I was supposed to start my major story for magazine workshop today (or hell, two weeks ago), but, as usual, that didn’t happen. Instead I ended up looking through some of my journalism assignments from first year, back when I was brand new to the school and the program and wasn’t as jaded and tired as I am four years later. They amused me, so now I submit three of them for your enjoyment.

Assignment 1: Interview exercise. Interview a classmate of your choice.
Subject: My friend, now affectionately known as “red-headed Jennifer.”

She knocked on my door at the appointed time. I let her in, and she seated herself on my bed. I turned in my desk chair to face her. We had to do our interview tonight - we were already late handing it in.

Deciding to bypass the usual history questions (Where were you born, what are your parent’s names, etc.), I compensated by sitting and staring silently at her until she squirmed uncomfortably. “Well?” she finally asked.

“Well...” I said thoughtfully, “Has anything interesting ever happened to you?”

She thought for a moment. “Not really,” she replied. “My life is actually kind of boring.”

“Oh,” I said. We sat in silence some more. “Could you just make something up, then? I’ll pretend to believe it.”

She looked at me and laughed. “No!” she replied. “We have to do this right!”

“I never do anything right,” I replied jokingly.

“Well, I do!” she said. She looked around my room. “I wish I had a single room,” she commented. She leaned backward and promptly hit her head on the slanted wall that is inappropriately located over my bed. “Ow!” she exclaimed.

“Don’t worry, I do that all the time,” I assured her.

“That’s what you can write about,” she laughed. “Just say I came to your room and hit my head on the wall so hard that I passed out.”

“Right,” I agreed. “So, of course, we couldn’t finish the interview.”

“Yeah,” she continued, “and you just tossed me out into the hall.”

“Of course!” I laughed. “You’d be no good to me passed out.”

We laughed a little while longer, until Jen decided to get back on track. “Seriously, we need to write our interviews”, she said, “and I don’t have a single idea yet.”

“Me neither,” I replied glumly. I looked around my room for some inspiration, and my eye fell on a photo of my dog. “Do you have any pets?” I asked.

“I have two cats,” she declared. “One of them is evil.”

“Really?” I said. “What does he do?”

“Nothing, really,” she replied. “He’s just evil.”

“You’re not being very helpful!” I laughed.

“I know, she said. “I told you I was boring.”

“That’s the thing,” I said. “You really aren’t boring, it’s just that I can’t think of a thing to write about.”

“That’s the same problem I have,” she replied. “But we’re going to have to think of something, because I have to go meet with my don now.” She got up to leave.

“No!!!” I exclaimed. “Well, guess I’ll just make something up, then.”

“Don’t you dare!” she laughed, as she closed the door behind her.

Assignment 2: Creativity exercise. Write a story about a man named Roger Oikle who runs into trouble at a restaurant when he can’t pay his bill.

Roger Oickle straightened his tie and admired his reflection in the restaurant’s window. Yes, the new Armani suit looked great on him - he’d known it would. Holly would be pleased. He smiled at his reflection, his white teeth gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight. He smoothed his hair back, adjusted his tie again, and walked into Chanterelle.

This was Roger’s first time at the restaurant - he actually preferred Montrachet - but this was the trendiest, most expensive eatery in the city, and Holly had begged him to take her. He’d agreed, of course - anything to make her happy. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever dated, and an absolute trophy to exhibit at parties. She made him look good, although, of course, that didn’t take much.

“Oickle, party of two,” he told the Maitre d’, who summoned a smartly dressed waiter to lead Roger to his table. It was decorated with an arrangement of fresh flowers, which Roger ordered be “removed at once.” Roses made him ill. The waiter did so, although Roger detected a little animosity from the busy man.

Holly arrived a few minutes later, praising the restaurant’s decor and its high, cream colored ceilings. The waiter brought over their menus, and Holly told Roger all about her shopping trip and the “cute little cocktail dress” she had out in her car. Roger half-listened, nodding slightly, as he scanned the menu.

The waiter returned, and the couple ordered an appetizer of Steamed Zucchini Blossoms, which Holly nibbled as she chattered on about her day. Roger sipped his champagne and reminded himself that he’d chosen Holly for her looks, not her conversational skills.

For his entree, Roger had Breast of Muscovy duck; Holly ate half of her Braised Chicken. Roger marveled that she’d had time to eat that much, as she hadn’t stopped talking all throughout dinner. He had a headache now, thanks to her. Sighing, he decided to forego dessert, and he waved the waiter over.

Their waiter brought the bill, which, even without dessert, amounted to almost $210. “I’ll pay with Visa,” Roger stated as he reached into his breast pocket for the card. To his utmost surprise, his hand came out empty.

“Is there a problem, sir?” the waiter asked.

“No,” Roger replied, fumbling for the card. It wasn’t there. Groaning, he realized he’d left it in his other shirt. “Dammit. Holly?” he whispered anxiously. “Can we put this on your credit card?”

“Weren’t you listening, silly?” she replied. “I told you at dinner that I’d maxed out my card at Bloomie’s today.”

Roger sighed again. “Look,” he told his waiter. “I seem to have misplaced my credit card, but if you’ll hold on, I’ll pay in cash.” He fumbled around in his pocket again, finally producing two fifty dollar bills. Not enough. The waiter shifted impatiently as Roger groaned.

“Is there a problem, sir?” the waiter asked again, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten my card, and I only have $100 in cash,” Roger explained. “If you’ll just take this, I’ll go, and I’ll send you...”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the waiter snapped, cutting him off mid-sentence. “It is against restaurant policy to allow anyone to leave without first paying their bill.”

