A Virtual Bouquet


Hey,

I hope you have had a sweet day today on Valentine’s Day, with the one/s you love. I would like to extend a virtual bouquet to thank you for your support so far. It is so uplifting to see so many daily views to my stories. I am very new to posting stories and maintaining a WordPress site, so as I grow and learn on this awesome journey, I want you to know how much I appreciate you returning to this page. My pile of stories is still as big as Ben Hur, and daily I think of new ones to write. So stay tuned, I will keep feeding this site with quirky tales.

The image above is a bouquet of roses made from New Zealand Flax. This bouquet comes from Tamborine Mountain, in SE Queensland. The Scenic Rim is a slice of pure paradise in lush rainforest. A fab place to recharge.

Take care, stay safe, be happy.


Changing Spots


I wrote this story using the following prompt: Your Daily Word Prompt – Idyll


Newcomers arrive in the neighbourhood, bringing mystery and intrigue. Do they have superpowers?


Changing Spots

Fernando was one of a few dozen siblings.  It was hard for his mother Felicity to do a head count as her offspring of tadpoles and young frogs would not sit still long enough.  They were an energetic bunch, constantly on the move.  Her clan were growing steadily so from her maternal perspective, that was more important than knowing how many there were.  She had to trust that they would stay safe, out of trouble and steer clear of danger to reach their full-grown status of a Spotted Marsh Frog.

They all lived harmoniously in their idyll state residing in the large pond between two rose beds in Ms Farolli’s front garden.  When they reached maturity, they had lily pads to sit upon and contemplate where they might hop next.  Or maybe, they would just sit and ‘be’, in a frog-type transcendental stance, and croak occasionally.  Either way, their day was busy, whether actively or on a cellular level.

Fernando and his family were aware of a lot of sparkly activity on the front veranda with fairy lights draped artistically, adorning the concrete and brick façade. The neighbours in their street were also dressing their houses, fences and trees in lights and sparkly paraphernalia.  The lights were solar powered and twinkled at night, the light’s reflection on the glassy surface of their pond.  It made for colourful yet calming scene to serenade for the nightly meeting of the Frog’s Chorus Group.  Many frogs cranked up their croak and the range of different pitches harmonised well.  The bassy tones resonated from below ground in the network of pipes, blending with those on dewy grass above.

One sunny day in South East Queensland in December, the mailman called and dropped off Christmas parcels from friends far away.  In one of the packages, the contents were very intriguing.  The sender of the present was aware of Ms Farolli’s love of frogs, so to her delight, inside the packaging and Christmas wrapping was a set of spotted green ceramic ornamental frogs to display on the front veranda. 

They lived on the veranda for a few years, much to the curiosity of Fernando and his family.  They were amazed at how long the frogs could stay in their transcendental stance, not moving a muscle, or croaking, nor needing to relieve themselves, scratch or eat. Fernando wondered if they got frog cramp.

As time passed, the sun showed no mercy and caused the paint to fade on the ceramic frogs.  Ms Farolli and Fernando’s family saw the spots disappear as the green paint changed to a navy blue.  This intrigued Fernando’s clan even more.  These frogs must be magic, they croaked.  What secret powers must they possess to not only sit so still for so long, but change colour completely?

Fernando and his family made it their mission to sit with their ceramic house mates when the coast was clear of humans, in the hope of learning their secrets.  They would sit for as long as it took, until the cramp set in.  Hopefully, the transcendental amphibians would shed some light on their superpowers.  They might let out an informative croak, Fernando’s family hoped so. 

Felicity had invited them to their lily pond, they could have their own lily pad and their fill of insects.  But these frogs needed to wake from their trance first.  She considered poking them with a stick but thought that might be unneighbourly.   They would wait and croak harmoniously, hoping to stir them from their deep sleep. 

Maybe they would be keen to join the Chorus Group, Fernando wondered? They could do with more bass in the back row.


Thanks for reading my story


Copyright Fleur Lind © 2021

A Ride to Remember


A mysterious phenomenon has curious minds in a quandary in Muddlethorpe.


I wrote this story using the following prompt: FOWC with Fandango – Planet

A Ride to Remember

The Muddlethorpe Bus Company had noticed a sharp increase in the number of passengers on the Jackson Creek bus route.  It was normally a quiet run along lanes and roads on the outskirts of town, but maybe it was the lush scenery; the well-kept gardens, the flowering trees that draped over the fences and the stream that weaved its way around the region that caught the passenger’s attention and interest.  Or maybe it was how peaceful this once-underrated corner of the community was with the of absence of three-lane city traffic, that was the drawcard. It was certainly a slice of unrushed paradise on an otherwise busy planet. The bus company was not at all sure, but something was bringing the fares and ringing the till.

