Note* This is a fictional magazine and a fictional piece of writing.
The Un-credible Columnist, Issue #1
By: A.E Flows
The Manhatter, a literary magazine popular among New Yorkers and famous for its je ne sais quoi, contacted me to see if I would be interested in writing a weekly column for the Personal Section of the paper.
I received the phone call late Thursday night after closing up shop at Oolong’s, the Japanese-style tea bar across from Bryant Park. You know, that temporary job you were suppose to snag after college for like five minutes before you traded it for an actual career? Six years later and that twenty-percent off employee discount card isn’t paying off those student loans.
On the contrary, I’ve spent more on overpriced and soaking wet tealeaves in the past year than on ‘regular people’ food in six.
That night, after deciding to binge watch the entire second season of Sex and the City, I answered the phone to a Mr. Brogan Gallagher, editor and chief of The Manhatter. Trying not to choke on my spoon-full of Ben and Jerry’s, I thanked him for his offer and said I would get back to him on the morning, hoping not to sound too eager. Immediately after hanging up the phone I rolled around in my bed, kicking my feet in the air and spewing joy all over my new Ralf Lauren sheets.
Alongside tea bar tending I had been a freelance writer for several years now, trying to get my name out for what feels like decades. They told me the English major and creative writing minor wouldn’t land me a job within this century, I genuinely wish they made passive-aggressive ‘told you so’ hallmark cards with pop out middle figures.
And isn’t journalism supposed to be dead or something? Or are the hipsters in Greenwich Village and downtown Williamsburg bringing it back?
Why Mr. Gallagher believes my literature could be the juice that reels the crowd, your guess is as good as mine. My most scandalous adventure this week came in the form of extra hot and spicy Buffalo wings at Applebee’s.
But who knows, any little column with a bit of juice is enough to quench the ants.
A fictitious magazine located in the heart of NYC, on the corner of 42nd and my imagination.