WTAFiction

I felt that this story did not fit the assignment as well as the one I submitted. The assignment was comedy/loading a dishwasher/option: "Abernathy's Henchman" Mr. Abernathy paced on the back porch, talking with his hands as he yelled into Bluetooth. “Option it! That’ll slow it down ‘til our movie’s raking in returns. Yeah, eighteen months, fitty-K — No , dumbshit, we don’t have to buy it. Just put it in development hell!” Meanwhile, I rinsed dishes. Abernathy never cooked. Even so, he made a remarkable mess in the kitchen: crumbs, sticky smears, whipped cream in martini glasses, abandoned wasabi crusting on handmade plates, hardened noodles marooned on the backlit carnelian counters. Million-dollar kitchen that looked like the inside of a supervillain lair in a volcano, all black and glowing red. Too bad he treats it like he has henchmen. Guess I’m the henchman. Well, a part-time hench for a cheapskate twice-weekly housekeeper’s salary. “Gotta go,” he bellowed. L

Assignment: comedy, loading a dishwasher, option "Versatile"  Plates on bottom. Glasses on top. Kellie watched from the barstool at the island, then drained her wineglass and parked it on the granite. “Here, Lou, cram it in,” she winked. “I don’t wash stemware in there.” She snorted and made ‘gimme’ gestures, so I scooted the bottle over with soapy hands. “Everything else, though. If I could wash the kids in the dishwasher, I would.” I rattled a lingerie bag of Legos to illustrate. Top rack. “Try!” “Not an option.” “Got a joke,” she winked, refilling. “My husband told me he put a load in the dishwasher. I thought ‘ finally ,’ until the housekeeper sued for child support.” I wrinkled my nose. “That’s vile.” Dog bone, bottom rack. “’Nother one. How d’ya know it’s time to replace the dishwasher? The old one starts asking you to do your share.” I snorted. “ How are you not a guy?” Kellie winked. “I play one on TV.” She leaned confidentially. “I do wash my boyfriend in the dis