Young Writers Society

please leave crit, any and all is appreciated.


preface

The Boom Boom Room operated on strict premises. It had to. It had no known security and only one bouncer, Jordan. However, Jordan was quite large, and people knew better than to disagree with him. In the rare cases where people bypassed Jordan to enter the club, Sam stepped in.

Sam's expendable job was, during these rare cases, crucial: the handing out of mints. Jordan held the only masculine job of the Boom Boom Room. Once guests were allowed in, they immediately were met by Sam. The idea that an employer would give someone the job of something as silly as handing out mints was in itself so comical, guests automatically felt at ease. Now, they could enjoy the club as it was meant to be enjoyed. So, actually, it was an amazingly sly technique.

When unwanted visitors shoved their way into the club, Jordan passed the message to Sam with a well-practiced fake sneeze. Sam, who stood mere feet beyond the door and was always within earshot of Jordan, would then quickly reach into his pocket and offer a special mint to the intruder, rather than one from the usual basket. The average intruder was slow; he would accept the mint as though it came from the normal basket and think nothing of it. Indeed, Sam's hand worked so fast that it often looked as though the mint did come from the normal basket. However, within five minutes of swallowing said mint, the visitor would begin feeling sharp pains in the stomach, pains similar to having a burning, eruptive liquid shoved into one’s stomach by a knife. When the pains were enough to make the beholder want to throw up, the visitor would rush to the infirmary, eager for the fastest available relief.

When the Boom Boom Room had started about a year ago, Samia had been the nurse. Before applying for the position, she had earned enough college credits to become an MD, but had turned down the chance in hopes of finding a different major. Soon out of work, Samia quickly regretted the choice to turn away from medics when she had been close enough to touch her degree. Once work began at The Boom Boom Room and Samia found she was the only one in the medical office, she promoted herself to MD and had the sign on the door appropriately altered.

It was thanks to Samia that intruders of the BBR could be punished so easily; she'd invented the bad mint. Actually, the entire incident had been an accident: While working in her medical lab about three weeks before the opening of the BBR, she'd decided to attempt a new flavor of icing, vanilla-mint. Little did she know that the new vanilla she'd recently bought had been mixed up by the health-food store-owner. She'd actually purchased a new FDA non-approved drug, vanillalanine. Vanillalanine had no flavor, so her new icing had tasted like mint, but resulted in an upset stomach. Though the experiment had permanently ruined her liking of icing, it had been exactly what the Boom Boom Room was looking for. When she mentioned that she'd invented such a product at the job interview, they'd asked if she could reproduce the drug in mint-form. They went on to describe the specific form of the mint: that it should be round and small, preferably a greenish color, and not contain too much cholesterol. Having replied yes, Samia was offered the job on the spot, unbeknownst to her that there had been no other applicants.

The Boom Boom Room was a square building. The nightclub had an entrance, a main dance floor, a bar, and a back hallway with an infirmary on one end and a storage room on the other. Every once in a while, a guest on the brink of vomiting would wander into the back hall and come to Samia complaining of sharp, constant pains in the stomach. She automatically understood that said person had come into the club without permission. Therefore, she'd tell them she'd be with them in a moment, go back in her office and watch TV for a few hours, then come out and offer the antidote. If the patient was still there, a 1 in 26 chance, she'd give them the pill. The one pathetic fellow who'd actually stuck around had taken it and left without thanking her. Still, times like these made Samia smile. After all, she never saw the same face twice.

Colin, who owned the BBR and was thus the manager, had been unsure about using such a mint once Samia had explained her ingredients. A non-approved FDA drug? What exactly had caused the FDA to say vanillalanine shouldn't be used and how would the BBR be reprimanded if authorities found out they'd given it knowingly to select guests? Quick on her feet, Samia had confidently assured Colin that anyone who did go to a hospital with worse symptoms would not mention where he got the mint because that would prove he'd illegally entered the club. That had shut Colin up for the time being, which was approximately a year ago. He still popped in, though, from time to time, to check of any outside reports of ill happenings due to mints. One such time occurred about a week before the story begins.

Colin had knocked on the door to Samia's office and entered, leaving the door wide open, much to Samia's annoyance. As an MD, she was used to closed doors and private meetings. However, she believed asking her employer to close the door would be rude so instead she'd offered him a chair and got up to do the task herself.

