questionário para todos os funcionários perguntando como se identificavam, se tinham nome social, se eram cis ou o diabo a quatro?
Quero dizer, ngm liga que o Ricardo da baia do fundo da empresa é yag. Que diferença faz quem o cara come ou deixa de comer fora da empresa, pqp em.
Tem uns 7 magrão que me devem explicação todos os dias, e nenhuma dessas é sexual, nunca nem perguntei com qual mão eles batem.
RH devia estar preocupado com o VVT, entrada e saída de funcionário(rotatividade) e estudar um mínimo da área pra não fazer pergunta besta na entrevista(apesar que nem isso estão fazendo mais sozinhos).
submitted by jhon_dbd to brasilivre [link] [comments]
Quero dizer, ngm liga que o Ricardo da baia do fundo da empresa é yag. Que diferença faz quem o cara come ou deixa de comer fora da empresa, pqp em.
Tem uns 7 magrão que me devem explicação todos os dias, e nenhuma dessas é sexual, nunca nem perguntei com qual mão eles batem.
RH devia estar preocupado com o VVT, entrada e saída de funcionário(rotatividade) e estudar um mínimo da área pra não fazer pergunta besta na entrevista(apesar que nem isso estão fazendo mais sozinhos).
2024.05.10 02:27 Shadowgirl7 Qual a melhor dieta para um cão?
Perguntei no AskVet mas acho que nunca obtive respostas lá, que sub mais inútil.
O meu cão tem 11 anos e nunca gostou muito de cereais, geralmente tem uma tigela com os cereais, de vez em quando vai lá petiscar mas demora dias a esvaziar. O que ele gosta é a refeição diária que lhe dou, que costuma ser à noite e sempre foi carne cozinha. Dantes ia ao talho buscar vísceras, cozinhava e era isso.
Em Janeiro teve um episódio de diarreia provavelmente provocado pelo fígado (cozido mas li que tem muita vitamina A e pode ser muito forte pro intestino). A partir daí começou a comer arroz com frango (cozido, sem osso e sem temperos). Melhorou com a medicação e a dieta, tentei reintroduzir carne, mas como piorou voltou ao arroz com frango e tem sido sempre.
Entretanto passado 3 semanas voltou a ficar com diarreia, desta vez por causa de uma sacolite. Antibiótico e corticoide, drenar as glândulas mal cheirosas que têm no rabo e um suplemento em pó e melhorou. Passado umas semanas, no mês passado, sem absolutamente nada na dieta ter mudado e as glândulas já terem voltado ao normal (porque tinha ido à vet poucos dias antes), voltou a ficar com diarreia e desta vez levei-o ao hospital veterinário (dantes tinha ido sempre à clínica) para fazer exames. 200€, uma série de análises e ecografia abdominal e tal depois, está tudo ok, excepto que tem os níveis de vitamina B12 baixos, provavelmente por causa das diarreias. Está a fazer uma série de 4 injecções, termina para a semana.
No entanto, a deficiência nessa vitamina não é provavelmente a causa da diarreia, mas sim uma consequência. Os vets acham que pode estar a ficar com alergia a proteína alimentar e portanto queriam que eu lhe desse só ração e comida enlatada hipoalergénica da royal canin. Comprei e dou-lhe os cereais mas como disse ele não é fã, o que quer é a carne à noite. O que fiz foi reduzir a dose de frango e meter a comida enlatada (que já gosta mais) e pronto tem andado bem. Ontem vi que estava com diarreia novamente então decidi cortar mais o frango e meter-lhe mais comida enlatada, mas vomitou tudo... Já não é a primeira vez que vomita comida enlatada, acho que é a consistência.
Hoje meti menos da enlatada, cereais, ainda meti um bocadinho de frango para ver se aquilo ficava com o sabor, mas comeu só o frango e a comida enlatada, os cereais ficaram :/
Para além disso, começo a ficar com alguma desconfiança do grupo veterinário onde vou. Eu expliquei que ele não gosta muito de ração, mas nem se preocuparam em dar alternativas, é ração durante 2 meses que por sinal vendem lá (também só comprei o primeiro saco lá, depois encomendei online e não volto a lá comprar). Demoraram uma eternidade a mandaram-me o relatório da ecografia tive de ligar sei lá quantas vezes, não sei qual a dificuldade de anexar um pdf a um email e enviar... dá a impressão que não querem que eu tenha acesso aos exames pelos quais paguei (e não pouco) para não ir a outro sítio.
