Virgin

It had seemed like a great idea at first: a business trip to Hawaii on the company's dime. Jonah saw sandy beaches, bikinis, surfboards, hikes to volcanoes, and waterfalls secreted away in tropical forests. And he did see some of these things--out the window of the plane, through the taxi window, and in brochures at the hotel. Three days into the trip and there was still nothing of note worthy of a picture. No memories to capture. Unless one had a penchant for conference room feng shui or hotel room interior design.

Jonah had figured that the business part of the business trip would be minimal given the choice in location. Sure there was a big corporate office there, but someone must have planned it with pleasant tropical activities in mind. He could not have been more wrong. What he thought would be five-hour work days followed by afternoons in the sun were actually mind-numbing twelve-hour days in a humid room with fellow malcontents followed by a quick dinner and his head hitting the pillow from sheer mental fatigue.

The meetings consisted of thirty mid-level managers trying to come up with a comprehensive strategy to prepare quality assessment reports. That's right. To prepare them. Jonah didn't want to think about how long it took them to decide on the actual quality assessment process itself. As far as he was concerned, all the report needed was a concise retelling of the quality assessment findings in a way that was easy to understand with clear problems, solutions, and goals. What most of the committee members argued over were more important things like the number of charts to include (regardless of data obtained), font size of the title of said charts, the order in which appendices should appear, and the color of the cover. They were sure to be earth-shattering, ground-breaking innovations.

As he lumbered into the hotel lobby after another long day of decision making (or lack thereof), he had a sudden desire for a drink. The front desk girl, a cheerful native Hawaiian, had recommended he visit their bar, as did the equally amiable bellhop. Even the hotel channel on his television had invited him to refresh himself at their well-stocked bar. It seemed like there was a hotel-wide conspiracy to get him drunk. However, he did feel the need to refresh himself, or at least drown out all conference-related information from his mind.

There were helpful signs directing him to the bar, leading him out to a patio and past a pool he had given up hope of using. Just beyond it stood the bar stand, built of what looked like driftwood and adorned with touristy knick-knacks. Jonah sat on a stool among the other unused ones.

The bartender was an affable man, similar to the rest of the hotel staff. He had tied-back hair and was so large that he filled the area behind the bar.

"Aloha. What can I get you?"

"How about a gin and tonic?"

"Sorry. No can do."

This was hard to believe, but Jonah wasn't in a picky mood. Anything would do. "How about a beer then?" he asked. "What do you have on tap?"

"You're at the wrong place if you want a beer, friend," the bartender said with a chuckle.

Jonah was dumbfounded.

The bartender stepped aside and motioned behind him with his head while he wiped some glasses. On the wall behind him was a sign. It had a watercolor-drawn cartoon octopus encumbered with a variety of fruits in his suctioned arms. Under the sea creature was a large festive banner: JUICE BAR.

"Damn. What do you have then? What's good here?"

The man shrugged. "People seem to like the pineapple tropical cocktail"

It turned out to be pretty good. He finished half of it in two gulps and sighed with satisfaction.

"Mahalo. Can I take this up to my room? I'll bring the glass back."

"Don't worry about it. Just leave it out. The maids will pick it up," the bartender said with a smile.

Jonah thanked him again and made his way back to his room, where he emptied a mini-bottle of vodka into the glass.

Pineapple tropical cocktail, indeed.

Midnight at Penn

Midnight at Penn Station on Halloween is a sight to behold. John sat waiting for his train while revelers passed by his field of vision. His night was winding down; theirs was just beginning. Women were dressed in all sorts of revealing costumes that they would never normally wear. Men, drunk and silly, acted out as their alter-egos. Nearby a homeless man snored in his claimed corner of the waiting area. A couple of men in business suits slept on and off with newspapers in their laps. A woman read a novel with a shirtless man on the paperback cover. John heard an excited gasp and turned to see a girl in a Sarah Palin outfit rush towards the bathroom. She doesn't make it and ended up throwing up in a trash can. Her date was slumped up against the wall in a frog suit.

Trick

The reporters called it the grisliest scene of the night. Up there on the third floor of the haunted house, next to fake bodies and blood made of food coloring and corn starch, was a real murder.

The house was an abandoned building that a play production company took over for Halloween. They brought in props, pyrotechnics, actors, and scripts. They charged fifteen dollars a head and it was the hit of the holiday. People came from all over to get the crap scared out of them.

Police said that someone was killed during one of the horror skits in one of the themed haunted rooms. They speculate that the man was stabbed to death during a particularly loud mock murder when several actors were screaming in the darkened room. The victim was placed in the corner. In the dark and amongst the fake corpses, it wasn't until the next day that the proprietors found the body and called police.

They were on TV asking the public for help identifying the killer. I know they are also still looking for the murder weapon, but I also know that it is located in a dumpster five miles from the haunted house blood-free and wiped clean.