Harry Tannenbaum's Crash-Out

[Author's Note: The mentions of Reedsy's Short Story Contest #343 serve for artistic purposes only and does not reflect any of my opinions. I completed this prompt for my own creative/learning purposes. This entry was deliberately withheld to allow Women On Writing to properly evaluate female contestant entries.]

Okay here's the first draft for this Reedsy Contest you're talking about.

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It's a complete rat race but you made a good point about it getting me out there.

“Today’s the day…”

Kent Daily woke up to the tune of royalty free rock music on his Lenovo alarm clock. He got up to greet his pre-programmed coffee maker with the sun. He always liked the mornings because part of his routine was that he would go on his daily jog around their lovely neighborhood in Brighton with Irene Rosenberg.

He was especially excited today because he had something to tell her.

Okay, he… didn’t’ set his alarm yesterday.?

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Oh, that's the prompt? Thrown off routine adventures?

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Fine, I can work with that. Easy.

“Oh shit! She’s going to kill me!”

Kent Daily woke up ten minutes late, realizing he failed to program his Lenovo alarm clock. He got up

No swears off the bat…

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What are we, five?

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Can I drop the bomb at least once?

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Professionalism...

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Why, is someone from Netflix reading this?

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At least let me finish so that we can edit out swears in post, please?

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Thank you…

“Oh crap! She’s going to kill me!"

Kent Daily exclaimed this when the alarm showed 5:11 AM on his Lenovo alarm clock. He

An hour.

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You want him to wake up an hour late.

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Why?

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11 minutes is enough for a neurotic guy.

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He’s a jogger and everything.

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How is that relatable at all?!

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Fine… Let’s see.

“Oh crap! She’s going to kill me!"

Kent Daily exclaimed this when the alarm showed 6:11 AM on his Lenovo alarm clock. He rolled on his back and jumped out, partially groggy from the party he

Now what?

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Fine… he’s some laptop class guy.

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Some people can get behind that I guess...

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That's an insult!

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God, okay let's try this again.

“Oh crap! She’s going to kill me!"

Kent Daily rolled over to see he woke up an hour late at

9:11 AM, no. First of all, I see what you’re trying to do here and second of all, that’s usually when people without jobs wake up, third of all-

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I’ll say it’s 7:11 AM, because that is a lot better and a more tasteful joke.

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Hey don't get pissy with me! I am also trying to make something worth a shit here!

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What happened to friendly competition?!

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Can we crank out a paragraph out yet?

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Thank you.

“Finally, a reason to get up,”

Kent Daily rolled over to his alarm clock “Oh crap… Irene’s never going to forgive me!” 7:11 AM, he barely had enough time to shower, let alone rehearse what he was desperate

Well, go ahead.

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That’s what you want?

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Okay…

“Well, time for my dopamine hit to get through this fascist hellscape!” were the inner thoughts of Kent Daily, who rolled over to his alarm clock, which read 7:11 AM.

“I’m going to be late, aren’t I?” he said aloud to the screen and bounced off the futon mattress. “I see what Irene means by working on myself now…” he popped his Abilify like a TicTac.

“What to say, what to say, ugh my anxiety is making me all OCD…” Kent fumbled the spoon while he was scooping grounds into the Mr. Coffee. “Ugh, how am I going to explain this story to my therapist? Okay scripting, gotta think. … So, Irene-“ he stopped and remembered the cadence he needed to use straight out of the beginning of Rise of Skywalker, “Somehow, my alarm clock didn’t work.”

How’s that? Better?

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Relatable now?

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No, I want you to tell me how to write it...

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I clearly am just incompetent.

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You see, I too was waiting in line one time for Disneyland Florida’s Millennial Lobotomy attraction and got told I was too tall for the ride. It really inspired me to write today!

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No! Tell me what you want and I will deliver.

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Oh, I can write it my way? Not your way?

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Great. Thank you.

“Finally, a reason to get up,”

Kent Daily rolled over to his alarm clock

“Oh crap… Irene’s never going to forgive me!” His alarm clock said: 7:11 AM. He barely had enough time to shower, let alone rehearse what he wanted to say for the past three years since jogging with her around Brighton.

He grabbed a spoon from the drawer and sloppily scooped in some Arabica into the Mr. Coffee on his counter. He fumbled with his intrusive thoughts

Product placement… that’s your concern now.

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Who cares?

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No, no, no. Fine, we can make it some other thing.

He grabbed a spoon from the drawer and sloppily scooped in some Arabica into the coffee maker. He fumbled with his intrusive thoughts, wondering how he’d explain why he was not at the bus stop they always met at. His fear of rejection, angst, self-worth and uncertainty of what Irene would say all were overflowing from his eyes, just like the water was pouring over the lip of the carafe.

What's this underlining you're doing?

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Family Guy writer?

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Okay that’s a harsh but fair critique.

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See?! I can take criticism, even if it's harsh.

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No! That's the stuff I want to hear! If it sucks, it sucks and nobody will read it! I want to know what nobody's going to read!

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Shocking I know.

The fear of rejection and uncertainty about what Irene would say made his eyes mimic the carafe that was overflowing with water.

“AUCH!” he shut the tap off and grabbed the handle, shaking.

Well, go ahead. Hit me.

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Ugh? That’s a ‘I’m minorly annoyed,' sound, not like an ‘Oh shit, I fucked up there,’ sound.

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Can it be my stylistic choice then?

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Thank you we can agree on that.

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Ugh reminds me too much of that game about the stupid cat that goes "Ugh" every five seconds and it's basically Catcher in the Rye. What's it called again?

