I usually write slow, so this isn't the best story I ever did, but it might still be a little amusing. So, without further ado:
MODERN TIMES
"What's with the long face?" the old man asked.
"Hm?"
I stood in front of the mall and there were these three old men sitting there. They saw them sitting there every day, but I didn't really know them.
"Oh, my boss is being annoying. I work in advertising, and they asked us to make a new style for the company, you know, new logo's and stuff, but he's rejected four drafts so far, but they were excactly what he wanted. Why doesn't he just tell us what he really wants?
I really was glad to vent my anger, since Maureen was away on my free afternoon. I felt better already.
"Pah! You call that bad?" the thin old man snarled. "In my days we had to walk 10 miles to get to work. And we didn't work eight hours either! No sirree! We could only wish for such luxury. Lord, how we dreamed of working eight hours."
"Hm," I said, frowning.
"Pah," said the middle one, "that's still nothing compared to how hard our job was."
"Why, what did you do?"
"We sure as heck couldn't do any shopping. How we'd love to go shopping, buy some coffee. But we didn't have any fancy coffeebreaks, like you do nowadays. How we fought in the union to get coffeebreaks. But you've taken it for granted. The world's gone soft."
"What, from having coffeebreaks?"
"Meh, don't listen to him," said the fat one. "Going on strike for coffeebreaks..."
He shook his head.
"In my days we didn't have time to strike. We worked, that was all we did. Twenty-two hours a day. And we had to walk half an hour to get home and get some sleep.
An hour later we got up again to go to work. Those were the days... Not like today.
I tried to surpress my smile.
"Well, I've enjoyed your stories, even though I don't believe it all, but I must go now, or my icecream'll melt. See you next time."
With that I walked off.
The old men watched the young man walk to his car.
"Hmpf," said one of them. "We'll fool the next one."
"Yup. I think you pushed it with the twenty-two hours, Harold."
MODERN TIMES
"What's with the long face?" the old man asked.
"Hm?"
I stood in front of the mall and there were these three old men sitting there. They saw them sitting there every day, but I didn't really know them.
"Oh, my boss is being annoying. I work in advertising, and they asked us to make a new style for the company, you know, new logo's and stuff, but he's rejected four drafts so far, but they were excactly what he wanted. Why doesn't he just tell us what he really wants?
I really was glad to vent my anger, since Maureen was away on my free afternoon. I felt better already.
"Pah! You call that bad?" the thin old man snarled. "In my days we had to walk 10 miles to get to work. And we didn't work eight hours either! No sirree! We could only wish for such luxury. Lord, how we dreamed of working eight hours."
"Hm," I said, frowning.
"Pah," said the middle one, "that's still nothing compared to how hard our job was."
"Why, what did you do?"
"We sure as heck couldn't do any shopping. How we'd love to go shopping, buy some coffee. But we didn't have any fancy coffeebreaks, like you do nowadays. How we fought in the union to get coffeebreaks. But you've taken it for granted. The world's gone soft."
"What, from having coffeebreaks?"
"Meh, don't listen to him," said the fat one. "Going on strike for coffeebreaks..."
He shook his head.
"In my days we didn't have time to strike. We worked, that was all we did. Twenty-two hours a day. And we had to walk half an hour to get home and get some sleep.
An hour later we got up again to go to work. Those were the days... Not like today.
I tried to surpress my smile.
"Well, I've enjoyed your stories, even though I don't believe it all, but I must go now, or my icecream'll melt. See you next time."
With that I walked off.
The old men watched the young man walk to his car.
"Hmpf," said one of them. "We'll fool the next one."
"Yup. I think you pushed it with the twenty-two hours, Harold."