Colin had shaken his head and remained standing. At this, Samia had realized what a futile gesture offering him a chair had been; Colin's meetings were always short, quick, and to the point. In fact, there was only ever one point. So, pausing halfway to the door, she'd turned to face him and answered him before he'd even voiced the question. "No, for the tenth time, Colin, I've heard no reports from any hospitals of patients complaining due to a mint. Or from any doctors," she'd added hurriedly as she saw him preparing to speak.

He'd still looked disbelieving, so Samia had told him, in a gentler voice, "You may want to remember, Colin, that I took that drug too, in the icing. The worst thing that happened to me was that I threw up."

Colin had looked startled at that piece of information, probably because Samia had coincidentally "forgotten" to mention this minor side affect at every other meeting. Colin even opened his mouth to say something, but at that exact moment, Pam walked by the still-open door with her good friend Kayla, causing Colin to momentarily forget anything he'd been about to say. Samia had watched with an amused look on her face as Colin counted slowly to five, then walked out of the room , undoubtedly to follow Pam, whom he'd suddenly developed feelings for after finding out she was engaged. As Samia thought back to this moment of a week ago, she stifled a laugh, not because of Colin's comical behavior, but because, during their entire session, he hadn't managed to say a word.

Colin wasn't the only one to become entranced by the sight of Pam these days. Pam had a flirtatious manner that the devious Kayla (A.K.A. Jordan's wife) encouraged her to put to use as they made their nightly rounds through the club, even though she was engaged. This had resulted in many men realizing what an irrevocable pity it was that she was engaged and what a catch she truly was. Kayla had done an envious job in convincing her that she would not be able to do this once married, and even Pam eventually had to admit she was having fun.

Of course, the one person not having fun with Pam's flirtatious behavior was her fiancé, Adam. Adam, unlike most others, had realized early on what a wonderful person Pam was: beautiful, funny, enjoyable to hang out with. This was why, after only a year of steady dating, he'd popped the question. Pam had not given him an answer right away (or a while away), and had ended up making him wait ten months for a reply. Adam hadn't minded though and Pam had made it seem like she was merely thinking things through - very thoroughly.

Adam, however, knew of the other reason she had waited so long. Pam had wanted to see if the BBR would be successful since, indeed, Adam owned the land it was on. That land was Adam's most important, as well as first and only, investment, and Pam had seen that if the BBR failed, she'd be in a relationship with a bankrupt man, and they'd probably end up breaking things off anyway. So, by waiting to accept Adam's proposal, Pam had overstepped what could've evolved into a fatal hole in their relationship. This is why, after careful consideration, Adam decided that he didn't mind Pam's new behavior quite so much.

Kayla, on the other hand, didn't have such a trusting husband. She and Jordan had been high school sweethearts and they'd eloped just a month after graduation. However, like all young marriages, the excitement had died out quickly. Unlike most young couples, however, Kayla and Jordan did not blame their marriage failures on their parents, friends, high school, living area, the word "hullabaloo", Harry Potter, Chinese food, manmade lakes, Lindsay Lohan, or, even more surprisingly, teen actress/singers in general. No, Kayla and Jordan chose to blame their marital problems on something quite different: NC.

NC, despite what you're thinking, does not stand for North Carolina, northern California, no calls, or Noah Connor (or perhaps that one does). NC was actually a fad that swept through the under-twenty generation. It stood for No College and stated that not going to college after high school was the new going to college after high school. So, the year these characters graduated, they looked for jobs instead of an education. Most proved unsuccessful, prompting them, like Kayla and Jordan, to do slightly uncharacteristic things.

Their sudden marriage did bring about a few positive results, though, if not on the couple themselves. Jacob, who acted as their holy minister after an eleven-minute crash course on the internet, began a slow business in said profession. Curtis discovered he was handy with a knife when he provided the two courses for their reception. Thus, he became a butcher. And Christian photographed the happy ceremony, chosen because he owned the most expensive camera the couple could find. However, of all the jobs everyone attempted, only Christian, voted Class Clown in eighth grade, created a prosperous business.

