He kicked the car tire, feeling as flat and uninspired as it was. “Who does they think they are?” he muttered as he opened the trunk, expecting to see a lug wrench and spare tire. “What the–?” He slammed the trunk closed and kicked the tire again. A bad night had just been made worse. Bad mood, deserted road, flat tire, and no spare. He slid down the side of the car and sat in the gravel and thought back over his evening.
It had started out as a great evening, dinner and drinks with friends. At least he had thought they were friends. When they were done eating, the group drifted over to the restaurant’s bar and took over a corner.
As more alcohol was consumed, the voices grew louder. Laughter mixed in with jabs and jeers between the friends. He laughed along with them and joined in the fun, tossing out words and phrases he thought were funny.
Then someone he didn’t recognize pointed at him and pronounced, “You’re a spoor.”
“What?” He shouted back.
“You’re a floor!”
“It’s too loud in here, I can’t hear you.”
Frustrated, the stranger stood and shouted “You’re a boor!” Then sat back down as the group grew silent.
The girl beside him patted his arm. “You’re not, you’re just–“
The group cheered.
He stood and left without saying a word.
The headlights of an approaching car stopped his thoughts. He stood and waved as the car slowed beside him. It was the girl from the bar. The one who consoled him.
“Do you need help?”
He sighed, hating to ask but knowing he had to. “I do. My tire is flat and my spare is missing. My phone battery is dead. May I use yours?”
She laughed. “I forgot mine at home. Can I give you a ride?”
He looked at the car, then back at her and nodded. “Thank you.”
As she drove off she said, “You’re not a boor. You just don’t have a great filter.”
He nodded. “I’ve always had trouble fitting in but I thought I had gotten better at it.”
She smiled. “It’s the alcohol. We loosen up and sometimes say something without thinking.”
“Do you know what I said that provoked him to attack me?”
“You don’t remember?”
“No.”
“You called him a dunderhead.”
He frowned, replaying the things he might have said, then brightened. “No, I yelled out thunderhead.” He pointed out the windshield where lightning and storm clouds approached.
Thank you.
Haven’t heard dunderhead in a long while.
I struggled a bit since this was written off the cuff, I just started typing. I haven’t done any flash in several years. I saw the word dunderhead in a thread and it hit me. LOL!
Sometimes words just do that.
The answer is not to attempt conversation in loud environments – it would be a bit dull, though 😉
This is excellent! My mind automatically continued writing the story. I’m impressed, truly. I could never have come up with this given the prompt. LOL, that’s why I’m not a writer.
Flash fiction is fun – but can be scary to write. I often use a photo to get me started. We’ll see how this goes next week.