As you can probably tell, I like to write. No doubt there are many better at it than me but I enjoy combining data and analysis with creativity.

However, every once in a while, it’s nice to abandon the data and the research and turn totally to the world of fiction. So, since it’s Sunday, I have a challenge for you: I’m going to give you a story title (Terminal) and an object (an IV) and should you choose to accept it, you have 15 minutes to plan and 1 hour to write a short story. The title MUST be ‘Terminal’ and there MUST be an IV in the story somehow.

This game is one of our favorite nights and we try to do it about once a month. We write, then we go out for dinner and then we return to read our stories aloud and vote on the winner. If you choose to participate – don’t read mine first!

I would love to see what YOU come up with so DM them to me and if you’d like, I’ll put it up on the website.

The Terminal

The noise was unbearable.  A combination of wind, jet engines, teeth chattering and mindless conversation.  Hungover.  Actively on an IV infusion therapy to replenish the liquids lost from the night before, and flying at 10,000’ preparing to jump out of a perfectly good plane.

The force of gravity is 9.81 m/s2 but there is a point in the dive when the wind resistance that is applied against the body overcomes the acceleration of the body towards the earth and at that point, terminal velocity is reached.  You can go no faster, and you speed towards the earth preparing to pull the shoot and slow the descent.

Angie wasn’t in a slow the descent kind of mood.  She was, in a phrase, in a funk.  Single, again.  Horny, always.  And unsatisfied with the bulk of her life choices to this point.  At 35, she was both more and less settled than you’d expect.  More, because she accepted life for what it was.  Less, because she frequently forgot her acceptance and tried to take up new hobbies.  Axe throwing had been big up until 3 months ago.  Flying had been her thing 2 years ago.  And now, jumping out of a plane.  All to feel something.  Anything.  It didn’t really matter what.  But feeling was good.

At 31- things had been better- if never leaving the office; needing aderol during the day and cocaine and night was “better”.  She had founded a social media company that existed at the intersection of dating and business.  With the hole me too (pound) movement, dating at work was becoming unacceptable.  It’s why the McDonald’s story this week made her so mad… there was no excuse.  That’s why she founded WorkDate.  The goal was connect people who were so focused on their careers that they WOULD have wanted to have an appropriate relationship with someone at their company, but instead it connected people within the same industry who had at least 1 person each new that worked at the other company to give them someone to talk about.

After a slow start, the first Google VP that got one co-worker pregnant before leaving her and going on to marry a second and risking a $50 mm compensation package, the site took off. Silicon Valley and New York were ripe for it.  Workaholoics with money and were just self important enough to believe as a Junior Managing Director of the Managing Directors Portfolio that they needed protection.

It grew faster than she expected and soon was the #2 dating app in the US.  WeYou quickly bought it seeing potential synergy and to add ