Your new prompt word is
PLAY
This week’s word came into my mind when I was looking at a theatre programme. I’d been to a play I really enjoyed. But there are so many other meanings – children play with toys and sports people play a game/match. We might use it to describe someone playing a part in a decision-making process or playing a joke on someone. What does this week’s word mean to you?
You have two weeks to work on your pieces as I’m away at writing events and seeing family and friends. Have fun!
Fact or fiction, prose or poetry, I would love to read your thoughts on this week’s prompt, but there’s no obligation to share your writing. Here is the work you shared on the last prompt SERVICE.
“How may I be of service?” Words heard less and less.
Delightful Service
The service, all agreed, went well.
The preacher said there was no hell.
We sang the hymns. No one dared tell
if he was right or not.
Spontaneity strikes a chord within us that has us forgetting to be cautious and often times finds us rushing headlong into the moment without direction or even considering if we are agathokakological in what we are doing. (What a friggin’ word right?)
I was in the service [Army] and in bootcamp in 1976, one night I decided in my infinite wisdom to leave the barracks and go across the road to a officers bar. They let me in and gladly fed me alcohol for about 15 minutes. It was then that my Drill Sargent showed up with a Second Lieutenant and two MP’s. I quickly learned that I was not allowed to leave the barracks and damn sure learned that my eternal compass was not always showing me the right direction.
Fifteen days in the hole, KP for two weeks and one week later found me leaving the Army against my will but fortunately I didn’t receive a dishonorable discharge. I will given a honorable under medical reasons as they let me pass my induction physical with psoriasis which is/was a big no no on their part. I was ejected one week before they would have had to issue me benefits. So much for being a hero.
The Worst Service
During mid-2010’s, we were introduced to a restaurant that was new at the time, called “Gemini”, and people said that it was going to be promising. Little did we know that we’d have the worst experience on the first try.
We went there, and was taken to an empty table outside. We were sitting next to the glass windows at the right and a closed horse barn at the left, with horses outside. The waiter greeted us warmly and kindly gave us a menu full of chicken meals and all other foods.
I took the plain escalope chicken meal, since it was the first time for us on that restaurant. After we chose our meals, the waiter took our order, so we thought that the service was going to be good.
Except it wasn’t.
After like 30 minutes, my meal came in a plate that looked good, but when I cut it, the chicken was raw! I would never eat raw chicken, as it’s very dangerous and could lead to severe health issues. As a result, all of us asked to re-do our meals.
After another 30 minutes, we got our meal again, and I was going to taste it when I noticed something off again; the chicken wasn’t cooked properly, and the crust was burnt. My meal came out worse for me.
And it’s not only my meal, but my brother ordered the same thing and had the same problem. Both of us were unable to eat our meal we had chosen, and we were so hungry!
As a result, we asked the waiter to come here and look at our meals, who told us that it always comes this way. I couldn’t believe what I heard, so we suggested to leave the whole restaurant because of its bad service, never to return again.
They really have done us a disservice.
Susan Batten:
The Service
“I took the car in,” Sally told Jack as he came back into the kitchen.
“What did Bob say?”
“Bob? Oh, I didn’t take it to him.” She gave him a look from under her fringe.
“He doesn’t know the first thing about these modern cars.”
Jack was still wiping a little shaving foam off his ear, but now he stopped.
“You never took it … you never took it to that little git by the market?… not when I told you not to!”
He shot her a cold glance and wiped his hands.
“I’m not paying that clown! Forget it!”
“I know you said he was expensive,” she pleaded, “but he does know what he’s doing. He’s done all the…”
Sally couldn’t look at him. Once he had an idea in his head. nothing would shift it.
He slowly brought his face close to hers.
“What’ve you got with that little punk?”
His handsome face twisted, his knuckles shone white.
Sally swallowed hard and raised her chin.
“We couldn’t let Bob touch it – I know he’s your friend and everything but what does he know…?”
Jack’s hand suddenly thumped down on the table between them.
His wife banged her elbow on the open door as she leapt backwards, then she was fleeing down the hall to the street door.
Outside, in her apron and slippers, with no keys, she was still shaking.
The Duke and His Curious Retinue
There once was a Duke of County Clare,
Who travelled in style with a bow in his hair,
With a trumpeting goose,
And a very fat moose,
And a tall footman who was called Voltaire.
His retinue marched down the lane,
Through sunshine and puddles and rain,
They carried a chair,
For the Duke to sit there,
Though he preferred to be carried by train.
At noon they arrived at the town,
Where the mayor wore slippers and a fine gown,
'Your Grace,' the mayor cried,
We've been waiting inside -
Will you kindly come in and sit down?'
But the Duke gave a terrible shout -
'I have just seen a mouse running out!
Send the guards to pursue it,
And the cooks to shampoo it,
That mouse has my luncheon no doubt!'
So the service sprang into the street,
With seventeen servants on thirty-four feet,
The goose led the chase,
With dignity and grace,
While the moose ate the mayor's boiled sweets.
And ever since then, so they say,
That curious company travel each day,
With the moose in the rear,
And the goose in good cheer,
While the Duke shouts, 'Let's be off and find a buffet!'
Cathy Cade:
Good Service
The service was a little slow, but Bill was in no position to complain.
Not since she had tackled him about his constant complaining. He seemed to enjoy showing her up in front of their friends.
Then, while she was trying to enjoy her tiny diet programme ready-meal, he’d had the cheek to tell her that he was finding the curry she’d cooked him more bitter than usual.
She’d merely smiled…
~
“Dust to dust; ashes to ashes.”
At least the vicar seemed to have found his place in the order of service at last.
Fandango:
Make Sure You Pay Your Debts
The neon sign outside The Velvet Fedora flickered against the slick, rain-soaked pavement of 4th Street, casting long, jagged shadows down the alley.
Detective Fred Morrisey leaned against the brick wall, pulling his trench coat tighter against the midnight chill. The meeting was set for midnight. He pulled a silver pocket watch from his coat. 11:58 pm.
A quiet hum broke the silence as a low-slung, matte-black sedan rolled to a stop at the curb. The tinted driver’s window glided down smoothly, revealing a sharp-featured figure with slicked-back hair and steady, unblinking eyes.
“Morrisey,” the driver said, his voice as smooth as top-shelf bourbon. “I hear you’re looking for answers about a missing ledger.”
Marcus stepped out of the shadows, resting a gloved hand on the car’s door frame. “Depends on who’s offering them, Julian. Word is, you know every secret in this square-mile district.”
Julian offered a thin, enigmatic smile and nodded almost imperceptibly. He pulled a thick leather-bound folder from the passenger seat and held it out into the dim light.
“Always at your service, Detective. Just make sure you pay your debts before sunrise.”
Sillyfrog's Blog:
A Triolet
That service folks ought to suspend,
Does nothing to spur us to rise.
Swift conclusions: a harried trend.
That service folks ought to suspend.
Mere gossip is never ‘your friend’,
A civil pause portends those wise.
That service folks ought to suspend,
Does nothing to spur us to rise
Lou By The Sea:
Service With A Smile
I went in for my MOT
He said “you’ll need a service too”
“I beg your pardon,” I said, indignantly
Not really knowing what to do
“Our records say it’s long overdue
Your last was several years ago”
“Well that’s as maybe but what’s it got to do with you?”
“Let’s take you for a spin, just for five minutes or so”
“Well, your gears are clunky and your undercarriage a bit rusty
But I can fix them right as rain”
So I slapped him for getting too lusty
I shan’t be back at this garage again!
The Bag Lady:
Today the meaning of service is pretty complicated. My first thought is military service and how badly, even disgusting, the treatment and disrespect of military members by the leader of our country and the pentagon. Fools and philanderers take the lead in their jobs, making speeches, declaring unnecessary wars, threats to our allies, and that is only a trifle of their unqualified behavior. The latest by Hegseth about testosterone checks? Omg, unbelievable! How is this happening? It’s mind boggling! Service used to mean serving our country to the best of our ability. Trump has no idea what that means. He only serves himself in every aspect of his life. I’ll stop here.
Jules Pens Some Gems:
People Who Help, Plus
Some volunteer ambitions have turned into compensated professions.
A Volunteer Life member of our family – in New Jersey. Serving in
Indiana and Pennsylvania other kin, totaling about 100 years of volunteer service
As firefighters and auxiliary, members between ten people –
so important in the support of those who Trained to be in the field.
Has lead to compensated professions in firefighting,
As well as teaching fire safety. As well as service and teaching for
Hazardous Materials and also in the field of transporting individuals for
Non-emergency needs. “Service” can accommodate many public and
Private occupations. Most in true ‘service’ are everyday heroes.
Anyone who can give aid with grace and kindness, volunteers or pros.
Selfless
Energetic
Reliable
Valued
Individuals
Compassionate
Empathetic
Pensitivity101:
My paternal grandfather was married four times, and I only really knew his last wife, who was referred to as ‘Aunty’.
We lived with them for a while in 1972/73, but I didn’t know much about her background until 1978 when she came to visit shortly after I married my first husband.
What a story she had to tell.
She had been ‘in service’ as a young girl, and it is highly possible that the Man of the House fathered her son as she had to leave.
She was a good cook and housekeeper, so was employed as such for several years before taking a job with a high ranking restaurant and became qualified in Silver Service.
I had no idea there was such a thing, and apparently she was very good at it.
She and my grandfather were married for several years, I think a marriage of convenience more than anything else, but she looked after him and they were happy.
Years later she was in a nursing home on the outskirts of Bath and as I was then divorced and living with someone in the area, I visited her. It was an enjoyable afternoon for us both as I remember we laughed a lot.
She died around 1984, and her funeral service was the saddest I have ever attended.
There was no music, hymns, eulogy, flowers (apart from a small tribute I’d arranged) or mourners other than myself, my parents, her son and his wife. I don’t think their son came, and the two people at the back of the church were nothing to do with us and had probably come in from the cold.
It wasn’t really a service either, her casket was wheeled in on what looked like a shopping trolley, a few words said by the vicar, she was wheeled out again and then we left. Her son and his wife ignored us, and I know my Dad was angry about that as like me, he thought she deserved better.
The Afterlove Voice:
The Quiet Ones
Service is not always
a uniform,
a counter,
a name badge
or a carefully rehearsed smile.
Sometimes service is coffee
placed beside tired hands
without being asked.
It is a door held open,
a meal quietly made,
a lift offered home,
a message that simply says,
I’m here.
It is waking before dawn
because someone needs you,
changing plans,
carrying bags,
waiting in corridors,
and learning that love
has its own timetable.
Some acts of service
come with medals.
Others come with
no applause at all.
Perhaps those are the ones
we should notice most—
the ordinary hands
doing extraordinary things
simply because
someone needs them.
michnavs:
Service Candle
after everything
the storms we stood beneath,
the fire we cupped in trembling hands,
the long, unspoken service
of keeping faith with what we were
this is how
you let me go?
not with thunder,
not even with the mercy of ruin,
but gently
as though i were only a candle
you had grown tired of tending,
snuffed between your fingers
before the wax could finish
remembering its shape.
and i wonder
what becomes of a light
that spends itself in service
to another’s darkness
whether it was ever a light at all,
or merely something burning
because you once reached for it.
Rall:
service
what’s that?
a thing of the past
am old enough to remember
a time before big tech trickery
and Ai authoritarian idiocy
when customer service
was a human activity
Dan Ince:
It's All About The Customer Service
“Alright, guys,” Chuck Bilson said, “You all need to gather ‘round.”
He waved over the whole team, “Just come on over. Quickly finish what you’re doing. We need to have a chat.”
He adjusted the hairnet covering his beard while he waited for everyone to gather around. He noticed a fresh grease stain on his apron and rubbed at it with his thumb.
“What’s going on today, guys?” He said. “Where’s the love?”
He looked across the team. Proud employees of Brilliant Burger or a casting session for the next Zombies film. He couldn’t tell.
“Today, we need to talk about service,” he said. “Customer service.”
He raised an eyebrow in a James Bond-esque fashion, but instead of soaking up adoration and the sweet sound of rapturous laughter, he heard a Bubblegum bubble pop somewhere.
“Look, I know it’s been a long day but you need to hear this. You guys are dying out there. Can I tell you something? Brilliant Burger makes brilliant burgers. We all know this. Been doing it for ten years and we’ve only got better. But do you know what the secret really is?” he said.
“The sauce?” Jed asked.
“Well, yes, the sauce, but that’s not where I was going,” Chuck said. “It’s the service. It’s always been the service. This is the thing, we do great burgers. But in truth, there are six other burger joints in our neighbourhood and four of them do great burgers too. And you know what keeps customers coming here?”
“The sauce?” Jed asked, wiping something from his fingers onto his trouser leg.
“Not just the sauce, Jed. The customer service! We set ourselves apart with our customer service!” Chuck said, with wide eyes, his hands unconsciously falling into a ‘jazz hands’ position.
Jenny started to raise a hand but Chuck waved it down.
“For ten years, we’ve stayed the best in the neighbourhood because of our attentiveness and focus on what our customers need. They come here because they know they’re going to get both a great burger and the best service in town.”
Jenny looked across to the other team members then over to Chuck who was fully immersed in his pep-talk. She raised her hand again, but once more it was butted away by the back of one of Chuck’s jazz hands.
He went on. And on.
He covered strategies and role plays. He reeled off tales of his intrinsic customer service know-how. He coolly mentioned Burger King and called it a Brilliant Burger copycat.
Arms flailed and hands flapped. If his arms were long enough, he’d be doling out self back-slaps. Employee of the Month voting would landslide in his direction, securing him a framed photo for hanging on the wall between the Brilliant Burger notice board and a photograph of someone’s missing cat.
He hadn’t noticed the glaze of apathy had developed into anxious restlessness for some of the staff, nor had he seen Big Stu come out of his office.
“Bilson!” Big Stu cried, “What the hell is going on out here?!”
Chuck jumped and spun around to meet Big Stu’s stare, “I was just teaching the team all about customer service.”
“Good job,” Big Stu said. “‘Cos since you’ve been harpin’ on about it so much, they’ll know exactly how to deal with that massive queue of complaining customers!”
Robbie's Inspiration:
Service Station Stop (haibun)
When I was a girl, my father had some old fashioned ideas about treating illness. One treatment was to give us spoonful’s of honey mixed with curry powder for sore throats and tonsilitis. Another was to give us a spoonful of gun oil for nausea and upset stomach’s. These ‘homemade’ cures were so awful none of us complained about feeling unwell until we got to a point of near collapse.
I remember one car trip to Durban for a short holiday. We didn’t often go away from home so this experience was very memorable. My father drove a bakkie (pick up) at that time with an enclosed canopy over the cargo bed at the back. Us four girls would all sit or lie in the back with our games and books. It wasn’t a bad way to travel a long distance and every place in South Africa is a long travel distance.
On the morning of the return trip I woke up feeling very unwell. Severely nauseous and dizzy. I wasn’t able to eat any breakfast so my condition was obvious to Dad. He produced his spoonful of gun oil which I had to swallow. That gun oil made my nausea so much worse. It had the unfortunate result of causing me to vomit all over the bed in the back of the vehicle. Dad had to stop at a service station and he and Mom cleaned up the mess as best they could. They actually threw away the old camping sleeping bag I’d been lying on because they didn’t know what else to do with it.
Needless to say, gun oil was no longer a recognised cure for nausea in my family. Unfortunately, the honey and curry powder tradition continued for a few more years. Ugh!
service station stop
not a happy memory
gun oil not a cure
Valet
Fall’s parked zephyr
brushes each leaf, cushions its fall
time’s valet service
I have often wondered what it must have been like to be in service, as was often the case especially for girls and women way back in the early 1900s. I wonder what kind of a life it really was. What was the big house like?
I think of my grandmother when I think of this, because when I was doing my family history, I knew everything about her, or so I thought, from when she was a child on a farm in Alkborough, Lincolnshire, to when she was married, twice, as her first husband died, and her life after that. The farm where she was born was farmed by her father who became a Primitive Methodist during the revivals, and he was always to be seen with his Bible in his hands. He brought his children up very strictly, and in fact my grandmother was almost like a slave to him. I had no idea, however, until I tried to fill in a gap, that she was actaully in service in Sheffiled for a time. It is strange to think that when she married for the second time, to a farmer once again, she herself had servants who lived in. The farmhouse was a large Tudor one with an amazing history, and I have often attempted to discover exactly which were the servants quarters. Not only did my grandmother and grandfather have servants, but also the previous owners of the farm and the ones before them. Having watche Upstairs Downstairs on the television, I know that it was not a bit like that.
I know that my grandmother was a wonderful cook, and a great seamstress too, and she had many skills. In fact she was a wonderful person. Generous with everyone and very humble. She taught me a lot and if I could emulate her I would be proud.
Through The Rain
I took a couple of steps back as the hearse passed by, I wanted them to see me; being respectful but not too obtrusive.
I kept my distance as the coffin was taken out and carried in to the chapel, my family following behind.
I walked up to the children’s garden to Elijah’s tree.. Being near him always brought me comfort. After leaving a posy, I found a bench, sitting and reflecting, waiting for the service to finish.
I watched as the mourners filed out, crying and hugging each other, whilst I bore my grief alone.
Only after they’d laid their flowers and set off to a wake I wasn’t invited to, I laid my own posy and said my goodbyes.
‘Rest In Peace, Dad, look after Elijah for me.’
Only then did the heavens open.
I turned and walked through the rain.
***
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