The reason most people failed to get jobs is because someone somewhere some time ago decided three is better than two. Let me explain: a college diploma has three signatures on it while a high school diploma has only two. Said loser looking for his way to go down in history said, "Three is bigger than two. Three is better than two!" And still no one knows his name.

Adam, who could always be depended on to do things himself, bought a piece of promising land. Colin made a down payment and constructed the Boom Boom Room there. He first recruited his best friend Sam to work there, without even a job in mind for him. The opposite was true of Jordan, who was invited strictly to be a bouncer. With Jordan came Kayla and with Kayla, Pam, who at the time still owed Adam an answer. Kayla and Pam became unofficial greeters, walking around the club every night and making sure guests were satisfied. Jacob, Curtis, and Christian all came aboard through Jordan and Kayla.

Samia, the only one to actually come through a job interview, read about the opening in a newspaper blurb. Currently in need of a job, she'd been pleased just to know an inexperienced nurse was needed somewhere. It had been another pleasant surprise to find the BBR headed by people she knew from high school. And finally, through Samia came the last recruit, the one who was needed at the club least but was equally important in its success.

Sonya decided to test out her passion after high school: writing and reporting. However, she too found that newspaper editors preferred three signatures over two. Frustrated after her fourth failed job interview, she one day sat sketching absentmindedly when she realized her drawing wasn't half bad. She began posting her drawings on the internet and it wasn't long before an online newspaper offered her a job drawing political cartoons. Entertaining at first, she soon found keeping up with politics tiring. That's why Sonya was so happy to get a call from her good friend Samia one day about eight months after graduation. Samia had seen her cartoons online and was offering her a job advertising for a club whose name was something like Thud Thud or Clank Clank. Sonya, just happy to be rid of politics, accepted immediately.

Finally, at last, the Boom Boom Room was complete.

Now the action can begin.

The Boom Boom Room operated on strict premises. It had to. It had no known security (meaning even if it did, it won't be mentioned) and only one bouncer, Jordan. However, Jordan was quite large, and people knew better than to disagree with him. In the rare cases where people bypassed Jordan to enter the club, Sam stepped in.

I don't like the parenthetical explination here. There are better ways of conveying that information. For example, replace the parens with a comma and a semicolon respectively.

"Sam's expendable job was, during these rare cases, crucial"
If his job is expendable, then it is never crucial, and if it is crucial it is never expendable.

"The average intruder was slow; he would accept the mint as though it came from the normal basket and think nothing of it. Indeed, Sam's hand worked so fast that it often looked as though the mint did come from the normal basket. However, within five minutes of swallowing said mint, the visitor would begin feeling sharp pains in the stomach and rush to the infirmary."

What does being slow have to do with sneaking a special mint to the patron? Elaborate more on that pain, why is it so bad that within 5 minutes they're going to the infirmary, and not just home to sleep it off? How does it feel?

"When the Boom Boom Room had started (which was about a year ago), Samia had been the nurse. However, seeing as she'd been the only one (and, indeed, the only person working in the medical office), she'd promoted herself to MD and had the sign on the door appropriately altered. "

There's a nurse at a strip club? Is it just a costume? Again, the parentheses serve to break the action, and look akward. MD is a degree, not a position. Nurses have to go through a specialized medical training to become nurses, and they would all know that.

"It was thanks to Samia that intruders of the BBR could be punished so easily; she'd invented the bad mint. Actually, the entire incident had been an accident: While working in her medical lab about three weeks before the opening of the BBR, she'd decided to attempt a new flavor of icing, vanilla-mint. Little did she know that the new vanilla she'd recently bought had been mixed up by the health-food store-owner. She'd actually purchased a new FDA non-approved drug, vanillalanine. Vanillalanine had no flavor, so her new icing had tasted like mint, but resulted in an upset stomach. Though the experiment had permanently ruined her liking of icing, it had been exactly what the Boom Boom Room was looking for. When she mentioned that she'd invented such a product at the job interview, they'd asked if she could reproduce the drug in mint-form. Having replied yes, Samia was offered the job on the spot (unbeknownst to her that there had been no other applicants). "

She has a medical lab? I thought she was just a nurse? Now it sounds like she's got a masters. Why was a health food store carying a medicinal drug, albeit one that had not been aproved by the FDA, and is therefor not available for sale? You might also, want to find something a little more serious than an 'upset stomach' if it is so bad to cause a rush to the infirmary. Again, the parentheses don't serve well.


