For 25 years I’ve been writing stories about work life. Many of the story ideas were triggered by my own work experiences and some were based on stories I had heard from other workers. However, all are fiction and any resemblance to persons alive or dead, as they say, is purely coincidental. Late last...
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The path was steep at times and dangerous in the darkened corners of the craggy centuries-old rock steps of Mystra, so I should have been more careful as I aimlessly wended my uncertain way to the heights of Byzantine history. Looking up to one of several remarkably well preserved churches instead of down at...
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Justin Ouverture was speed-walking along Royal Street in a hurry to get to his office at the far end of the French Quarter when his right foot hit a raised termite cap. As he inspected his slightly scraped hand, having reached down to the uneven pavement to break his fall, a group of tourists...
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Edith stumbled on the metal stairs as she handed her plastic identity card to one of the stewards who routinely pointed a handheld electronic device at the card and glanced matter-of-factly at her picture as it materialized on the small screen. He nodded and seemed to dismiss her as he signaled to the next...
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It was hard to know whether the old man was dead or alive. He had stopped breathing again. No doubt about that. It was the third time since I’d been rolled in beside him three days before. Our temporary digs: Room 7114, Beds 1 and 2, of the hospital’s Wing 7 East, was crowded...
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Harminder crouched near a fence well away from the Parliament buildings compound where he assumed the hostages were being held. He lit a cigarette and wished he hadn’t drunk so much kava earlier in the day. Not that it had made him sleepy; he was used to the dish-watery unofficial national drink. But...
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The stories you will read here are my attempt to share some of the bad times and the good times with workers both young and old. They are stories of disappointment and discouragement, but there are also fun stories, stories that play with work situations and invent things that might have happened or perhaps...
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"He’s dead. She’s dead. Him...him...her...him...they’re all dead." We we’re hunched over a glass-topped coffee table looking at a school photograph with my Uncle Earl. His Grade 11 class, he said. But I know he didn’t get beyond Grade 3 or 4. He speaks in clipped sentences. After...
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