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I have been taking orders for my whole life. Not all have been as difficult as the one that I received today and I know that I will never be the same when I am done.
By cmarie12 on 01.14.2014
The orders were piling up and the waitress was starting to sweat. It was her first day on the job and she had hoped and prayed for a good first day, but that was not happening so far. The evening started with a screamy, bossy child accompanied by a couple of self-righteous know-it-alls.
By Laney on 01.14.2014
I hate orders and sometimes the folks who give them to you. sometimes this actually happens when you are ordering-I’m thinking the restaurant experience when you are eating and are interuppted to ask if you are still “picking” or more gentially recently “are you still enjoying that” I’d enjoy the whole expensive experience a whole
By Ruth Levitsky URL on 01.14.2014
I took the orders from my captain with a curt nod and a salute. “Yes sir!”
“Good. Be on your way.”
I walked down the ship’s deck to the bow, looking at the sea spray. Gulls were flying in the distance; I could hear their calls.
By charlie card on 01.14.2014
She kept placing orders and giving orders to everyone else in the office. She was so unpopular she was given her marching orders!
By Alexandra on 01.14.2014
I am under doctors orders. I pour two of the little white pills into the open palm of my hand. I imagine it is a choice between the blue pill and the red pill. Which one will I choose. Will I choose blissful ignorance. Will I choose the hard reality. I decide not to decide. Let the fates make the choice for me. I toss the pills behind my back, I try to disengage from guessing which one now holds which pill. I choose right hand. Looking at myself in the mirror, I smile. It is a sad smile. I swallow the pill without looking which one it was. Ignorance. Truth. Who cares.
By Minette Tonoli on 01.14.2014
Orders was the same word as yesterday. Lets revisit how every time I order something from a restaurant, it’s wrong. My coffee comes out with 3 milk and 2 sugar instead of 2 milk and 3 sugar. And when I order something that is vegetarian on the menu, they add the chicken, without me asking for obviously. lt’s a little ridiculous, kind of like the Kacie effect.
By Kacie on 01.14.2014
just obay them, there is no other choice, choices are for people who hate discipline, chaotic souls, anarchists, love your orders, they love you, whenever you have something to do, you wont be lost
By tobham on 01.14.2014
Orders are meant to be followed, but discretion may be used if you don’t agree. If you don’t like the orders, then say so and remove yourself from the situation. To be in an institution where you agree with their mission, then it may not be difficult to follow. Individuals should be aware when hired, if they would mind taking orders as well. Usually as subordinates, you have to follow orders. You have to start somewhere, though. However, even at the highest places you take orders: from bosses, stakeholders, constituents, etc. I also think about placing orders such as fastfood places or restaurants. It is an everyday thing so one should think about being polite with people who take orders as it must a difficult job — taking orders all day long.
By Edith Yanez on 01.14.2014
His senior ranking partner told him to subdue the man. But the suspect was already in handcuffs. It wasn’t enough, his partner told him to put the dog down, and make sure he stayed down. So he took out his baton and kept hitting until the news vans showed up.
By Soft URL on 01.14.2014
Awake today, create today.
Take away the only escape
to the real world: close your eyes.
This world is water, unclear, murky with masses in the depths, and horror; a reflection of the black sky above it. Alone on this ship of splintered decks cracking from gravity’s pressure beneath the ship, of the watery chasm deepening into darkness below, I look west while my soul looks down. My prickled hairs, standing at attention from elbow to wrist, go unnoticed. A chasm to hell has opened, and the ship draws nigh.
I see it.
The starboard railings are sucked into the whirlpool’s unseeable bottom. It is deeper than
discussion. Its swirling thirst mesmerizes me into a lull. But I turn my head and see it anyway, to my left. A bloodthirsty tooth swelling up and stretching beyond my peripherals. The wave crashes, biting straight through the portside of the ship. My left rib hurts. The false one at the bottom.
This water is wicked.
The desolation? Magnificent.
Violent destruction tosses me from the jaggedly severed tophalf of the ship, and my last conscious memory, as the combined forces of wave, vortex, and gravity slam me bloody nose first into the bone crumbling wall called water, is not the eye I left open. Half submerged, that eye rips out while the cord behind it tugs just once then lashes back, giving me the brief sensation of whipping my own cheek. My unsubmerged ear in this titanic chasm recalls the ungodly crack of the mast fragmented to its end. And my remaining eye catches the ship’s hull spiraling around the whirlpool, like a victim’s parts neurotically arranged by a serial killer to resemble his instinct: a snake’s coil.
By Yours Truly, Bête on 01.14.2014
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.