When people came to her complaining of stomacheaches with sharp, constant jabs of pain, Samia understood that they'd come into the club without permission. Therefore, she'd tell them she'd be with them in a moment, go back in her office and watch TV for a few hours, then come out and offer the antidote. If the patient was still there, a 1 in 26 chance, she'd give them the pill. The one pathetic fellow who'd actually stuck around had taken it and left without thanking her. Still, times like these made Samia smile. After all, she never saw the same face twice. "

The wording is a little akward at the beginning. The statistic is also a little odd. Is she keeping score? If so, why? Who was the one pathetic fellow? What happened because he didn't thank her?

"Colin, who owned the BBR and was thus the manager, had been unsure about using such a mint once Samia had explained her ingredients. A non-approved FDA drug? What exactly had caused the FDA to say vanillalanine shouldn't be used and how would the BBR be reprimanded if authorites found out they'd given it (knowingly!) to select guests? Quick on her feet, Samia had confidentally assured Colin that anyone who did go to a hospital with worse symptoms would not mention where he got the mint because that would prove he'd illegally entered the club. That had shut Colin up for the time being, which was approximately a year ago. He still popped in, though, from time to time, to check of any outside reports of ill happenings due to mints. One such time had occured about a week before our story begins. "

You really need to lose all of the parentheses in this. The effect is a much cleaner, more easily understood story. Most people will skip over parenthetical statements, as if they are unneeded.
The legal reprocussions of entering an establishment illegally are minimal at best. Especially if the patron has already left, there isn't much that can be done. The club could persue tresspassing charges, but the most that would result would be a day in court, and at most, 5 hours community service. A club illegally purchasing and distributing a non aproved medical product unbenownst to patrons would result in a federal case. Someone bringing this information to the authorities would probably go scott free of any previous offenses.
'our story begins' begs the question - who is narrating?

"Colin had knocked on the door to Samia's office and entered, leaving it wide open, much to Samia's annoyance. As an MD, she was used to closed doors and private meetings. However, she believed asking her employer to close the door would be rude, so instead she'd offered him a chair and got up to do the task herself.

Colin had shook his head and remained standing. At this, Samia had realized what a futile gesture offering him a chair had been; Colin's meetings were always short, quick, and to the point. In fact, there was only ever one point. So, pausing halfway to the door, she'd turned to face him and answered him before he'd even voiced the question. "No, for the tenth time, Colin, I've heard no reports from any hospitals of patients complaining due to a mint. Or from any doctors," she'd added hurriedly as she saw him preparing to speak.

He'd still looked disbelieving, so Samia had told him, in a gentler voice, "You may want to remember, Colin, that I took that drug too, in the icing, and nothing worse than throwing up happened to me.""

You may want to work on the wording a little bit. Other than that - well done.



I'll stop there- This has a lot of good ideas, and is well written. Aside from factual, believability issues, it seems fine. You might want to pull out a thesaurus, however. You have the makings of a very interesting story, but you may want to go into a little more detail in parts. What does the club look like, who are the girls there? How big is the guard? What do the mints look like? But that aside- good work.

QiGuaiGongFu, thank you for the best crit I have received for this story. I went back and changed most of the things you mentioned....I have a couple things I left as is but I'll probably revise those parts later. First, let me explain that if some things seem silly or aren't believable in this story, it's because it is based off an AIM conversation with a friend of mine that we thought would be funny to make into a novel. I have tried to revise all the crazy parts of our conversation into logical ones that make sense, but as you saw, I didn't do them all very well. Also, the BBR is not a strip club. It's a nightclub. If you can tell me where I implied that it was a strip club, I'll make that part more specific. Thanks for your help!

Chapter 1

"There's no denying the Kravitz," Sam declared to no one in particular, cranking up the Honda's radio dial. The wind kicked his shaggy, brown bangs back as it hustled through the open windows in short, forceful bursts. Sam couldn't help but gun the engine a little more as Lenny crooned, "Go, Johnny, go....Johnny B. Goode," in his live rendition of Chuck Berry's rock 'n' roll baby.