E depois com a suplementação da vitamina foi outro filme. Queriam que fosse ao hospital só para lhe darem a vitamina, é tipo 10 minutos e pode perfeitamente ser feito na clínica que é muito mais perto de minha casa. Ele fica stressado a andar de carro e eu também, expliquei isso mas não mostraram vontade nenhuma em ajudar. Era ir lá ou ir lá. Até vi que há comprimidos de vitamina B12 e li um estudo que refere que é tão eficaz como a injecção mas nem isso sugeriram, my guess é porque lá não vendem os comprimidos, ou seja não iam fazer dinheiro porque ia ter que comprar noutro lado. Enfim, após várias chamadas consegui que fizessem na clínica mas agora para ir tirar sangue para voltar a repetir a análise tem que ser no hospital porque tretas.
É um grupo veterinário então no hospital é sempre um médico diferente. Na clínica é quase sempre o mesmo, mas pelos vistos não fazem grande coisa, se calhar mais valia fechar já que mandam tudo pro hospital. Com as minhas cadelas costumava ir a outro veterinário, mas depois da minha cadela mais nova ter falecido abruptamente, disseram-me mal desse e foi aí que comecei a ir a este. Mas a verdade é que o outro era um consultório pequeno mais perto de casa, que faz exames e cirurgias logo não é preciso ir ao hospital, não é um médico diferente sempre que vou lá, era mais barato, não tinham por hábito fazer análises super caras só porque sim, optavam por uma abordagem empírica, portanto não sei se não valerá a pena ir lá. Tenho medo que estes sejam cuidadoso a mais no sentido de fazer muitos exames e tal e o outro cuidadoso a menos.
Enfim, por essas atitudes estou a começar a ficar sem paciência e a começar a achar que estão mais preocupados em vender coisas caras do que arranjar uma solução. Li também uns especialistas que recomendam uma dieta mais natural à base de carnes cozinhas e legumes em vez de cereais e comida enlatada visto que essas comidas são processadas e têm aditivos. Na verdade faz sentido, a dieta natural dos cães não é cereais, é carne, proteína.
A minha questão é, o que fariam? Ir a outro veterinário? Tentar dar-lhe outra proteína diferente do frango, tipo salmão ou carne bovina? Ou torturar o bicho e dar-lhe só cereais? é que aquilo ainda por cima é proteína de soja, nem é proteína de carne/peixe... não me parece nada natural.
submitted by Shadowgirl7 to CasualPT [link] [comments]
O meu cão tem 11 anos e nunca gostou muito de cereais, geralmente tem uma tigela com os cereais, de vez em quando vai lá petiscar mas demora dias a esvaziar. O que ele gosta é a refeição diária que lhe dou, que costuma ser à noite e sempre foi carne cozinha. Dantes ia ao talho buscar vísceras, cozinhava e era isso.
Em Janeiro teve um episódio de diarreia provavelmente provocado pelo fígado (cozido mas li que tem muita vitamina A e pode ser muito forte pro intestino). A partir daí começou a comer arroz com frango (cozido, sem osso e sem temperos). Melhorou com a medicação e a dieta, tentei reintroduzir carne, mas como piorou voltou ao arroz com frango e tem sido sempre.
Entretanto passado 3 semanas voltou a ficar com diarreia, desta vez por causa de uma sacolite. Antibiótico e corticoide, drenar as glândulas mal cheirosas que têm no rabo e um suplemento em pó e melhorou. Passado umas semanas, no mês passado, sem absolutamente nada na dieta ter mudado e as glândulas já terem voltado ao normal (porque tinha ido à vet poucos dias antes), voltou a ficar com diarreia e desta vez levei-o ao hospital veterinário (dantes tinha ido sempre à clínica) para fazer exames. 200€, uma série de análises e ecografia abdominal e tal depois, está tudo ok, excepto que tem os níveis de vitamina B12 baixos, provavelmente por causa das diarreias. Está a fazer uma série de 4 injecções, termina para a semana.
No entanto, a deficiência nessa vitamina não é provavelmente a causa da diarreia, mas sim uma consequência. Os vets acham que pode estar a ficar com alergia a proteína alimentar e portanto queriam que eu lhe desse só ração e comida enlatada hipoalergénica da royal canin. Comprei e dou-lhe os cereais mas como disse ele não é fã, o que quer é a carne à noite. O que fiz foi reduzir a dose de frango e meter a comida enlatada (que já gosta mais) e pronto tem andado bem. Ontem vi que estava com diarreia novamente então decidi cortar mais o frango e meter-lhe mais comida enlatada, mas vomitou tudo... Já não é a primeira vez que vomita comida enlatada, acho que é a consistência.
