mess, and well, I hope I did okay.
So, my name is Will and I’d spent many nights in a hotel with broken beds and awful food. I had traveled through Europe as a streetside musician when I decided to get some rest in London. My feet were sore, my hair frazzled, my vision was blurry and frankly I couldn’t take another day of charity performance. When I found a cheap hotel in the lower part of the city, I paid for a room with my last bit of change and hid in the bathroom for three days. My eyes were bloodshot, I didn’t want to talk to anyone, the circuit had been bad this year, I’d averaged twenty Eurodollars a day and I was hungry. In all things considered, I needed a change.
On my fifth evening at the Pallider Hotel, I stared at the grimy ceiling with my guitar to my side, when I rolled over, knocking it off the bed. As I leaned over to pick it up, I noticed this worn-out little rubber ducky touching its beak against the wooden floor. When I looked closer, I saw the flash drive tied around its neck and decided, after much deliberation, that I’d take the duck with me.
On the eighth day, I left the hotel and gave the music circuit another go. For two weeks, I slept in the park, and for two weeks, I barely scraped a living. But I endured. When I started showing people the rubber duck, many of them thought it was sweet, so they compensated me for such sweetness. One pound turned into two, two pounds into four, and next thing I knew I was able to afford a better hotel. That was a few days ago.
If you’re wondering how the duck got on the Tube, that answer is simple. On my way to the Diamond Hotel, I decided to grab the train. My stop wasn’t for at least three miles, so I had time to write my story. Fortunately I carry a tablet in my guitar case. My plan was to write about my trip to the hotel, since taking that jump in economic status is a milestone for a guy like me. I honestly thought that in of itself was worth writing about. But, while I was writing about my good fortune, a pretty girl sat next to me and saw my rubber ducky. This was just a few minutes ago, of course. These events are happening in real time! Like reality TV! Okay, please don’t leave now. Just saying. Anyway, she thought it was so sweet that I’d carry something like that around that she kissed me. And thus, I realized right there that the duck fulfilled its mission and now was the time to pass it on. So, even though I was gonna keep the duck to see if I had more interesting adventures to share, I realize, as I finish this last sentence, that my part of the duck’s adventure is complete, so I am leaving the duck behind to bless the next person. And I am hoping this girl will give me her number. Of course, why wouldn’t she? I have a rubber ducky with me.
Oh, and if you’re the seventh person to find this duck, don’t forget to publish this document once you’ve written your part of the story. According to the note, you get to keep the duck. Oops, my stop is next. Gotta hit “Save” now. Good luck to whomever finds it next. I hope you get whatever you’re looking for. Peace out.
The Present
Johnny shifted in his seat. As nice as Will’s story seemed, something about it left Johnny unsettled. He groaned inside. He wanted to be happy for the guy who had bumped him on the way out of the train. But he couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. The girl that was following him out met him the same way Johnny had met Claire, sort of. Different locations and different circumstances, but the same basic concept with a far different ending. Johnny had wanted that same ending with Claire, the girl of his dreams. It left him feeling emotionally drained just thinking about what he had lost, especially in the context of what Will had gained. Some guys were just luckier than others, it seemed. Either that or fate actually had a good story for Will to star in, whereas fate had completely ignored Johnny.
He sighed as he moved his eyes toward the next tale of personal woe in the guise of someone else having a happier ending than him.
Grant
Okay, I’m in a bit of a hurry here, but I think I can write my tale rather quickly. Have to “borrow” my neighbor’s laptop while he sleeps. I’ll give it back when I’m done. Maybe. My name is Grant, last name’s not important, and I found this duck while I was on the run. Two months ago, I lived in Paris, working as a coffee merchant at a local café, when the French Mafia found me. Even though I lived under witness protection for the last year, I never had the funds to leave France, so I hid in the biggest city in the country. That was a mistake because the French Mafia operated less than ten miles away. In my defence, I thought I could blend in with the crowd. Like a real duck, however, my luck flew south when one of the lieutenants spotted me wiping tables near the street corner.
