“Bomb! There’s a bomb,” the steward yelled at the top of his lungs as he came running out of a cabin. Mike groaned when passengers all along the corridor took up the cry, knowing that the pandemonium would spread like wildfire.
Catching up to the fleeing man took only seconds, and he slammed the moron into the bulkhead angrily. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” he snarled, pulling his badge from his pocket and thrusting it in the steward’s face. “Now, where was it?”
It only took seconds to identify the ‘bomb’.
It was a graphing calculator.
“Do you know who the occupant of this cabin is?” he sighed, picking up the calculator and pressing the OFF button. The steward flinched and Mike shoved the thing at him. “It’s a calculator.”
The man gave a hysterical gurgle of laughter. “Oh…ah, well. New model, isn’t it?”
He barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. “Looks like it.”
“What’s going on here?” a voice from the hall asked, and Mike looked up to see a short, balding man glaring around. He explained after closing the door against any curious onlookers and the man huffed, “Bomb!?!?!?!? I’m from the IRS!”
Mike headed off to the internet lounge, bound and determined not to let anyone else ruin what was left of his good mood. Maybe if he hid out here for a few hours he could avoid this cruise’s matchmaker, who thought that since he was by himself he was dying for female companionship. Actually, he was, but he wasn’t settling for just anyone.
He curled the fingers of his left hand, rubbing his thumb across the stretch of skin that usually was hidden beneath a wedding band. Logging onto his LiveJournal account, he clicked on his wife’s username and smiled.
Moments later he started to laugh, startling the group of preteens who were huddled around another computer on the other side of the lounge. Mike quickly resumed his customary scowl and they hurriedly dropped their eyes, so he went back to reading the current post which seemed to be another of his wife’s stories. He shook his head, unable to believe that someone so short could have such a big imagination. How in the world did she think up something that dirty involving, of all things, crunchy peanut butter? Mike wondered briefly if the NSA had ever read her journal…
Prompts from the wonderfully wonderful Guinneh.