Sam glanced at the radio clock and gave a groan that the wind carried away. He'd told Colin he would be extra early today to make up for yesterday's two-hour tardy. But anyway, yesterday hadn't been completely his fault; There was no way he could've predicted Katie would break up with him on their two-month anniversary. Nor could he have foreseen the reason why: another guy. And just when things had been getting good.

Either way, Colin would not excuse his being late today, and the digital readout next to the air vents told him he was pushing it. He increased the pressure on the gas pedal slightly, Kravitz's voice bouncing up his spine: "People passing by, you know, they'd stop and say, 'Oh my, that little country boy sure can play...'"

Seconds later when he saw the flashing red lights in his rearview mirror, he wasn't sure whether to blame the howling wind or Lenny Kravitz. The correct choice would've been himself, but Sam was too busy fuming at the speedometer showing he was doing 85 miles per hour in a 65 zone.

He pulled onto the shoulder and braked, already mentally bashing his head in for being such an idiot. No way he'd make it to the BBR on time now. Stupid speed limit. Stupid police officer. Stupid classic rock radio station.

He heard the rap of knuckles on glass before he'd even shifted the car into Park. Sam, deciding cooperation would probably get him out of here quickest, powered down his window and attempted a smile. "Hello, officer."

"License and registration."

The name plate on his uniform said Travis, but Sam was sure the officer was a suit. All work and no play, probably six months out of grad school, frustrated at not being taken seriously, trying to make as many arrests and give out as many tickets as possible so he could get moved up to the real field work. However, Sam thought it best not to mention any of this. "Yessir."

He leaned over to the glove compartment and pulled out three old fast food wrappers, a key chain from Hawaii, a pack of melted Big Red, and his cell phone charger before finding his registration. Knowing dead well that Mr. “I'm-Too-Good-For-This” Cop had already categorized him as a careless slob, Sam hurriedly pulled out his license and handed the two documents to him.

The cop took them, muttered "I'll be right back," and sauntered back to his unmarked car. Sam sat fidgeting in his seat, toying with the idea of turning back his car clock and telling Colin he didn't realize Daylight Savings Time had occurred four months ago.

The cop returned after what felt like an hour to Sam but had really only been about three hundred seconds. Though Sam could hear the boredom in his tone, Mr. Cop's arrogance cut through the air like a blade to the skin. "You were going 85 in a 65 zone."

No crap. "Yessir."

"Were you aware of this?"

Sam held back an eyeroll. "No sir."

"I'll have to give you a ticket -"

And I'll have to give you a nice kick up the -

"- and you can either give a Saturday at drivers' re-education or appear in court." He handed Sam the ticket and another half sheet of paper, waving his hand airily as he dully continued, "It's all explained on there and there's a phone number at the bottom in case of questions."

Sam gritted his teeth. "Thanks very much."

The cop began a reply but Sam had already powered his window back up and was pulling onto the highway before the cop was finished.

- - - - -

"You're late," Colin said to Sam as he rushed through the club's back entrance twenty minutes later.

"I know, I -"

"That's twice in a row."

"I didn't -"

"We do have guests, you know."

If Sam had been late a month ago, Colin wouldn't even have noticed. The only reason he'd taken such an interest in his best friend's job was because last week's board meeting suggested that guests were more liable to return if given free objects. The fact that it took a board meeting to bring this to Colin's attention spoke volumes to the rest of the staff.

"Yes, I do know we have guests, Colin," Sam replied moodily, moving past Colin to hang up his coat, "but it won't happen again."

"It better not."

Sam spun around, furious, to retort, but Colin was already gone. Muttering hateful messages under his breath, he shuffled off to the storage room. He shoved handfuls of mints into his usual basket, selecting only a few mints from the other jar and stuffing them in his pocket. While plastering his name tag on his chest, Sam thought up a couple more death threats for Colin and then moved off to his post to greet people like he'd been doing it his whole life.

- - - - -

Samia was worried.

Usually her infirmary saw five people the entire night, ten max. They'd complain of headaches, mild stomachaches, perhaps a cold. Never had she seen fifteen people complaining of sharp, jabbing pains to the stomach in one night. One intruder wasn't good, but acceptable. Two was, um, understandable but pushing it. But three? Four? Fifteen? Had Jordan taken the night off or something?