The passengers included locals and others from around the region, of all ages and stages. They didn’t ring the bell to disembark, they were just along for the ride, more than content to do the round trip and pay the full fare.

There were curious but pleasing changes in the mood with the locals as well.  The Muddlethorpe High School Middle Management and the High School Board had noted their students were making an extra effort with their work and were getting top grades. 

Work ethic in the small town was on the rise as well, with happy customers and clients. Businesses and services were swelling with profit and pride. 

Despite their various ills, issues and episodes, the patients of the Muddlethorpe Medical Centre and Hospital were in a good space and not in great need of diversion from their health problems.

 The general tone in the town was ringing out on a positive high note.  Was it something in the water?  Or was it something on the bus?

Being a progressive, forward-thinking town, Muddlethorpe was the only bus service in the region to upgrade the bus seating.  The bus drivers had listened to the passenger’s concerns regarding the bumpy ride. The seating was tired, old, flat, and hard.  They had planned to refit all the busses with memory foam seating.  The bus to Jackson Creek was the first to make its run with the wonderfully comfortable foam.  One might think that was the reason, a comfortable seat was bringing more passengers.

The bus company was not aware the foam had been altered by a local retired teacher who lived in a ramshackle house on the west side of town.  Known as Mad Mack by the sceptics, he was Muddlethorpe’s somewhat eccentric scientist.  Mack could be found in his barn or back yard where he would tinker and calculate, simmer, and explode objects, all in the name of Science and discovery.  

Mack had been working on a new project and after rigorous calculations, had invented a formula to increase memory potential.   He was closely related to the foam manufacturer who had been contracted to make the new seats for the bus company.  The cousins had secretly added the formula to the seating during its manufacture, making the memory foam do far more than just return to its former shape when the seated weight was lifted.

But…  as does often happen with the best laid plans, something had gone askew with the formula.  As fingers of sunlight shone through the trees or poured through the windows onto the seats, the chemical balance was altered, making knowledge exchange amongst those seated. A cloudy or wet day did not seem to effect this defect.

Those who had no previous idea of a given topic were suddenly extremely knowledgeable.  With each passenger seated, the knowledge was exchanged and shared. Fortunately, personal memories were exempt from this phenomenon, saving huge embarrassment.

Of course, the scientist was somewhat baffled as to why his formula was not quite meeting with his highly-tuned calculations.  But keeping in mind his saying that covered all scientific mishaps… if it’s not broke and no one is harmed, don’t fix it … he didn’t concern himself with this astonishing result.

As each bus was refitted, word spread and Muddlethorpe became a tourist hotspot.   Tour groups started up, bringing a new industry to the region. The source and cause of the revival in bus tours was never revealed. Mad Mack smiled smugly and deviously as he listened to the tills ring as his town prospered. 

With astute minds and healthier mindsets, Muddlethorpe was no longer muddled.


Thanks for reading my story


Copyright Fleur Lind © 2021

One Month… already!

An email popped up from WordPress saying my site has been live for 1 month! That’s pretty cool! And in that time I’ve been testing my wings. I’ve been writing with word prompts. I hope I have created a site that offers entertaining, quirky stories.

There are more yarns to come, I’m just getting warmed up 😎

Thank you for visiting my site, and for the many emails I get telling me you think the stories are a good read. That is so good to know!

Stay tuned for more quirky, fun yarns!

Pink Breasted Perfection


I wrote this story using the following prompt: RDP Daily Prompt – Soaring


Crouching patiently in a prickly bush for that perfect shot, Adam reaps his reward and a few scratches. Will he take the win and bragging rights?


Pink Breasted Perfection

Adam had been told ‘more times than he had had hot dinners’, as his nanna said, that he had the patience of a saint. He would go way beyond the call of duty to get the perfect shot.  He was a fit man who enjoyed his day job, as much as his regular past times. 

When Friday arrived, he did a courteous salute to the week that was, then as the sun rose the following day, he set about packing a day bag of snacks and energy boosters to go bush to get his shot of the day.  He likened himself to a marksman.  c Waiting was what he did with ease, most of the time. 

His wife Kim, however, did not see that same patience when she was in a fashion store, choosing from the racks of new season styles when they were in town together and she was in the moment with a storewide sale.  She adored her husband, who would embrace nature as he fulfilled his favourite pastimes.  That overrode any frustration with his impatience when they went shopping.  She could forgive him when he hopped from one foot to the other, checking his watch, wondering how long she would be.

Anytime now.  Adam’s finger was poised, ready to shoot.  He ignored the cramp that was beginning to niggle in his left calf muscle, giving it the smallest shake so as not to rustle too much and disturb his focus. Crouching among the leafy branches of an overgrown bush, was not the best spot to be for maximum comfort so he had to play his T card. His middle name was Terrance, and only Kim and 60 wedding guests knew that when they had exchanged vows. That aside, his middle initial stood for ‘tenacity’.

And then it happened. His patience had paid off and his expression of steely concentration broke into a soft, warm grin. His finger twitched.  He pressed the shutter on his SLR camera.  Got it.  Perfect. Just what he had been waiting for.  The tiny Pink Robin had landed on a mossy branch and looked to the left. A perfect pose, showing off its pretty pink breast.  He reflected on another photo he had taken of a Wedge-tailed Eagle soaring low in a cloudless sky.  From a tiny Robin to a majestic Eagle, both were stunning creatures, both he had needed equal measure of skill and patience and offered hope of a win.

Adam carefully uncurled from his crouch, pleased to be separating himself from the rough branches that had been scratching his skin, and with his camera safely on the cord hanging in front of his favourite tee-shirt featuring one of his flock, he stood up and stretched.   The Robin was not concerned with the movement nearby as she continued to preen, her routine was not complete.

He hoped his selection would get the judges attention in the ‘Give It Your Best Shot’ Photographic Competition. With his selection of storm clouds, birdlife from the great outdoors and from his own flock of 16 feathered family members, sunsets and contrasting coastline scenes, he hoped he had nailed a place in the finals. 

Would he seal a win and bring home the trophy and bragging rights? If so, he’d go shopping with Kim, taking a book to read while she took all the time she needed.  A perfect payback for her support!


Thanks for reading my story


Copyright Fleur Lind © 2021

The Mad Butcher


I wrote this story using the following word prompt:

FOWC with Fandango – Cathartic


Felix had a quiet happy life until events turned his world upside down. How is he going to win over evil?


The Mad Butcher

I had been having pretty good run of things, there had been plenty of choices on the menu, a huge house to run around in, upstairs and downstairs.  I had built quite a few wee nests in which to nap, should I get tired. I am Felix Bartholomew the Third, at your service.  (Takes a deep, gracious bow)

As much as I try and keep a low profile, and I really do my best to remain unseen, I was spotted by a visitor to my residence just two weeks ago.  This was a terrible blow and shattered my otherwise harmonious, inconspicuous lifestyle.

With the visitor sighting me, the domino effect took a strong hold…The visitor alerted the homeowner; my host, to my existence which I was not at all pleased about.  I was managing to stay under the radar, binging on the huge tray of birdseed that is outside the back door every morning for the growing population of Cockatoos that swing by for breakfast. I’d also feast on whatever else I could pilfer inside the house.  My girth was a giveaway though, and I was no longer as fast as a speeding bullet.  I was more like a slow-moving blimp.

So, it was inevitable that a mean, nasty gang of Butcher birds saw me as an easy lunch when I was spotted ‘scurrying’ along the low concrete fence beside the house.  It wasn’t so much a ‘scurry’ as a quick waddle. 

Anyway.

At first it was one butcher bird; it thought it had me, cornering me beside a Geranium.  I had to think on my claws.  I copied a manoeuvre I had seen on a league game I watched once from the sanctuary of one of my many escape holes in the lounge. I saw a gap in the cluster of butchers and darted through the hole, dodging the Butcher bullet.

I wasn’t so lucky the second time.  The disgruntled bird had told his mates and three of them set on me. They had a score to settle with me, their pride was hurt, and feathers were ruffled.  They no doubt had a reputation to uphold, and if word got out that they were played at their own game by the likes of me…well, that would never do!  It would work very well for me though.

I had to deploy new tactics.  It was all about outsmarting them.  I had to get past them and back down into the geraniums and out of sight.  Not as easy as it sounds, but somehow, I fooled them.  Just quietly, I do not think Butcher birds are very bright.

Meanwhile, who should be watching this stressful liaison from above on the back door balcony, but my host!  She will be selling tickets, next! She also told the visitor who dobbed me in, which resulted in regular visits to see what I was up to! So I have not only the mad butcher birds to deal with, but suddenly I am under the spotlight as they appear to be entertained by my moves.