Hoje meti menos da enlatada, cereais, ainda meti um bocadinho de frango para ver se aquilo ficava com o sabor, mas comeu só o frango e a comida enlatada, os cereais ficaram :/
Para além disso, começo a ficar com alguma desconfiança do grupo veterinário onde vou. Eu expliquei que ele não gosta muito de ração, mas nem se preocuparam em dar alternativas, é ração durante 2 meses que por sinal vendem lá (também só comprei o primeiro saco lá, depois encomendei online e não volto a lá comprar). Demoraram uma eternidade a mandaram-me o relatório da ecografia tive de ligar sei lá quantas vezes, não sei qual a dificuldade de anexar um pdf a um email e enviar... dá a impressão que não querem que eu tenha acesso aos exames pelos quais paguei (e não pouco) para não ir a outro sítio.
E depois com a suplementação da vitamina foi outro filme. Queriam que fosse ao hospital só para lhe darem a vitamina, é tipo 10 minutos e pode perfeitamente ser feito na clínica que é muito mais perto de minha casa. Ele fica stressado a andar de carro e eu também, expliquei isso mas não mostraram vontade nenhuma em ajudar. Era ir lá ou ir lá. Até vi que há comprimidos de vitamina B12 e li um estudo que refere que é tão eficaz como a injecção mas nem isso sugeriram, my guess é porque lá não vendem os comprimidos, ou seja não iam fazer dinheiro porque ia ter que comprar noutro lado. Enfim, após várias chamadas consegui que fizessem na clínica mas agora para ir tirar sangue para voltar a repetir a análise tem que ser no hospital porque tretas.
É um grupo veterinário então no hospital é sempre um médico diferente. Na clínica é quase sempre o mesmo, mas pelos vistos não fazem grande coisa, se calhar mais valia fechar já que mandam tudo pro hospital. Com as minhas cadelas costumava ir a outro veterinário, mas depois da minha cadela mais nova ter falecido abruptamente, disseram-me mal desse e foi aí que comecei a ir a este. Mas a verdade é que o outro era um consultório pequeno mais perto de casa, que faz exames e cirurgias logo não é preciso ir ao hospital, não é um médico diferente sempre que vou lá, era mais barato, não tinham por hábito fazer análises super caras só porque sim, optavam por uma abordagem empírica, portanto não sei se não valerá a pena ir lá. Tenho medo que estes sejam cuidadoso a mais no sentido de fazer muitos exames e tal e o outro cuidadoso a menos.
Enfim, por essas atitudes estou a começar a ficar sem paciência e a começar a achar que estão mais preocupados em vender coisas caras do que arranjar uma solução. Li também uns especialistas que recomendam uma dieta mais natural à base de carnes cozinhas e legumes em vez de cereais e comida enlatada visto que essas comidas são processadas e têm aditivos. Na verdade faz sentido, a dieta natural dos cães não é cereais, é carne, proteína.
A minha questão é, o que fariam? Ir a outro veterinário? Tentar dar-lhe outra proteína diferente do frango, tipo salmão ou carne bovina? Ou torturar o bicho e dar-lhe só cereais? é que aquilo ainda por cima é proteína de soja, nem é proteína de carne/peixe... não me parece nada natural.
2024.05.08 19:53 No_Advertising_4696 IMPOSIBLE QUITAR LA CUENTA, VINCULADA CON GOOGLE ME DICE QUE NO ES LA CONTRASEÑA ( QUE LA ACABO DE CAMBIAR VIA EMAIL) EN FIN @REDDIT DE LAS PEORES RRSS QUE ME PODIDO HECHAR A LA CARA, LO DE NO AVISAR DEL NOMBRE GENERICO Y NO PODER CAMBIARSE ES MÁGICO MENUDA PUTA MIERDA DE RRSS
ALT F7 CREADORES DE LA WEB
submitted by No_Advertising_4696 to u/No_Advertising_4696 [link] [comments]
2024.05.08 15:44 beepboopdoowop Tudo hoje é inteligência artificial, meu deus do céu
Boa parte das coisas que vejo na internet, vídeos, imagens, música, texto, são gerados artificialmente. Acho foda que essa tecnologia exista, é fantástico que alguém programou algo que consegue gerar um conteúdo novo a partir de coisas que aquele programa estudou. Eu uso pra caralho, pra manda email e escrever esboços de algum texto. Mas tá ficando saturado demais e fica muito na cara quando é IA. Alem do mais, comercial de tudo hoje tem IA: carro com IA, aula de idioma com IA, daqui a pouco tem geladeira com IA.
submitted by beepboopdoowop to brasil [link] [comments]
2024.05.08 10:04 androbuntu Cara Mengetahui Versi Android di HP yang Kamu Gunakan
 | submitted by androbuntu to androbuntu [link] [comments] |
2024.05.06 20:49 HistoricalPrize7951 Two Versions of First Page
I’m working on my first story and I am trying to find the right tone and language I want to use. I made two versions of the first page of the story, let me know which is better, all advice is welcome.
Version 1:
Fighting the tide, Zoe opened her eyes. The sun had not risen, and the deep layers of her bed smothered her in comfort. She was far more accustomed to falling asleep at this hour than waking up. But her alarm proudly announced its presence, and she felt regret. Regret that she needed to do anything at all, ever, but more specifically that she needed to go on this trip. She had a tendency to say yes to too many things. The thought of the write up she needed to do for model UN made her shudder. At least this wasn’t that.
She grabbed her phone and silenced the alarm, and suddenly the arguement between her ears and the rest of her body was resolved, and she shut her eyes. The second alarm was no less unpleasant. She rolled out of bed and into her bathroom. A splash of cold water to the face was enough to regain focus. They needed to leave in 45 minutes. She attempted to brush her teeth while staring at her phone, instinctively checking her email. There were seven new messages, all junk and all now marked read.
She flipped over to instagram, where she was inundated with spring break photos, whose sole purpose was to generate envy, at which they were doing a fabulous job. At least she was going somewhere warm. The cold tile floor, incessant LED lights and dark March sky were conspiring to make her hate the cold.
She turned on the shower, standing back so that none of the ice cold spray could harm her. She quickly hopped into the shower, but was unable to avoid that brief moment where being wet outweighed the warmth of water. She shivered before being rescued by the heat, as steam filled the room.
Having lingered a little too long, she rushed out of the shower and threw on sweatpants and sweatshirt, she needed to wake up her mom. She tiptoed down the hall as gently as possible, but the aged wooden floorboards awoke with a loud stretch. She gently twisted the bedroom door knob and shuffled over to the bed. Her mom was a statue lying there. She prodded her shoulder, with no luck. “Mom”, she whispered.
Nothing. “Mom”, this time louder. She twitched. “Mom, wake up”. The other side of the bed came alive.
“Laura wake up”, croaked Zoe’s dad in tired frustration.
“Oh shut up” she shot up.
“Mom we need to go in 20 minutes” Zoe said, she had given up being quiet.
“Okay, I’ll start getting ready honey, just give me a few minutes.”
Zoe walked out of the room, closing the door behind her, and grabbed a bowl cereal.
Version 2:
Zoe checked her phone. 6:38 am, they needed to leave in 20 minutes. She walked down the hallway and listened for movement on the other side of the door.
“Mom”, she whispered. She shifted her feet and stared at the wall for a moment. “Mommm”, a little louder this time.
“Coming” came a mumbled reply. Zoe leaned a shoulder against the wall and opened her phone. She instinctively checked her email for the third time that morning, then started browsing instagram. A photo of Cara on a beach somewhere with Alex, Zoe hit the reels button as fast as she could, but the pang of regret followed her. Spring break is supposed to be fun, she thought to herself, why did I sign up for this. The cat video was doing little to distract her, did it just slap that dog across the face? Crazy. Swipe up.
Zoe’s mom shuffled out of her bedroom in her robe. “Get ready, we need to leave in 10 minutes”, Zoe said, though it was 15 actually.
“I am ready, let me just make some coffee.”
“That’s not ready.”
“It’s too early for this, just get your stuff in the car, I won’t take long”.
Zoe grabbed her backpack and her suitcase, and rolled it across the kitchen to the garage. She unzipped her bag and did one last check. License, check. Cash and credit card, check. Student ID, check. Sunscreen, bug spray, computer, computer charger, phone charger, headphones, sweater, notebook and pen, sunhat. Her backpack was pretty stuffed, but at least her suitcase was pretty compact. She loaded everything up and went back inside.