“I just told you, I can’t pay the bill,” Roger replied, his voice rising in anger.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the waiter replied snidely. “But that is our policy...”

“What am I supposed to do, wash dishes in the kitchen to pay off my debt?” Roger roared. “I forgot my card, for God’s sake!” People at the surrounding tables turned to stare as the waiter glared at Roger.

“I suggest you call someone who can bring you the money,” he said. “If you like, you can use the payphone over there. We can wait while...”

“I don’t think so,” Roger interrupted, his blue eyes flashing dangerously. “Where’s the manager of this restaurant? I’d like to speak to him.”

“He’s out today,” the waiter replied nervously. “Look, sir, let’s not cause a scene. Please, just call someone who can...”

“Cause a scene? I’ll cause a scene!” Roger bellowed. “Do you even know who I am? I could buy this place and have it leveled by tomorrow!”

“Roger, can’t we just leave?” Holly interrupted impatiently, tugging at his sleeve like a bored child.

Roger started to say no, but his anger got the better of him. “Yes,” he answered. “Let’s go.” He tossed the two fifties onto the table as he rose to leave, Holly following him like a well-trained dog.

“Sir, please,” the waiter said again. “We can work something out...” but Roger only brushed him aside on his way out the door.

As soon as he got outside, Roger felt bad about what he’d done, but his anger and pride wouldn’t let him turn back. He sighed. Hopefully no one in there had known who he was - all he needed was for the papers to get hold of that story. Well, he’d send the rest of the money tomorrow, he decided. Yes, he would.

Holly interrupted his thoughts. “Roger?” she said. “I really want dessert. Do you think we can stop somewhere for some cake or something? I have some cash on me - it’s my treat.”

Assignment 3: Accuracy exercise. Write an anecdote from someone’s life.
Subject: My best friend Kim.

“What would you like?” the waitress asked, eying Kim’s dad impatiently.

“Two pepperoni pizzas, please,” Kim’s dad said, struggling to be heard over the din in the crowded Pizza Hut. “And a pitcher of Pepsi, too.”

The busy waitress nodded and left. Kim waited, trying to ignore the smoke wafting over from a nearby booth, until the pop arrived. She took a drink, only to find that the fountain pop was watery and disgusting. Kim sighed and squished a bug that had crawled onto the table. Her mother glared at her as she hid it under the napkin holder.

Finally the pizza arrived. Kim reached for a big, cheesy slice and bit into it, savoring the aroma and flavor. She was thoroughly enjoying herself until she saw... the hair. It was whitish blonde and sticking halfway out of the cheese. She pulled it out - all three inches of it - and stared at it for a second before speaking. “Ah, man! There’s a hair in my pizza!” she cried.

“What?” Kim’s mom asked, surprised.

“Look!” Kim said, holding it out at arm’s length. “It’s a hair!”

Everyone at the table leaned closer, peering at the offending strand of hair. “Ah, gross!” Kim’s sister Krista said cheerfully as her husband Brian calmly returned to eating his own slice of pizza.

“What should I do with it?” Kim asked.

“I don’t know,” Krista replied.

“Eat it,” Kim’s dad said. “Good source of protein.”

Kim’s mom, who had been staring silently at the hair, suddenly spoke. “Where was the hair?” she asked, looking strangely at her daughter.

“Right here. In the cheese,” Kim replied. Suddenly the humor of the situation struck Kim and she started laughing uncontrollably as people at the surrounding tables turned to stare. “Yummm,” Krista laughed.

“What should I do with the pizza?” Kim asked, still laughing.

“Eat it,” Kim’s dad said again. “It won’t hurt you.”

“Yeah, eat it,” Krista seconded. “We’ve probably eaten some more hair already.”

“Well, I guess it’s all right,” Kim replied uncertainly. “I mean, it’s been cooked, right?”

“Yeah,” Krista answered. “Anything that was crawling on it’s dead now!”

Kim’s mom leaned still closer, eyeing the offending slice of pizza. “I don’t think she should eat it, Robert,” she told her husband. “I wouldn’t eat it. Would you eat it, Robert?”

Kim’s dad shrugged as Brian finished his third slice. “Probably,” Krista laughed.

Kim’s mom reached for a new piece. “Here,” she insisted. “Take a new slice, Kimberly.”

“What should I do with the old one?” Kim asked, as she started laughing all over again.

“Put it on a napkin,” her mother replied. “It’s not funny, Kimberly. Who knows what was on that hair!”

Kim placed her first slice on the napkin as her mother had said, carefully setting the hair on top of it. She accepted the new piece and began eating, watching carefully for hair. A few minutes later, the waitress returned.

“Everything all right here?” she asked, surveying the table.

“My daughter had a hair on her pizza,” Kim’s mom replied.

The waitress leaned over to look at the hair. “Oh, no,” she said, shocked. “I’m sorry... I’ll have to come back in a few minutes. I have to talk to the manager.”

The waitress left, returning ten minutes later with the bill. The wrong bill. After apologizing again, she set off to get another bill, which also turned out to be wrong. The third time, she managed to get the bill right and brought along a free pizza. By this time the tainted pizza was eaten, and the other pizza was missing only three slices, so it wasn’t much of a deal. Nevertheless, Kim’s dad accepted the free pizza. As the family was getting ready to leave, Krista suddenly began coughing.

“What’s wrong?” Kim’s mom asked, concerned.

“She must be coughing up a hair ball!” Kim cried, and even her mom had to laugh.