Notes #24 - The Happy Smiley People Ad Agency

Typewriter

Notes From an Amateur Writer #24
THE HAPPY SMILEY PEOPLE AD AGENCY

This Blog series is an exercise in creative writing. Sometimes expressed in short story forms, sometimes as a journal, or just my thoughts written down. This is my attempt to help coalesce my writing ideas and knowledge into usable form. It is a nursery of sorts for the stories that are on their way, or yet to be written.

One of the Happy Smiley People

The smiling face stared back at me. The happy people were emanating a radiant glow. Thoughts entered my head. They are not my thoughts. But it is my head. What were those thoughts doing in there, pushing their way in, and strangling out the native thoughts?

I wish I was happy. Happy like those smiley people. Oh no, it had started. The thoughts were taking over. Their thoughts. My head.

If I buy this product I will be happy too. The advertisement was doing its job. It had almost succeeded this time. It almost made it to the core of my mind, where it could have sent out the thoughts perfectly disguised as my own. I would never have known. I would have marched down to the store and bought the product. A robot marching to the tune, "please sell me one of your smiley people products," I would have said to the sales person. They also would have had a big smile to greet me. They obviously use the product. That is a good endorsement. "Sell me two," I would have said. I want to be happy, like the people in the ad. Like the sales people.

I spent 5 minutes reading the newspaper. I do this less and less now. I was killing time, before moving on to the Kindle I carry with me in my winter jacket. But the paper was there, and I scanned it to see if any writing ideas would pop out at me. That was until I was accosted by the smiley happy people. They're everywhere. I think they come from Planet Advertisement. Seems some of them even bank at a different bank to me. And weren't they happy for it. Look at them. Bright colours, sun shining, beaming smiles. That bank must be utopia. I wish my bank was like that. Maybe I should change banks. Maybe that is what is wrong with my life. I don't bank at the Utopia Banking Corporation. It all makes sense now.

Do You Know Jesus?

"Do you know Jesus." I was in a waiting room. Trapped in a bureaucratic soulless environment unable to move. Needing to stay until my number was called. No smiley happy people here. And why was the man next to me asking me about Jesus? Did I have my 'talk to me about Jesus' t-shirt on again? Was that neon flashing sign going off above my head still? The one that says 'I need to be saved, as I am lost and confused, so give it your best shot'.

"No," I responded. It was not one of my better comebacks. I was in Spain a couple of years ago. I met a few Jesus's there. Why didn't I tell him that? But I didn't. I just froze. 'Not again' is all I could think to myself. Why do I attract the loonies? Is it my loony pheromones? Is that what is doing it?

My short and sharp answer did the job. He started badgering the person seated to his other side. I dodged a bullet, and went back to my blank mental state, fuelled by the depressive energy of the government building I was trapped in.

My name was called out. I was lead down an aisle and seated at a desk opposite my 'case worker'. At the desk next to me was seated my Jesus friend. I could over hear him. He was telling the man how he suffered from Schizophrenia. That is why he couldn't work. Did Jesus know about this, I wondered? He should know. If Jesus had a government agency screening people and checking their details before giving out jobs as his emissaries then maybe he wouldn't have such a bad name. Maybe he should get the Happy Smiley People Ad Agency to do his PR work. That might help.

Breaking the Spell

I went to the supermarket. The one where the zombies shop. It's the only one in my neighbourhood, so I have little choice. And besides these zombies don't seem to attack during the day. Except with their trolleys. They can get quite vicious with their trolleys. Just ask my ankles.

Before I could get through the front door they were there. Not the zombies. The smiley happy people. Real ones. Talking to people. Do they want to talk to me? Do I have a choice?

"Do you care about the environment, sir?" What sort of question is that? Of course I care about the environment. Why do I feel the weight of guilt coming down on me? Where is that coming from? What is this black magic this man has done to me?

"Yes," I replied. I wanted to say more, but the spell he placed on me had prevented me from speaking further. He told me things. Things I already knew. I just want to do my shopping. I wanted to tell him that. I wanted to ask him to release me from his black magic spell. He just wants my money. I know, but I am frozen. How do I get out of here?

"You can donate any amount. Every little bit helps." Will it turn me into one of the smiley happy people? The ones I see all around me. Like in the ad. I will donate money for that.

"I don't have any money." I told him.

"What's your name?" he asked me pretending he didn't hear my last statement. He had the form out ready to fill in.

"Jesus," I said. He looked at me. I smiled, a big wide happy people smile. He let me go. I had broken the spell.

I have entered today's writing into a competition here. If anyone feels so inclined then a vote on my comment on that page would be more than welcome. Thank you.

All images used with permission, and sourced from Unsplash.com.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. If you liked it then please like, comment, and follow

@naquoya

Short Fiction:

Bang Bang You're Dead
I Have No Name and I Must Scream
The Last Book Store
The Judge
The Man In The Mirror
The End of the World [Part 1] [Part 2]
The Locked Room
The Gods of Love and War [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Notes From an Amateur Writer blog series: