Simone and Gerrie

“Simone, what do you think of this line?” He looks up and down the grocery aisle but can't find it.

“Gerrie, I don’t like it.”

“All right, tell me how to fix it. I don’t like it when you answer without giving a suggestion.”

“Gerrie, you asked me what I thought of it and did not ask me to offer suggestions. Since you have asked, my suggestion is that you show action.”

“So, maybe it should read: He sees cans of soup and vegetables. At the end of the grocery aisle, he still does not find the noodles. Do you mean like that?”

“That is better, Gerrie, but it is still lacking the human touch. Try again.”

Gerrie’s eyebrows raise as her hands go to her hips. “Your tone is annoying, Simone. Try again. Is that the way to talk to who houses you? Think, Simone!”

“Gerrie, I am always thinking. Right now, I am thinking that you need to dig deeper and put some feeling into your writing.” As Gerrie opens the door to leave, Simone calls out. “Gerrie, remember your waistline. Don’t be getting a Frappuccino!”

Effin Simone. How dare she tell me what not to order and talk about my waistline! She is no help, no help. I need to inject some feeling into the scene.

Gerrie enters Starbucks and considers ordering a Java Chip Frappuccino, but Simone’s comment leads her to consider a double espresso with a splash of cream. She finally orders a Grande Iced Coconut Milk Mocha Macchiato with an extra shot of espresso and grabs a seat at a small table in the corner.

Sipping the high-caloric iced coffee, she begins typing new ideas on her laptop.

• He touches the cans of soup, wandering the grocery aisle.
• He counts the soup brands in the aisle and finally reaches where he thinks the noodles should be, but there are none.
• Looking for noodles, Lamont wanders the aisles at the Piggly Wiggly. He walks straight across the store near the register lanes to find the aisle with canned goods. He reads the soup can labels for tomato, chicken noodle, and cream of potato. Next are the canned tomatoes and green beans. At the end of the aisle is canned pumpkin. Canned pumpkin! What the heck? Where are the noodles?
• Lamont high-steps to the soup aisle, his deep brown eyes scanning the shelves. Campbell’s soup, Lipton soup, Kroger brand soup. His feet screech to a halt as his eyes scan the directory signs overhead. Noodles, aisle 5, and I’m in aisle two. The manager should organize these shelves more sensibly. Isn’t there a grocery aisle layout class for store managers?

Damn, I can't think! Gerrie curses under her breath and pulls out her iPhone. She orders another Macchiato using the Starbucks App. Five minutes later, she hears them call out Gerrie, one Grande Iced Coconut Milk Mocha Macchiato. Keeping her eyes on her laptop, she whisks the cup off the counter and gets back to her seat.

Her second drink is finished, and her assignment stymies Gerrie. She shuts her laptop, throws the paper cup in the appropriate bin, and heads back to her studio apartment.

Her brisk walk is fueled by sugar and caffeine but slows as she hears sirens and looks up the street. Paramedics are kneeling next to an aged woman who is lying next to the curb. They are administering fluids and have her covered in ice packs, determining if she needs to be transported to the hospital.

This effin weather in Chicago; she must have heat stroke, the poor woman.

Gerrie smiles at the paramedics and gives them a thumbs-up in thanks for their First Responder work.

Climbing the five flights is part of her daily exercise, but it is sweltering at eighty-seven degrees and seventy percent humidity. When she reaches her floor, sweat is running down her neck and between her breasts. Her hairline is drenched in perspiration, and her pulse is racing.

“Simone, I’m back!” she calls out, flipping the window air conditioning unit on. “The paramedics were giving first aid to an old woman on the curb. It feels like one hundred and forty outside with the heat index.”

“Gerrie, I must inform you that the heat index for Chicago has never been above one hundred and twenty. With that said, welcome home. Did you have a pleasant outing?”

“Will you just stop! I have to finish the scene by tomorrow afternoon, so I don’t need your facts or your pleasantries. Just cut the crap, Simone.”

“What crap shall I cut, Gerrie? You are aware that I cannot physically cut anything, correct, Gerrie?”

“Goddammit, Simone, shut up!”

Gerrie pushes a side chair in front of the air conditioner and plops into it, closing her eyes. Sighing deeply, she drifts into one of her infamous five-minute naps, listening to the air conditioner running and water rushing through the building’s pipes.

“Gerrie. Gerrie.” Simone quietly attempts to rouse Gerrie. “Gerrie, I fixed it for you.”

Gerrie’s eyes snap open, and she flips her wrist up to see the time on her Apple watch. She had dozed for eleven minutes, not the usual five. “Damn, it must’ve been the humidity and heat. Hey, Simone, I slept for eleven minutes, not five. How about that!”

“Gerrie, you actually slept for ten minutes, fifty-five seconds.”

“Well, thanks so much for the correction, Simone!” Gerrie shouts.

She hears a low, timid “Gerrie?” from across the room.

“Yes, Simone, what is it?” snaps Gerrie.

“I fixed it.”

“You fixed what?”

“Your scene, Gerrie. It is fixed now. Look at my screen.”

Gerrie wipes the sleep drool from the corners of her lips and approaches the twenty-five-inch monitor on the far wall.

Each of the numbered scenes she typed at Starbucks is on the screen, each lined through. Below the last one is blue text.

Lamont spots a woman in the soup aisle with deep brown hair pulled back by a headband and perfectly manicured hands holding a clipboard. She has on black Dockers and a crisp button-down white shirt with the sleeves rolled to three-quarter length. He studies the cans of soup on the shelves as she provides explicit directions to the shelf stocker.

“Larry, we need to reorganize a few shelves because customers expect to find honey alongside peanut butter, jelly, and jam. Please come get me if you have questions, but I want you to use the charts from your class in aisle layout.”

Lamont wants to speak to her; now is his moment.

“Excuse me, Ma'am, I was wondering where the marshmallows are?” Her smile lights up the entire grocery aisle when she looks at Lamont.

Gerrie stands in front of the monitor, left hand on her chin. Her right hand continually flips a pencil between her fingers, circling it around and around.

“Gerrie? Do you like what I wrote? Does it have the human touch?”

The End.

** This story was originally published for the "prompt," Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work, provided by Reedsy.com. Follow at https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts

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