Liars' League

How to be Unemployed by Alice Franklin

Read by Lois Tucker

(For the full podcast of the night, please click here.)

1. Become unemployed

For the past three months, there have been clues you weren’t fitting in. They didn’t like it when you corrected their grammar. They didn’t like it when you removed every adjective from that guy’s manuscript. They didn’t like it when you reduced that novel of eighty thousand words to just one side of double-spaced A4.

“It’s not that you’re not taking the job seriously,” your boss tells you. “In fact, quite the opposite.”

You know where this is going. Her tone of voice is different now. So, before she can say the words “let you go” or “call it a day”, you stand up, go to your desk, and pack your things with such haste that you leave behind some tea, a mug, and a pen.

Outside, it seems unclear whether you have just quit or just been fired, but it hardly matters, because either way, you’re unemployed.

Apotheosis of Maya and Bibi by Rebecca Skipwith

Read by Susan Moisan

(For the full podcast of the night, please click here.)

The third text buzzes at Maya’s hip as she pulls into Chieveley Services. She’s no intention of reading it, but it presses upon her anyway – a little extra tightness in the chest. In the back seat, Bibi is crying in that lacklustre way she has when she’s forgotten what exactly needed protesting, but the protest is the point and she must go on with it.

Maya cruises the car park with care. Families pop out into the little gaps between cars, and parents dart for straying toddlers. It’s tricky negotiating the tight corners and the little human hazards in his Audi, which handles like a boat with no edges.

“Yellow car,” says Bibi mournfully, pausing the tears.

Homework by Anna Savory

Read by Gloria Sanders

(For the full podcast of the night, please click here)

Dear Jennifer,

Hello, you fabulous little bitch. It’s me, by which I mean you, writing to you, by which I mean me, from a desk in the future and/or present. How are you? Small? Wide-eyed and innocent? Gifted and talented? I thought so.

I don't know what the point of this is but I’ve been told to question myself so … on this side of the psychological divide I’m enjoying a flat white, are you enjoying your daily sugar hit? Are you still in love with Misty from Pokemon? Are you still carrying that inflatable crocodile around? I’d forgotten it was your constant companion, but now I think about it, that seems psychologically pertinent. Perhaps you could write a note on your hand reminding you to mention it to Dr Newman in twenty years' time.

I don't know if you question your finances much there in the mid 90s, but for future reference you earn £7.50 an hour here in the dystopian hellscape of 2018. You’ve blocked out 30 minutes of that precious time to write a letter to your past self and you’ve paid a professional £80 for the privilege. So have a think about that, and try not to go mental later on.

Trouble at the Uptown Espresso by Kristin King

Read by Sarah Gain

(For the full podcast of the night, please click here)

I’m not sure what possessed me the other day at the Uptown Espresso, but I think it was my baby girl. Separation is hard on her, and usually she tugs so hard that I leave part of myself with her. I walk around in a fog while she cries and cries. This time the opposite must have happened: she must have left a part of herself with me.

So I was standing in line waiting for a single tall Americano when I saw a huge container of Hershey’s Chocolate Syrup. I felt compelled to press on the squirter. Lovely glops of brown chocolate started splashing on the counter! When I stuck my hand in the chocolate and smeared it around, the resulting patterns were gorgeous. I put my hand in my mouth (Wow!) and then smeared it around my forehead and in my hair.  Someone started shouting, and they sure sounded angry, but the Hershey’s syrup was way more interesting.

Then somebody took hold of me, pulled me away, sat me down at a table, and started to play tug-of-war with some napkins, swiping at my face.  Fun, fun, fun! But gradually, I collected myself.  What had gotten into me?

Tree House Date by S. Soliar

Read by Shin-Fei Chen

(For the full podcast of the night, please click here)

Lay it square in the daylight, Jodie, put your face right against the window so he can see you in all your puppy-fat glory. Here’s me: a child. You’d think some of these guys would be put off, but four weeks and not a single john who is. One day I’ll meet a man who goes white in the face over the idea. I’ll cuff him to me and we’ll do a drive-thru in Vegas. For that I have to wait four years. That’s funny, isn’t it? Here I am doing what I’m doing, but I’ve got to wait four years to get married. This one’s looking at me like he just got a promotion.

Where can we go? Mr. Mumbles, is it? As though if he’s quiet enough he won’t have to hear himself say it.

You’re getting ahead. Leaning myself right through his window. Not much filling my tank top, hollow where a tit might one day be if I live that old, but for some of them, it’s what they like, right?