Three-Minute Fiction Fail

Trains have pulled away from the platform as I’ve run to catch them, but never so narrowly have I missed a deadline as I did just now, at midnight. At 11:15 pm I discovered on my Facebook feed that NPR’s Three Minute Fiction contest was ending at 11:59. Though I’ve submitted to this contest in the past, I somehow missed all announcements of the current round. I’ll never understand the algorithm of the Facebook news feed, why I get status updates from some people and groups for a while, and then they fade away, sometimes coming back, and sometimes not. When I saw the rogue NPR administrator’s feed from 10 pm announcing  the two-hour warning, I frantically, wildly, deliriously read the contest brief and wrote a story. At 11:54 I saved my submission in Word and clicked on NPR’s website to upload it, like I did last time. That’s when my Macbook battery bonked. I jumped up from the sofa and dove for the power cord under the dining room sideboard. My heart pounded while the screen resurrected. Then I discovered that NPR has a new user interface for submissions–something they’ve set up since the last round I entered a year ago. What was my User ID? My password? Please confirm password. I typed as fast as I could. My name. My phone number. How to pronounce my name. “Isn’t that premature?”, I thought, entering “Moral.” State: Virginia. Check to agree to terms. Check if over 18. Check if a U.S. citizen. 11:58. Click here to upload. Browse…Sorry, we are not accepting submissions at this time.

So here I am, sitting on the floor by the sideboard, sweaty, a ball of utter frustration in my gut, and feeling even more like the thinly-veiled character in my story.

Here it is.

From NPR’s Three-Minute Fiction Site: “Write a story in the form of a voice-mail message.” Word limit: 600.

From the Coconut Girl, my minute-too-late-submission.

“Date of Birth, 10-14-1972,” © 2013 by Whitney Morrill.

This is Amanda Gehry. Date of birth 10-14-1972. I need to reschedule my appointment with Dr. Haagensen. It’s on the 21^st of  Shhhhhhhh. I’m talking. Sorry. I need to reschedule the appointment. I’m available Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays–just a minute. Go in the other room, please. Good days during the week are mornings on Monday, Wednesday, or Thursday. I need to be out of there by 11:45 to get kids. Dr. H said to tell you not to put me on a day when he’s on call. You may have a yogurt. The other kind, that one’s Mommy’s. He said something about a stool sample. That’s right, like your stool! Do I need to get a lab form before the appointment, or will he give me one when I’m there? Wasn’t sure if he needs to review the results before we meet, because if I go to the lab after my appointment, then I can’t talk with him about it, and about my sibling’s situation, and whether I’m at higher risk. One second, this is the pediatrician’s office calling.

Sorry. I’ve been waiting all morning for that call back, the phone lines were jammed for an hour. You can probably hear that croupy cough in the background, I was up all night dealing with it. I was running the humidifier but I should have had her breathing freezer air. Who knew? So let me know about the form, it’s Amanda Gehry, spelled G as in golf, E-H-R-Y date of birth 10-14-1972, and it’ll just be easiest if you call me back with an appointment, just pick any time between 8:45 and 11:45 and I’ll make it work, but it has to be on Monday, Wednesday or Thursday and not on Dr. H’s call day. I’ll settle up for my missed appointment then, if that’s ok. I got the bill. I couldn’t come because of the snow day. Do you have exceptions on that 24-hour policy? Special accommodations for patients with young kids, like preferred parking for the disabled? I feel disabled sometimes. And impotent. Hard to get things done.  Good thing I’m coming to see Dr. H soon, right? Though his thing is more infertility than impotency, I guess. Impotency? Impotence. God. I can’t talk. That’s enough, that little container has tons of sugar. You can finish your apple slices from breakfast, they’re still on the table. Also, can you have your billing person call me? Not about the missed appointment thing, I understand that. I need to know the code she put down on the insurance claim after Ian was born. Our policy just renewed and the premium jumped up. Painting’s fine, only on the paper, though, not on the easel. My friend’s a P.A. and she said to check with billing because insurance companies don’t like certain codes. Just a single digit could explain the extra $150 a month. Don’t move around too much or we’ll have to put our heads in the freezer again. So call me and it’s ok to leave a message if I don’t pick up, it’s just my cell number, you probably have it in your system, but it’s 893-223-1919. Even if my husband hears the message, it’s ok, he’s used to the term OB-GYN. Though he prefers just Dr. H.  OK, so 502-223-1919. G-E-H-R-Y, Amanda, calling at 10:20 on Wednesday, January 30.  Is this recording? I just panicked that it didn’t toggle back over from the call with the pediatrician. Did I say 893? It’s 893. Date of birth 10-14-1972. Thanks.