Writing Prompt Response: Glitter Bombing

This story is the response to a prompt that will precede the writing itself.

The Prompt:

"Glitter bombing" is an act of protest in which activists throw glitter on specific targets at public events. You can also "glitter bomb" people through the mail. Many websites offer to ship your enemies spring-loaded letters filled with the invasive craft supply, for a nominal fee. This week, write a scene in which one of your characters gets glitter bombed. Consider the location, the method used, the perpetrator, and how this character would respond to being covered in glitter. Was this act just a harmless prank, or something more serious?

The Story:

Precinct walking.  Man, do I hate precinct walking.  Not because I disagree with the causes that I’m walking for, but rather because there’s something very unpleasant about walking for hours in the hot sun from door to door to read the same scripted lines again and again to people who might slam the door in your face.  I even had a gun pointed at me once or twice.

 

Still, I’d love for Kerspatzel to become mayor of this god forsaken city.  It would help turn around a lot of the run down neighborhoods and greatly reduce crime rates citywide.  Still, his opponents are quite the smear tacticians and demotivators.  If I had known what they’d had in store for me today, I might have just stayed home and let the election go to hell.

 

My suspicions were tipped off by the copious amounts of gray Silly String that had been sprayed all over the street.  A little bit would have given the impression of a party with a lot of kids the night before.  But having enough Silly String fights to cover an entire street and have the Sanitation Department say nothing about it the next day was just bizarre.  But while it was suspicious, I didn’t know what to look for, so that darn tripwire caught me by surprise.

 

As soon as I set it off, the planks of someone’s wooden fence flipped up to reveal some kind of hose machine that blasted me with hot air.  The blast knocked the wind out of me, sending me to the ground coughing and sputtering.  It wasn’t until I regained my composure and looked down at myself that I saw the sickeningly loud magenta coloring all over me and I knew what I was dealing with.

 

Glitter.

 

Glitter.  The herpes of the art world.  Once you got it one you, there was no getting it off, no matter how much you scrubbed.  Now I was covered in the stuff, which meant that the next few weeks were going to be hell.  This was my best shirt too!  Peering around at the house that shot me, I saw that it had a “Vote Nettler” sign in the yard.  I could only imagine that the people inside were having a good laugh at this.

 

My insides were burning intently.  I wanted to go home and stew this off, but I knew that there was more work to be done.  So I dragged myself around the rest of the neighborhood and went door to door, looking like an accessory display from Claire’s.  The people I talked to could barely keep a straight face during the conversation and some I couldn’t even poll because they couldn’t stop laughing.  After a half hour, I called the campaign office and told them I was done for the day and effectively called in sick for the next few days.  The condition?  Distressing glamorization.

 

The next time I person comes to my door polling for an election, I’m going to give them cookies.  Especially if their day is anything like mine was.  I really hate precinct walking.

Author's Note

Do you find this funny or amusing? Are there any glaring grammar or spelling problems? This is my first draft, so let me know.

Reviews

[Marie]

I find it amusing. There are no glaring grammar mistakes or spelling problems. I would have commented on it sooner, but I didn't see it till now.