Tag: story

Agents of the Vault – Part 3

Part 3 of Agents of the Vault.

If you want to subscribe to the Grantcast, you can do so with iTunes, or by using this feed in your favorite podcatcher.  Enjoy!  And let me know what you think of the story in the comments here, as we go along.

Also, if you prefer a PDF version to read, CLICK HERE for that.

Finally, if you’d like to support my projects, visit www.patreon.com/saturdaymorningmedia

Agents of the Vault
By Grant Baciocco

Part 3

At dusk, the train stopped at a water stop near the Kansas-Nebraska border, Grisom and Charlie hopped off the train to grab some food at a tiny roadhouse.  Grisom, as he always did, sat in a corner so he could keep an eye on the room’s entrances and the people coming and going through them.  A difficult task today as the roadhouse was packed.  Every seat was filled except for the two other chairs at the table where they now sat, Charlie’s saddle bag resting on the empty seat next to him.  Charlie did his best to cut through the leather tough pice of beef he and Grisom were splitting.  Grisom looked in his direction, seeing the displeasure on his companion’s face.

“Food will be better in Yankton.” The older man drawled between bites.  Charlie looked up and smiled.

“It’s fine.  Better than nothin’” Charlie replied.  He popped the piece of meat he’d managed to cut into his mouth and chewed.  His jaw popping with each gnashing of his teeth, doing their best to soften the meat.  As he chewed he scooped up a spoonful of the ice cold beans they’d been served and glanced around the room.  When he was sure no one was looking he  doled them out on the wooden seat next to him.  The saddlebag at his side began to shift and two fuzzy arms slipped out and began scooping in the beans.

Grisom leaned to his side to watch the beans disappear, then looked up at Charlie.  “How’s she doing?”

“Seems to be doing fine.  The train put her right out.”

“I reckon the train put us all right out.” Grisom replied, taking a sip off his coffee.  “Now once we get to Yankton we’ll—“

“Pardon me, sirs!” said a short, pear shaped man with large handlebar mustache who was now hovering above the other empty seat.  “There’s no where else to sit.”  He glanced down at the empty chair.  “May I join you?”

“We’d be obliged.” Grisom replied and gestured towards the chair.  As the man noisily sat, clanking his plate and cup on the table, Charlie made a clicking noise with his tongue.  The creature in the saddlebag quickly drew itself to the back and made sure to keep out of sight.

“Thank you.” The man said once seated.  “Terrance Brandle is the name.”

“Name’s Grisom.  The kid here is Charlie.”

“Pleasure to make both of your acquaintances.”  The man said, scooping a large spoonful of beans into his mouth.  He talked sloppily with his mouth open.  “Lots of folks on their way to Yankton it would seem.”

“It would appear that way.” Grisom replied.  He hated small talk.

“I suppose form the looks of many of them, their final destination is the gold in the Black Hills.”

“That your destination Mr. Brandle?” Grisom asked, not looking up at the man who he, after a few seconds of watching his sloppy eating, found disgusting

“Me?  Heavens no.” Mr. Brandle chuckled.  “My travels take me to Yankton.  I’m a courier for the bank there.”


Mr. Brandle wiped his chin with the back of his hand.  “Ah, yes.”  He shifted nervously thinking he may have said too much.  He always seemed to do that.

Grisom saw the flash of panic cross the man’s face and to ease the man’s suddenly uneasy mind, he changed he subject.

“Foods decent?” Grisom asked sarcastically, watching how Brandle put it away.

“Mmm hmm,” the man replied between chomping mouthfuls.  He swallowed, “So Mr. Grison, Charlie what brings you two to the Dakota territories?”

“We are…couriers as well,” said Grisom with a smile over to Charlie.  The man stopped chewing and stared at Grisom wide-eyed.  “We are bringing some items to a friend in Yankton.”

Brandle leaned in excited, wiping his fingers on his vest, “What kind of items? If I may ask.”

“You may ask,” Grisom answered.  “But we ain’t gonna tell you.”

Brandle’s face dropped.  Just then the train’s whistle sounded indicating that it was time to roll out.  Brandle thanked Grisom and Charlie and scurried off through the throng of people.  Charlie watched Grisom watch Brandle walk away.

Grisom indicated towards Brandle’s direction, “There’s something else on the train besides our trunk.  Gold, maybe bank notes.”

Charlie stood, gingerly picking up the saddlebag as he rose.  “Think so?”

“Yep.  Notice how he clammed up the moment he mentioned the bank.  He was worried he said too much and that we may take an unusual interest in what he was bringing to Yankton.”  Grisom stood, putting on his hat.  “Well, let’s get back on the train.”

