Archive Report #860
The following three passages were written on the backs of electric bills and greeting card envelopes found inside a shoe box. The third was written on the inside of the lid. The shoes were a pair of New Balance 993s with a mesh upper and suede overlays, size 10. The box was in a suburban home lot from Elgin, IL.
— Custodian 13
Are you ready to have a great time I was born ready because I was born screaming which is the most ready to have a great time that a person can be
With a 1611 in one hand
And a 1911 in the next
They sing like a lover to war
And howl like a prophet at sex
AI is not going to steal our jobs. It’s just going to show us that the only reason we had one was because shareholders hadn’t figured out how to get the work done without us yet.
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Best Practices
“Yikes on bikes! I can’t believe they gave you that scorched croissant. I’ll bring you another one.” The barista was making her rounds through the cafe when she smelled something burning and stopped at the table where she saw smoke. “They didn’t burn it. She did,” said a woman at the table, pointing to her companion, “We’re good, thank you.”
Sybil and Bexley sat fuming at their tiny table in a Brooklyn bakery.
Sybil wore deep green from head to toe. Her baggy jeans, oversized hoodie, cross-trainers, and beanie were all the exact same shade. Bexley wore platform heels, yoga pants, a puffy vest, and a huge set of headphones around her neck, all same shade of red as a London phone booth.
“Iris said this wouldn't be a problem,” said Bexley. “She said Bennigan’s corporate gave franchisees all kinds of latitude to make changes.”
“There are only five of those left globally,” said Sybil, “so I don't think they are sweating it. Besides, Which Wich is a modern outfit and more stringent about - what did they call it?”
“Best practices,” said Bexley.
“That's it. Anyway, we've signed the papers and can't go back now without making more noise than is good for us.”
“Excuse me,” said a woman at the next table, “but I couldn't help overhearing. I work in legal for Starbucks and I might be able to help. What issue are you having?”
Sybil reached over and grabbed Bexley’s wrist when she saw her hand headed for the inside pocket of her vest.
“Thank you so much, but we’re fine. It's a small matter.”
The woman leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I know you're witches, and I'm fine with it. My name’s Barb.” Bexley gasped and Sybil now had her other wrist.
“How,” said Bexley?
“There’s nowhere in this city where you can get every article of clothing in exactly the same color unless it's black,” said Barb. “And I don't know anyone who can do that to a croissant just by looking at it. So what problem are you having with Which Wich?”
Sybil threw Bexley’s hands back at her and sat down. “How many times has your temper exposed us? And I told you the colors shouldn't match this closely.” Her hoodie turned to more of a spanish moss color and her trainers faded back a few shades as well .
“Nevermind that,” said Bexley, “as you said, we can't go back now.” She turned to Barb. “We are each opening a Which Wich franchise on opposite corners of 49th and 10th in Hell’s Kitchen.”
Barb snorted and Sybil gestured in the air as though ticking another item off a list. Bexley plowed on.
“We were told we'd be allowed to make subtle changes to the decor and packaging to reflect the colors of our coven, but at the eleventh hour we got word from some hag in marketing that we could sooner start selling tires under their name as switch the brand colors. We'd already signed the lease and franchise rights for a 10-year term by that point, so we're screwed.”
“I don't understand the problem,” said Barb, “no one cares what colors are on the sign, they just don't want to have to cross the street. In fact, you want the brand recognition.”
Sybil finally spoke. “Do you know how many witches are in Manhattan? The covens are fiercely loyal and only do business with their own. Most of them trade their potions in the hair and make up industry, where they can be their whole selves and no one bats an eye, but any odd witch can't just hang a shingle and start selling night cream. That whole industry is controlled by just three covens, and they they make Walter White look like kid with a lemonade stand.”
“So we sling lunch meat,” said Bexley as the scorched croissant dissolved in a puddle.
“Surely you can find subtle ways to apply your colors without corporate flagging it. You could do it with dot stickers on the staff’s name tags without much notice, said Barb.
“No,” said Sybil, “it has to be visible from the street. Hexes protect the locations barring witches from other covens from entering. You would only notice it as a gust of cold air rushing into the cafe when someone opens the door, but a witch would experience the same moment as though she’d just had her skin peeled off. The colors serve as a sign of safe haven, and as a warning.”
They all sat quietly for a few beats. Barb’s face began to show signs that she was finally working out the problem. She smirked as she slowly counted on her fingers, and as she opened her mouth to speak Sybil closed her eyes and sighed heavily as she saw Bexley go for her inside pocket again, but made no effort to stop her.
“If I've got this straight… you're saying the colors have to be visible from the street… so witches can tell which Which Wich is which witch’s?”
—
7am the next morning:
A hot dog vendor parks his cart on a corner and turns on a small radio.
“Our first story of the day is about as ‘Only in New York' as it gets. Yesterday a local artist managed to sneak a life sized marble sculpture of a woman into a Hell’s Kitchen bakery without the staff or patrons noticing. Here's what one barista told our reporters: ‘I told her three times we were were about to close before I realized she wasn't moving. The sculpture was in full color, too, but it was solid stone. Once I really looked it was obviously not a real person. Her whole outfit was the exact same shade of purple, and there's nowhere in this city where you can get every article of clothing in exactly the same color unless it's black.’”
End Transmission