I feel It is time she and I had a little talk; I need back up.  I can’t fend those bully Butcher birds off indefinitely.  They are getting meaner; I have to think of new strategies.  My once carefree life is now hindered by bullying birds with an awfully bad attitude.  I need therapy or cathartic counselling to deal with all this stress!

A little grey mouse can only take so much!


Thanks for reading my story


Copyright Fleur Lind © 2021

All in a Row


I wrote this story using the following prompt : Your Daily Word Prompt – Insistant


A mother’s plea for an end to incessant requests, is answered by an unexpected source.


All in a Row

But why can’t we?” Dustin whined, failing to see his mum’s point.

Daphne sighed exasperatedly.  She had given her perfectly valid reasons at least three times and in different ways, hoping that her offspring would stop their grizzling and give in. 

She kept walking, searching her tired brain for something to change the subject; but unfortunately, nothing was popping into her head.  If push came to shove, she would deploy plan B; ignore them.  This had worked in the past, maybe it would work just as well now.

As Dustin took a breath and considered his next move, Deb was insistent as she cranked up on a different tangent.

 “But Dale down the other end of the pond has got one!  Her mum said it was a good idea!  If she was going to be late home, she could text or ring and tell her so she wouldn’t worry!” Deb tried to keep her emotions in check, but it was a dismal fail as her tone became more like a wail. It was as if the world would fall apart if her demand were not met.  Dale had one with a pink cover with sparkly things on it.  Having to see her phone at Swim Class every day was agonising and made her want one even more.

Daphne breathed deeply through her nostrils and out through her bill.  She had seen this taugh in her Yoga class; it was apparently good for releasing tension, but it was not working today. She could feel the pressure building behind her eyes. She willed her overwhelming urge to scream to dissipate. How embarrassing would that be?  She was ready to snap.

Another deep breath.  Maybe it would work if she tried again. Just as she was about to speak in her ‘mother voice’, there was webbed traffic on the path they travelled that instantly solved her problem.

Delilah walked past at a steady waddle, appearing to feel the same frustration as her good friend, Daphne. Her ducklings were not is a safe straight row behind her, but all over the place. 

Daphne called out in greeting.  Delilah called back and following Daphne’s glance, she looked back at her ducklings.  All seven of them weren’t behind her in a line at all; they were walking around in circles, face down, focused on their phones.

Delilah rolled her eyes and slowed her pace to reply.  “Worst mistake I ever made.  Don’t get your kids mobiles, Daph! They don’t look where they are going. Do not give in to them, no matter how much they nag. Those phones are an accident waiting to happen. Denis is at the vet with a broken leg.  He slipped on a skateboard.  He was standing upright, then next minute, he’s off!  He was away down the path before he knew what was happening, then canned off on a corner. Keep your kids in a straight line, so much safer!”

Dustin grunted.  Deb huffed.  With feathers fluffed up, they reluctantly heeded Delilah’s advice. 

Daphne grinned triumphantly.

Never to be outdone, Dustin had an idea.  “A skateboard would be cool, mum!”


Thanks for reading my story


Copyright Fleur Lind © 2021

Dirty Talk


When three grease monkeys escape to the wilderness for the weekend, who would have known a full tank would change their lives?


I wrote this story using the following prompt: RDP Friday – Accountability


Dirty Talk

Jacob was a tall wiry young man who could eat everything on his plate and go back for seconds and possibly thirds, and never put on a gram of weight.  His mother and grandmother said, “you can’t fatten thoroughbreds” and his workmates at Grease Monkey Mechanical would teasingly say he had worms.  He saw true value in a buffet meal where he could return to the menu selection and pile his plate numerous times without getting disapproving glances from the waiting staff.  He had paid for his meal at reception, so every serving from the carvery, salad, seafood, and vegetable bar was justified with accountability.

Jacob was a very likeable fellow and got on with just about everyone except those who talked too fast.  He had no tolerance for impatient conversations as he could not understand them, and this was problematic for smooth communication.  He far preferred clear conversation as it helped significantly in diagnosing mechanical problems.  If people were not in such a hurry, how much better everything would be, Jacob thought.

 ‘Grease Monkey Mechanical’ was a busy one-stop-shop for many mechanical problems. From small easy jobs to a complex concern that would involve in depth analysis and hours of work; Jacob, Tim, Brent, and Peter had it covered.   They were diligent workers, Peter being a fatherly figure to Jacob, Tim, and Brent. 

