"As Is," a short story by Katherine Woodbury, is now available on
Amazon.
"As Is" is the most directly satiric of the pieces I've published so far. It also took me back to my short story writing days, which was most satisfying.
Here is the blurb. The beginning paragraphs of the story are below:
A disillusioned college student, Ben hates dating. He is tired of the back-biting and rumor-mongering, the grievances and label-calling of his peers. A supportive relationship with a guy as laid-back as Ben seems impossible.
Nevertheless, he enters himself in the college auction. Anyone can bid for a date with Ben.
Even nonchalant Ben is surprised when an entirely unexpected bidder steps forward.
As Is
I
The news staff at Androscoggin Community College was having a debate.
Or the closest thing to one. It was the type of discussion in which each group pronounced its position without listening to any other group, then bemoaned the lack of true dialog.
The Student Council planned to hold an auction. An officer got the idea from her aunt who told her about high school auctions when she was growing up and how fun they were and what services students offered and how much money they raised.
The activists in the newsroom were upset by the debasing political implications. They threw out terms like “privilege” and “cultural imperatives” and “appropriation” and “infrastructure” until nobody knew what they were talking about—but they sounded knowledgeable and important.
The conservative religious lifestyle writers were upset because they claimed that students would buy each other for sex. And then other parties got upset with the “fundamentalists” for being so “narrow-minded” until the health-conscious students starting making noises about STDs.
The Business & Technology reporters were in a snit because the Student Council had turned down their idea for a robot combat tournament. The activists had attacked that idea for its simulations of war, etc. etc. but nobody really minded robots beating the crap out of each other. The auction ruffled more feathers or raised more hackles or triggered more outrage or something that led to a lot of strongly-held and profoundly-worded opinions.
Jill Harrison stood in the middle of the newsroom, looking shattered. She needed to write up a piece on the auction, including a list of offered services. She’d inadvertently set the debate or colloquy or whatever it was in motion by asking, “Hey, does anyone have anything to offer?”
Ben wove through the tables.
“Put me down for a date,” he told Jill. “I mean, I’m offering a date—movie and dinner.”
She gave him a relieved smile. “You know, some girls will bid for you too, Ben.”
“That’s okay. Never knew a college student who complained about being fed.”
Don stopped pontificating about Western civilization’s discriminatory practices and frowned. “You really think entering yourself in this auction is a good idea, Ben?”
Don was the kind of activist who accused the college cafeteria of “appropriating Mexican culture” when it served tacos. Ben tried to point out that tacos likely got appropriated from the Nahua population. But Don wasn’t much for the complications of history and regions. Every culture was pure unless and until Don didn’t approve of the people involved.
Corey joined the conversation. “I think you should be careful, Ben.”
Corey was “they,” which meant that Ben usually referred to Corey as Corey. People like Don foamed into attack-mode when people slipped up and called Corey “he.” The fact that everyone, including Don, automatically referred to Corey as “he” when Corey wasn’t around seemed to escape everyone’s notice except Ben’s. Luckily, Corey was less concerned with being offended than were Corey’s supporters.
Corey went on, “You don’t want to become a target.”
Lots of nods as “homophobic” and “bullying” and “uncharitable behavior” floated through the air. There was a temporary lull as everyone in the newsroom nodded sagely over the horribleness of people being jerks—until each group remembered how blind other people were to their obnoxiousness. But at least the wretchedness of life bonded them all temporarily.
Ben decided he needed to get to Conversational French twenty minutes early.