In the kitchen her mom was sitting with a cooling piece of toast with jelly on a plate, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. “Can you take that to-go?” Zoe nagged.
“You said 10 minutes”
“Yeah well if we’re ready we may as well go”
“Fine but you have to drive so I can finish this”.
Zoe hated driving.
10 minutes later they got in the car and Zoe plugged her phone into the jack and put in the directions St. Louis Lambert International Airport. “I know where I’m going” her mom said.
submitted by HistoricalPrize7951 to writers [link] [comments]
Version 1:
Fighting the tide, Zoe opened her eyes. The sun had not risen, and the deep layers of her bed smothered her in comfort. She was far more accustomed to falling asleep at this hour than waking up. But her alarm proudly announced its presence, and she felt regret. Regret that she needed to do anything at all, ever, but more specifically that she needed to go on this trip. She had a tendency to say yes to too many things. The thought of the write up she needed to do for model UN made her shudder. At least this wasn’t that.
She grabbed her phone and silenced the alarm, and suddenly the arguement between her ears and the rest of her body was resolved, and she shut her eyes. The second alarm was no less unpleasant. She rolled out of bed and into her bathroom. A splash of cold water to the face was enough to regain focus. They needed to leave in 45 minutes. She attempted to brush her teeth while staring at her phone, instinctively checking her email. There were seven new messages, all junk and all now marked read.
She flipped over to instagram, where she was inundated with spring break photos, whose sole purpose was to generate envy, at which they were doing a fabulous job. At least she was going somewhere warm. The cold tile floor, incessant LED lights and dark March sky were conspiring to make her hate the cold.
She turned on the shower, standing back so that none of the ice cold spray could harm her. She quickly hopped into the shower, but was unable to avoid that brief moment where being wet outweighed the warmth of water. She shivered before being rescued by the heat, as steam filled the room.
Having lingered a little too long, she rushed out of the shower and threw on sweatpants and sweatshirt, she needed to wake up her mom. She tiptoed down the hall as gently as possible, but the aged wooden floorboards awoke with a loud stretch. She gently twisted the bedroom door knob and shuffled over to the bed. Her mom was a statue lying there. She prodded her shoulder, with no luck. “Mom”, she whispered.
Nothing. “Mom”, this time louder. She twitched. “Mom, wake up”. The other side of the bed came alive.
“Laura wake up”, croaked Zoe’s dad in tired frustration.
“Oh shut up” she shot up.
“Mom we need to go in 20 minutes” Zoe said, she had given up being quiet.
“Okay, I’ll start getting ready honey, just give me a few minutes.”
Zoe walked out of the room, closing the door behind her, and grabbed a bowl cereal.
Version 2:
Zoe checked her phone. 6:38 am, they needed to leave in 20 minutes. She walked down the hallway and listened for movement on the other side of the door.
“Mom”, she whispered. She shifted her feet and stared at the wall for a moment. “Mommm”, a little louder this time.
“Coming” came a mumbled reply. Zoe leaned a shoulder against the wall and opened her phone. She instinctively checked her email for the third time that morning, then started browsing instagram. A photo of Cara on a beach somewhere with Alex, Zoe hit the reels button as fast as she could, but the pang of regret followed her. Spring break is supposed to be fun, she thought to herself, why did I sign up for this. The cat video was doing little to distract her, did it just slap that dog across the face? Crazy. Swipe up.
Zoe’s mom shuffled out of her bedroom in her robe. “Get ready, we need to leave in 10 minutes”, Zoe said, though it was 15 actually.
“I am ready, let me just make some coffee.”
“That’s not ready.”
“It’s too early for this, just get your stuff in the car, I won’t take long”.
Zoe grabbed her backpack and her suitcase, and rolled it across the kitchen to the garage. She unzipped her bag and did one last check. License, check. Cash and credit card, check. Student ID, check. Sunscreen, bug spray, computer, computer charger, phone charger, headphones, sweater, notebook and pen, sunhat. Her backpack was pretty stuffed, but at least her suitcase was pretty compact. She loaded everything up and went back inside.
In the kitchen her mom was sitting with a cooling piece of toast with jelly on a plate, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. “Can you take that to-go?” Zoe nagged.
“You said 10 minutes”
“Yeah well if we’re ready we may as well go”
“Fine but you have to drive so I can finish this”.
Zoe hated driving.
10 minutes later they got in the car and Zoe plugged her phone into the jack and put in the directions St. Louis Lambert International Airport. “I know where I’m going” her mom said.