Samia stepped out of her office into the crowded waiting room. She crossed over to the closed door and poked her head out, hoping to catch Colin and ask him what the heck was going on. Instead, she saw a line of people waiting to get in, the line so long it disappeared into another hall. The minute the guests saw Samia, they began shouting to her.

"Please, my stomach -"

"Sharp pains -"

"Feel like throwing up -"

Samia had heard enough. Without trying to look too rude, she slammed the door on their relentless pleas, marched back into her office, shakily picked up her phone and dialed Colin.

- - - - -

It was eerie. That was the only word that came to Colin's mind, and that was because he hadn't seen the club this empty since its opening week when barely anyone knew it existed. Where were all the guests?

There were two sparsely-clothed girls on the dance floor, but without any crowds around, they self-consciously moved to the side. The bar had one person to serve, and he was so slumped over in his stool, he could've died and no one would know. The DJ kept spinning but he too looked up in confusion every few minutes as to why the floor was empty. Pam and Kayla had moved over to talk to the DJ. As soon as they caught Colin's eyes, they shrugged, as if to say we don't know either.

Colin took all this in in less than a minute and then jogged over to the entrance to confer with Jordan. Choosing not to forget their argument earlier, he shot Sam a wordless glance. Sam returned the glare.

"Jordan," Colin said, clapping his friend on the back. He looked past Jordan to the outside of the building, seeing a long queue of guests waiting to get in. "Jordan, how many people have come in tonight?"

"Uh..." Jordan flipped back some pages on his clipboard. "A few hundred. Why?"

"I -" Colin was spared the need to respond by his cell phone ringing. He flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Colin, it's Samia."

Samia never called his cell. He felt a little panicked to hear what she had to say. Of course, she could just be reporting the need to order more Tylenol from the pharmacy next week. "What's wrong?"

"I think I have, like, every person in the club here. All complaining of sharp pains to the stomach."

Colin understood right away and as he replied to Samia he turned his eyes to Sam. "The mint?"

"Yeah. You think the good ones and the bad ones got mixed up?"

"It's a possibility. Let me check it out." He snapped the phone shut, gave Sam the "evil eyes," and turned to Jordan. "Don't let anyone else in. We're closed for the night." Jordan nodded and began spreading the message. Colin was thankful Jordan didn't ask questions.

"Sam," Colin said coldly, "follow me."

"Where we going?"

"Storage room."

They walked to the back of the club quickly, not encountering a single person. Colin unlocked the storage room and flicked the lights on, heading to the mint shelf. Sure enough, the Good jar was full and Bad nearly empty.

They both stared at the sight in silence. Then Colin turned on Sam.

Sam's face still registered shock. "Ohmigod." He cursed.

Colin felt like he could do some cursing himself but chose to remain civil. "You idiot! How could you mix them up? You gave all our guests sick mints!"

"I – damn it, Colin, you know I didn't mean to do this! I just - I was really pissed off when I got in here and I - I must've filled my basket with the wrong jar." He looked his best friend in the eye. "I'm really sorry."

"Yeah? Tell that to the three hundred people in the infirmary!" And suddenly Colin was calm, breathing deeply yet looking determined. "Sam," he said, avoiding his friend's gaze, "Sam, you're fired."

Sam's mouth dropped open. "What?! But I - it was -"

"Two days of lateness and now this? No. I don't have a choice."

Sam opened his mouth to argue but his brown eyes gave a sudden flicker that Colin barely noticed. The only reason he did realize it for what it was was because he'd seen it only twice before and each time he'd thought the same thing: Thank god it's not being used on me.

It was the flicker of revenge.

Sam's upper lip curled into a smile. It wasn't a kind one. "So what would happen if the police found out about this?"

Colin's eyes widened with horror. "You wouldn't."

"No?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

Colin wanted to tell him that he could have his stupid job back if it meant that much to him, but that would sound too similar to pleading and Colin hadn't sunk that low (yet). So instead he sneered, "Fine." And since anything else he wanted to add would've sounded like a kindergartner's retort in a fight over the last Oreo, he turned on his heel and left.

The only question left was whether his ex-best friend would have the guts to do it.