Charlie stood, pushing in his chair and hoisting the saddlebag’s strap up over his shoulder.  The bag was now the same height as the table and if anyone had been looking, which they weren’t, they would have seen a fuzzy, gray arm, slink out of the bag and snag the rest of Charlie’s uneaten steak and then quickly retreat into the bag.  Charlie had seen the theft and patted the side of the bag as he and Grisom followed the crowd out of the roadhouse and back aboard the train.

©2015 Grant Baciocco/Saturday Morning Media

Tags : , , , , , , ,

Senior TP Night

Here’s another blog entry you can read or listen to as I recorded it for the Grantcast.  If you want to subscribe to the Grantcast, you can do so with iTunes, or by using this feed in your favorite podcatcher.  Enjoy!

Senior TP Night
By Grant Baciocco

There was a tradition at Burlingame High School that, the night before the first day of school, the Senior class would give the front of the school the TP treatment.  Meaning, they would cover the beautiful sequoia trees in the front of the school with toilet paper.  I must say, I can still remember my first day of my Freshman year, pulling up to the front of the school and being awed at the sight of that toilet paper hanging off the trees.  It was intimidating, “What have I gotten myself into?”  The annual TPing of the school was something that you didn’t think about too much as you progressed through the years, but it was always in the back of your mind, “When I’m a senior, I get to do this!”

I was in band all four years of high school.  A drummer.  And for band kids, school actually started two weeks earlier in the form of Band Camp.  We didn’t go away or anything, we just came to school each day and worked on our marching and pep rally type songs for four hours or so.  Because of this, we were around the school for several days before the year began.  Senior year, as the start of school creeped closer, thoughts of being able to TP the school started to creep into my head.  I frequently discussed it with my two close friends, Dan and Jeanette.  We were all excited about this tradition it was now our turn to partake in.  There was only one problem, we were band kids.  As such, we didn’t often interact with the ‘cool kids’ who’d be the main ones TPing the school in just a few days.  But then I had an idea.  “What if,” I told my pals, “We did something else?  What if we TP’d the school in a different way?”

Dan, Jeanette and I discussed the different possibilities of achieving this and suddenly we hit upon the idea of, while the other seniors were toilet papering the outside of the school, what if we toilet papered the inside?  This idea excited us all but we quickly realized that we couldn’t just break into the school and, on top of that, the school did have an alarm.  Then a guardian angel appeared.  Now, I will not reveal who this guardian angel was but I will say it was someone who was very knowledgeable about the the workings of the alarm system of the school.  Not how to disarm it, but just which areas of the school were alarmed and which areas were not.  We were told that a large open hallway area between the band room and two english classrooms were not alarmed and that would be our best bet as a place to wreak our TP mischief.  This angel gave us a map showing which doors and windows to stay away from and even discreetly hinted at how we could enter the building without a key or breaking any windows.  We were all set.

The night before school we drove to the campus and drove right past all the other seniors TPing the front of the building.  We drove back around to the band room and parked and found our way to the secret entry point.  In seconds, we were in.  We knew going in, that the hallway would be harder to toilet paper than a bunch of trees, so we brought a long scotch tape to help us hang the toilet paper from he walls.  Also Jeanette, being crafty, made some hilarious signs to hane above the doors of the classrooms.  English teacher Mr/ Morgan got ‘Glen’s Pad.”  Mrs. Caret got ‘Elaine’s Bungalo of love.”  The band teacher, Mr. Kimura, got ‘Mr. K’s,’ which was also the name of a local nightclub in burlingame.

We spent about an hour making everything perfect and, when we were finally satisfied, to honor the moment, we snapped a few pictures of our handiwork and carefully snuck out of the building and into the night.

The next morning I was so excited to get back to school to see the reaction of the people as they walked into the band room area hallway, I parked and made a bee line to the door to the hallway.  I ran up to the door, flung it open and…the entire hallway was spotless.  There wasn’t a square of toilet paper anywhere.  The signs were gone from above the doors.  It was your average, everyday hallway.  I was crestfallen.  Jeanette and Dan arrived and they too were majorly bummed out.  We had worked so hard.

Apparently, what had happened is the janitors had arrives earlier, found the mess and cleaned it all up before anyone else arrived.  Insert sad trombone sound here.

Not to be deterred in letting people know what we had done, I wrote an anonymous letter to the Burlingame B, the school’s newspaper telling everything that had happened.  And I included one of the pictures of the toilet paper hanging in the hallway.  The letter ran and the world knew.  But it would have been much better had they seen it with their own eyes.  I read the printed letter and the picture accompanied it.  Under the photo, a byline, Photo by Grant Baciocco.  Oops.  Maybe I should have just shut up about it.

I was never punished or anything.  But that was the story of the one time the inside of Burlingame High School was toilet papered.

©2015 Grant Baciocco/Saturday Morning Media

Tags : , , , , , ,

What happens in Vegas…

Here is another story that I wrote out and also recorded for an episode of my podcast.  You can listen via the player below or just read it.  The choice is yours.  If you want to hear more stories (that aren’t on this blog) subscribe to the podcast in iTunes, or by using this feed in your favorite podcatcher. Thanks!

What happens in Vegas…
By Grant Baciocco

The following story may contain topics that might not be suitable for everyone. It’s completely work safe.  The name in this story has been changed.

At the end of my junior year of college, I decided to apply for job as a resident assistant for the dorms for my senior year. I went through the the application process and was accepted.
During the summer before I was going to start, I got a handwritten letter from a girl named Karen. Karen wrote that she was a current RA and that the overall housing coordinator had asked current RAs to write to new RAs just so the newbies would know someone when they came down for orientation. Karen then went on telling me a bit about herself.  Sort of a ‘get to know you’ type letter.
I replied with a letter of my own and, weirdly, we really hit it off. We continued for the rest of the summer writing letters back and forth. Her first letter arrived in late June and we had to report to school in mid August. In those few weeks, we probably wrote each other about ten letters or so.
On the first day of orientation for the RAs, I remember looking around the group of about 40 other RAs wondering which one was Karen. I saw this really cute girl sitting across the room and I instantly thought to myself, “If that’s Karen, I’m going to be in Trouble, because I’ll be smitten immediately.” Turns out, it was her.
I went over and introduced myself and was greeted with a huge hug.  Karen and I picked up right where the letters left off and, over the next few weeks, became closer and it wasn’t long before we were a couple.
As an RA, you had to be on call one weekend and have the next weekend off. Karen and I were on opposite schedules so when I had to work, she was off and vice versa. This wasn’t too big of an issue because we would just go hang out with each other when one of us was on duty. It did make it difficult to go anywhere else but the dorms though, and our dorm buildings were not in the same location.
We made up our mind that we wanted to take a road trip together and it was decided that we’d go to Las Vegas. I made all the arrangements, hotel, travel, etc and she worked to switch a weekend so that we could have a weekend off together. It worked out and one Friday evening, after she got off duty, we were on our way.
We didn’t make it all the way to Vegas that night, we got a room in Baker and then continued the rest of the way to Vegas on Saturday. Now, I’m not going to go into any details other than to say we were two college kids in Las Vegas on our own with our own hotel room. It was a very fun trip.
On Sunday night, we drove back home and I was absolutely ecstatic about the whole deal. About Karen, how well we got along, how great our relationship was, how great the trip had been. I was really happy. We got back to Long Beach, gave each other a kiss and got back to our rooms before we had to go back on duty.
On Monday morning, Karen called me and ask if she could come down that evening.  I, of course said, “Yes.”
She came down that evening and her demeanor had completely changed from the day before.
“There’s something I’ve got to tell you.” She said softly.
“What?” I asked.
“I think I am a lesbian.”
“What?! A lesbian? But, what, huh?  What about? Just yesterday, we… What?!”
Of course, I didn’t say that. I don’t remember what exactly where the conversation went after that, but I know I didn’t say that.
That was the end of me and Karen. I’m not a hundred percent sure what happened, but apparently I’m really good at helping ladies decide where their preferences lie.
©2015 Grant Baciocco/Saturday Morning Media
Tags : , , , , , ,

100 Word Wednesdays – Police Blotter Story – Mine

Here’s another 100 word story based on an item from the police blotter of my hometown of Burlingame, CA.  Link to blotter item follows the story.

By Grant Baciocco

“He doesn’t belong to you Jerry, he’s mine.” Jenna barked sharply.

Jerry shook his head, “Jenna we’ve been through this, we have joint custody.”

“That doesn’t mean you can just come over here and take him whenever you feel like it!  You have to make plans first!  Those are the rules.”

“Those are not the rules, Jenna.  The rules are we have joint custody, no plans need to be made.  If I want to take him any time I want I can as long as you are not using him.”

This fight was not going to be settled this morning.

1800 block of El Camino Real, 6:17 a.m. Monday Responding to a report of a woman yelling at a man, police determined their relationship issue involved a mutually coveted parking space.

Tags : , , , , ,