The three amigos were single, and with a passion for cars and the great outdoors, they looked forward to their escape plan on the weekend when they would often go off road in search of adventure.

They would venture along tracks for hiking, fishing at the lake or just messing about in the dirt and dust.  Jacob’s van was large and accommodated the three men with extra room for the all-important Eski of cold refreshments and tinned food.  Their weekends were carefree as they enjoyed their outdoor pursuits. 

With their leisure time in a harmonious groove, it was a crushing blow to Tim and Brent when Murphy’s Law reared its unwanted head and teamed up with Cupid to unexpectedly bring Monica into Jacob’s life. 

It happened one Saturday as they pulled into a bay at the petrol station on the outskirts of town. After filling the tank and feeling peckish, Jacob needed to calm his rumbling hunger with a serving of hot ships from the store. He was used to staff changes as their rosters dictated, but nothing could have prepared him for her blue eyes, and beautiful smile when Monica gave him his change.  The name tag was there on her work shirt, and the writing was on the wall.  In a heartbeat, his life had changed forever. Their eyes met and several thousand revs charged through his body, his indicators flashed uncontrollably, and his gearstick begged for cruise control.  Monica commented on his van.  After some brief coy, introductory conversation as they were wary of customers behind him in the queue, phone numbers were written down on a paper bag and exchanged.

Monica was also a car enthusiast and loved the great outdoors.  As Brent said, she had great attributes and two single sisters, so she easily melded into the group.  Her sisters were inducted, and one van became a convoy as the group grew to six.

With the women’s touch, the first thing needing attention was the pungent ‘boy smell’ in the vehicles.  It was disgusting. Monica issued ‘Africa’ scented body spray, which they would all use if they knew what was good for them. Jacob would have worn fly spray if it made her happy.

The second ‘fix-it’ was Jacob’s Van.  It was filthy!

Monica made her point by writing a simple message on the rear window:  SINGLE WHITE VAN SEEKS SINGLE YELLOW SPONGE FOR HOT AND SOAPY FUN.  APPLY WITHIN. 

Soon enough, the van was sparkling, and the boys smelled fresh and appealing. Monica and her sisters Emma and Lucy were accepted into the fold.

 And so it was that three grease monkeys and three sisters had many reasons for wanting the weekend to arrive.  A combined baking effort from the girls added a flavoursome touch to the off-road menu.

It was all about balance, cars, great company, a loaded Eski and mountain air. Tim and Brent felt quietly thankful Monica’s eyes had locked on Jacob’s.  It was a match made in petrol heaven.


Thanks for reading my story


Copyright Fleur Lind © 2021

A Bung Note


I wrote this story using the following prompt: FOWC with Fandango – Propensity


It’s hard when your vocals are off, your batteries are flat and you’re last in the queue.


A Bung Note

I feel like a lyric from that song “Just Dropped In” (To See What Condition My Condition Was In’) because my condition is seriously bad. 

I have seen it coming for a few weeks now, I’ve become whiney and I’m getting more and more croaky, and there will be no credit given to Frank the battery-powered, ceramic ornamental frog on the porch, for that.  He croaks if a leaf drops, he is worse than the dog who has the propensity to bark at fresh air.   Frank fancies himself as a watch-frog, so now the dog, Monty, has got the pip and sulks in his kennel.

But enough about the other members of this noisy household, my problem is far more important.  I’m not delivering the melodious sounds that I used to.  Instead, I sound like a badly played violin; my chime will curdle your custard.  It’s an assault on the eardrums.

I am a door chime, and my job description stipulates I am to announce visitors, regardless of status.  Whether it is a parcel delivery, or a long list of callers like the lawnmower man, associates from the bowls club, siblings and cousins, the grandchildren arriving to visit or the next-door neighbour popping in… (takes breath, wheezily)…I am expected to sound very pleasing to the ear.    Sadly, this is not the case, and my guarantee doesn’t say what compensation I get for having a wonky ringer. 

I feel very awkward when I see a finger pointing straight at me, knowing I am going to sound a bit like nails on a blackboard. This plays badly with my anxiety, as I dread my buzzer being pressed.

There is, however, an extremely easy solution to my dilemma; my tired batteries need replacing. 

  I could hardly contain my excitement when I saw my homeowner, Ken, head out to buy some supplies.  I knew he was getting more batteries.  He could not stand my awful sound either. His expression was one of extreme distaste when I chimed. Even worse than his look when his tea goes cold or when too many advertisements delay his favourite TV show.  He pulled that face every time my buzzer was rung.