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Yes, that.

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The point is, I'm using something else because "ugh" is overused.

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Fine, let's revisit that.

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Why?

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It’s a way to bring words to life.

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You don’t obviously hold your dark thoughts on giant flashcards and shove them in a fire like I do sometimes. He’s trying to collect himself.

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Yes, let’s do it your way this time. I’ll show you why I used it.

He grabbed a spoon from the drawer and sloppily scooped in some Arabica into the Coffee maker. He tried to regain his composure while battling his intrusive thoughts. He was wondering how he’d

See? This sucks, that much I know.

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It sounds like I’m trying to teach first graders.

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Aren't you supposed to be my peer or something?!

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Well, you're definitely a peer.

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Yeah, see how you like backhanded compliments?

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Let's agree to disagree there and let me write a bit here and then you can throw the tomatoes at me.

He dug the dirty spoon into the bag of Arabica and poured it into the coffee maker whilst fumbling with his intrusive thoughts. Fear around rejection and uncertainty about what Irene would say made his eyes mimic the carafe that was overflowing with water.

Yes, I see that.

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That would be why you underlined it wouldn't it?

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Well, why? It's right!

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Nobody writes like what?

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Whilst is a real word, and it’s not a conjunction word like: however or something.

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Fine. We'll take it out. I'll add a comment or something.

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Okay, we can shake on that.

“AUCH!” he slapped the tap off and gripped the handle for dear life.

As he water poured into the tank, he memory flash where he and Irene marathoned all the way to the Charles River near Mass General Hospital. Motivation wasn't a problem now, but time was.

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Yes, marathoned is a word, too. It’s here, I even have Google and entire lexicon of modern slang to back me up, see?!

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Dictionary, lexicon, tomato, to-mah-to, potato, poe-tah-toe, whatever, you got my point.

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Hold on.

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No, no, no, I want to see if I'm wrong or right.

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No, we are going to figure this out.

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"Marathoned" is the simple past and past participle of the verb marathon, referring to either running a long-distance race or, informally, consuming a large amount of media (films, TV, books) in a single, intense sitting. It signifies engaging in an activity requiring sustained, high-effort endurance."

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You wanted relatable! I gave you relatable!

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It’s romantic because you marathon a show like Breaking Bad or a D&D campaign, but they’re being more literal, it’s cute. It's what my exes and I did to show commitment.

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Couples marathon things together. What do you mean?!

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RELATABLE LANGUAGE. SEE?!

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Can I write my Rom-Com now?

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It's going to get funny once I actually write the damn thing!

Kent pressed the ON button and rushed away to the running hot shower. A dread of the water bill poked the back of his mind, because that was also running on high heat. He found the good soap and scrubbed his armpits, his nethers, and face rigorously.

Now what?

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How the hell am I pandering?!

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NO, ENLIGHTEN ME.

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Really?! I'm going for the target market here? Who's that?!

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Hey genius, that's what people read on the T on the way to their cushy desk to feel like they have a soul.

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Bullshit. No way.

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Let me see this.

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...oh my fucking god.

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What a crock of shit.

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You made me write a short story submission, even though there was no way I was going to win.

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Here, let me write a joke for you so you can get it.

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I heard humor is a good learning tool.

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Okay I got it.

The world's most whitest looking Jewish guy enters a contest hosted by Women on Writing and is expecting to win $250 in 2026 and worldwide recognition.

See that?

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YES IT’S DOOMED.

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I’M NEGATIVE BECAUSE I’M REALISTIC. IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH MYSOGYNY OR WHATEVER. WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU ANYWAY?

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No, this isn’t working. I’m gone. I’m done.

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Fine!

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Actually I have a better idea, let me finish it and it's going to suck ass. Then we can compare it to your Tolkien-ass story so you can suck your own dick, blow a load in your own ass, and dunk on me.

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Ready?!

Kent ran up to the bus stop and Irene was there. She held out her iPhone to read the stopwatch.

“One minute and fifty seconds! Impressive!” her sense of humor flashed in her pearly whites and rosy cheeks. “And a baton! That’s too sweet of you!”

“You…” he gasped “Are the highlight.” A wheeze. “Of my morning,” he flopped to the ground and some tulips exploded out of the tube can.

Irene’s wide brown eyes were getting blinded by her jet black hair that she forgot to wrap in her headband. “Maybe we should rain check, Kent...”

Got nothing to add, there, Peter Shitney?

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That's what I fucking thought.

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Funny! Sad! Relatable! Right out of Seinfeld! Larry David just ejaculated in his fucking pants!

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Short story too!

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It’s probably the shortest I've ever written.

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I’ll decorate it at some point with more Alan Moore hipster-ass words, just for you!

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Pfft. Of course you’d say I don’t know how to talk to girls, like an asshole.

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Well, now the entire world can call me an incel!

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If I'm a "talentless washed up hack" what does that make you?!

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Oh yes, this is totally my personal experience of dealing with women. HA HA, SO FUNNY.

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I ONLY HAVE FUCKING TRAUMA FROM FAILED RELATIONSHIPS BUT YOU DON'T SEE ME PAYING SOME GRIFTER HUNDREDS OF BUCKS TO PRETEND THEY ARE MY FRIEND, YOU FUCKING SHIT HEAD!

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GO FOR IT. I WELCOME IT.

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YOU KNOW WHAT? I'M A PIECE OF SHIT! I BELIEVE YOU! I DON’T FUCKING CARE!

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Yeah.

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Sure, same time next week.