A Story Idea Each Day for a Month — Day 22

This is the fourth year in a row I’ve run this series in April.

Today’s story idea: The Problem with One-Night Stands in Locked-Down Boston:

I’m sitting in a strange kitchen right now in a posh two-bedroom condo in Charlestown, Mass., with sprawling views of the Boston skyline and the upper deck of I-93. My head is pounding. I’ve already maxed out on the recommended daily intake of Advil, hung over from a long night of upending pint after pint of Guinness at the Warren Tavern down the road — a legendary pub located in the former home of Revolutionary War hero Dr. Joseph Warren, where my dad has been bartending for the better part of 20 years.

My memory is a bit strained on the details, but I think it went something like this: As news broke of the an MIT police officer being gunned down, followed by a hot-pursuit car chase between the two suspects in Monday’s bombing, I was bellied up to the Tavern’s rustic, centuries-old bar. I remember saying something like “blarphgmchp” out loud, which in my head sounded like “Good lord friends, this week has really been a doozie, what?” And that’s when I got a text by a girl I know who lives up a cruelly steep hill from the bar. At 2 a.m. To come over.

Somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain, the little guy driving my core motor skills gave me just enough digital dexterity to reply with a “sure”. Shit’s hitting the fan, I thought. May as well.

I woke up this morning with the standard one-night-stand accouterments (booze sweats, eyes and brain feeling like they’ve just come out of the microwave, an embarrassing case of gastrointestinal unrest). I put my bare feet down on the floor while trying to find my cell phone and my dignity (both proved elusive), and in doing so I stepped on a giant shard of a broken wine glass. It apparently fell to its end and shattered into a galaxy of twinkling shrapnel from atop the nightstand, which itself had nearly been toppled somehow. Then I hopped over to the TV and turned on CNN.

And it was then when I realized I had a problem. The whole city was locked down. Taxis were suspended. Public transit shuttered. Cops were going house to house. Armored vehicles were roaming the streets. No one could go out. You weren’t even supposed to open the door unless it was for a cop.

With a deadline to hit and a cell phone running on 8% battery, it quickly became clear that my plan to quietly slip out and return home to fulfill my work obligations would be a near impossible feat. I was trapped. And what was meant to be a discreet exit was now an agonizingly gratuitous small-scale walk of shame across the apartment from the bedroom to the bathroom. I paused in the living room to offer up an uncomfortable morning salutation to the roommate, who sat on the couch wearing a robe and a distinct “who the hell is this guy?” look on her face. Yup.

At that point, I really had no option but to just pull up my socks (literally and figuratively) and deal with the moment. One of the great joys (or at least essential requirements) of the boozy one-night-stand is the ability to throw on whatever clothes of yours found strewn across an alien bedroom, and saunter out the door on your own volition. Without it, you face the very real and comically awkward situation of hanging around, reeking of stout and sex, until the city resumes its regularly scheduled programming.

And so the long day began.

I know this is close to the tragic events in Boston last week, but when you’re a writer, you seek — and take — inspiration anywhere you can get it. And a one-night stand ending with the semi-strangers in lockdown mode, there’s something there, my friends.

Now if you click on the link above to read the entire post, then go to the very first comment courtesy of Vivian Ruth Sawyer from Louisville, Kentucky, you will see one of the finest observations on the Internet like… ever. Vivian writes:

You’re going to end up getting married.

Spoken like a true rom-com fan! And sure, I could imagine how this could go that route. But hey, isn’t that too obvious? Besides since everybody and their cousin seems to be selling thrillers nowadays, why not join the party?

Guy and Gal hook up. Drunken night. Boozy sex. Wake up. Foggy memories. Time to do the walk of shame. But the door is… locked. From the outside. Windows, too. Well, the latter wouldn’t help because Guy discovers Gal lives in a high-rise building.

Okay, fork-in-the-road. There could be a psycho ex-boyfriend who is determined to mete out justice against Gal and the bastard who had his way with her the night before. Or his ex-girlfriend with a similar goal. Or her ex-girlfriend.

Another path: What if the Gal is psycho? She lured him to her place to have her way with him a la Misery.

Maybe there’s some ominous backstory. He was in high school, blasted out of his mind on drugs and booze. Took part in a gang rape of some girl at a party he didn’t even know. Doesn’t remember her in the least. Now she’s taking revenge. Maybe he’s the last one of the group, she’s killed all the others.

Another possibility: Some sort of supernatural dynamic and gender-bend it into a horror movie.

But of course, there’s always the rom-com version. Perhaps a new sub-genre: A Contained Rom-Com!

What would you do with this idea?

Each day this month, I invite you to join me in comments to do some brainstorming. Gender bend, genre bend, what if. Take each day’s story idea and see what it can become when we play around with it. These are all valuable skills for a writer to develop.

See you in comments. And come back tomorrow for another Story Idea Each Day For A Month.

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