He taped over my buzzer with duct tape, which usually fixes 99.9% of problems, but I must be the 1%.  The tape was curling up at the edges and began to peel, so the neighbour said “”pfft, that will never do”, and pulled it off completely.  I am sure Ken missed my melodious friendly welcoming tones, though, as every time my buzzer was pushed, my chime sounded like a something psychedelic from the ‘70s.

When a new 10-pack of Double A’s arrived home with the shopping, they were buried in the bag under the pasta and low carb bread. I could feel my sparkle returning as I tingled with delight at the thought of new energy pulsing through me.

But my excitement was wasted!  I missed out on my replacements!  Frank was first in line, followed by the wall clock, then the alarm clock and three figurine toys that needed battery power to come to life and entertain the youngest of the grandchildren when they visit. One of the figurines has a smaller vocabulary than mine, as it were, so I really should have been ahead of him in the queue.  But what Buzz Lightyear wants, Buzz Lightyear gets.  Something about the Universe and beyond…?  Whatever.

My patience is wearing thin, but I am next in line.  When I do get new batteries, I will put in a request for a new chime.  I am playing a piece of Mozart now, not that you would recognise this masterpiece through my speakers, but I would be delighted to have a new sound.  I have 30 tunes in my memory, so it is such a waste not to expand my repertoire.  I can do Big Ben, jazz, birdsong, harps, and echoes, and a foghorn, just to name a few. 

Maybe when I am in a better voice, I can drown out Frank so Monty will come out of his kennel. It will be good to see him slobbering happily all over Frank.

With tuneful notes, peace will reign again in our harmonious household!


Thanks for reading my story


Copyright Fleur Lind © 2021

Cash with Class


I used the following prompt for this story : FOWC with Fandango – Deteriorate


This narrative is spoken from the heart, taking you back to a time of unrushed retail therapy.


Cash with Class

My world is flavoursomely old-fashioned.  My owner doesn’t want or need today’s modern bells and whistles to earn his crust.

And we earn a mighty fine crust.  Crispy and white, sweet and tasty, Pavlosky’s Pavlova Palace has been dishing up the best fare for over 50 years.  We believe in tradition and good old-fashioned values.  That’s what you get when you walk through our door.  The bell over the door will ring and after you have drooled over the displays – figuratively of course, your eyes wide with sweet wonder, having chosen a slice of something nice, you make your way for the counter. 

There I sit, ‘holding up the bar’ in all my classic glory.  I come from a long line of quality, made-to-last engineering.  My body is shiny, my keys poised ready to press in your purchase.  My draw is loaded and ready to issue change.

I am an antique cash register, and I love my job.

I am old-school.  There’s nothing ‘touch screen’ about me, my generation is pre-digital.

 I am finely tuned and have a particular set of skills.  Apart from my class and breeding, I am also an educator in the fine art and rapidly diminishing practice of ‘thinking’.   I am designed to not tell you what change to give, you must work it out yourself.

We get quiet days and busy days.  Papa P’s granddaughter enjoys working for us and practices her maths skills when she gives change.  Papa P says she doesn’t have to do her homework when she is working in the shop.  It’s good to know she gets straight A’s for her business skills.

On the quiet days, they clean behind my glass window and giving a clear view to the purchase price, or a polish over my keys.  I look forward to these dutiful deeds.  Age will not weary me; they make sure my elegant style and mechanisms do not deteriorate.

When I go for my regular check-up and service, I see the younger, more modern registers lined up with forlorn faces, their wires crossed, and microchips overcooked.  Their touch-screens are cracked or they are just feeling overheated and run down.  That’s a result of their fast-paced world, and they are welcome to it!

They look at me with a mix of expressions.  Some smile respectfully, others are scornful to see the old timer in the queue.  They think they know it all. Their technology is designed to make the customers experience faster, and they make a lot of noise and spit out a lot of paper receipts.   

 I am a register of simple but effective means. A smooth, gentle ‘ka-ching’ sounds at the press of my keys. My ‘easy-on-the-ear’ bell rings as my draw opens.  I don’t make much noise, and that’s good for the customers.  Less interruption equals more banter with Papa P as he attends to your purchase. 

 Our customers leave with smiles on their faces, knowing they have stepped back into a world where the only rush they will experience is in the sugar from the best pav in town.


Thanks for reading my story


Copyright Fleur Lind © 2021

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