The reason the Mafia was after me is irrelevant. The important thing was that they found me, and I had to leave my post immediately. The gunshot sounded and my feet kicked into action. With my dishrag in hand, I hopped the metal railing in front of the café and dashed for the nearest bus. The lieutenant, in turn, chased me with his Lamborghini. I barely escaped his bumper when I jumped on the bus. The chase, then, became a duel of wills. He had speed; I had brawn. Only one was going to escape the city alive. And he had the gun. I had the dishrag.
I found the rubber duck in the backseat, adjacent to two lovers engaged in a heated display of affection. I took the seat because it gave me the best vantage of the Lamborghini, but kept it because watching the overjoyed romantics felt like going to the theatre. Between the adrenaline of one issue and the distraction of another, I almost overlooked the duck completely. But in my haste to keep below the window, I dropped belly-first onto the toy, and it squeaked. The flash drive endured my weight. PNY, gotta remember them.
Grabbing the duck, I sprinted to the front of the bus as the sports car sped ahead, and jumped out the door before either vehicle had a chance to stop. From there I bolted through three commercial neighborhoods—taking mostly the alleys—and ended up on the front court of the Gare du Nord, where I dashed for the gate and bought a ticket for the Eurostar.
The quid I made in tips that day was the only cash I had, but somehow it was enough to buy a bus ticket—barely. Even though I managed to lose the Lamborghini somewhere in that first neighborhood and didn’t know what became of it, I kept an eye open for the driver as I waited for the bullet train to arrive. Fortunately, he never checked the station. About five hours later, I was on my way to London.
When I arrived at London International, I immediately ran for the surface and found a job waiting tables. With the pounds I earned, I bought a room at the Pallider Hotel and lay low for the next two months. Under my reserved profile, I continued serving tables, watching for any signs of my pursuers tracking me here, until this morning when everything changed. Before heading off to work, I read in the newspaper that the leader of the French Mafia was put behind bars for attempting to kidnap a Louvre tour guide, and that his entire syndicate was now hunted by Interpol. Feeling my bout of freedom approaching, I decided that my tenure with the duck was finished and that it was time to write my part of the story. And even though some agents will escape the law and continue to search for me, I know now that their chances of catching me are slim. With that, I hope the person who finds this duck will have fewer Mafia types chasing him.
Still not sure why I picked up the duck, by the way. Felt right I guess. Rubber ducks don’t usually come with flash drives. Kinda disappointed there’s nothing that incriminates anyone I know on here, if I’m being honest, but that’s how it goes sometimes. Anyway, gotta go. Can’t be late for work. My boss can be a real bastard when I upset him.
Oh, and to the bloke who finds this, please clean up my spelling and grammar. In too much of a hurry to write anything more than textspeak.
The Present
Johnny was having a slightly difficult time reading Grant’s entry thanks to the shakiness of the train, so he decided he would resume reading about the rubber duck’s “grand adventure” once he found more stable footing topside. Plus, he realized he needed a break. Something about Grant’s story was familiar to him; in fact, part of it gave him a sense of déjà vu, and it caused him to screw his eyes toward each other. And, he felt a slight he
adache coming on. Yeah, he needed to rest his brain a moment. He jumped off the train at the next stop and found himself ascending to a location next to a small park.
He went to the park and found a bench next to the pond. With the exception of a few families having picnics or flying kites nearby, and the few live ducks that swam in the pond, the atmosphere was serene enough for him to concentrate. He reopened the laptop, which was still on, set the rubber duck on the bench beside him, and resumed reading. He’d never taken the flash drive out of the computer.
YRD401: Intermediate Babysitting
Carla
Okay, so I’m sitting at this café in the middle of Paris when I find this cute little duck sitting in the chair beside me. Oh, I’m Carla by the way, nice to meet you—okay, we’re probably not gonna actually meet, but you know—I don’t want to be rude. So anyway, I’m alone—a little too alone—so I have nothing better to do than to read all the documents attached to it through the flash drive—the duck in case you forgot already. See, I’m actually from America, and I came to Paris a couple of weeks ago to find some adventure and
The Celebration of Johnny's Yellow Rubber Ducky Page 5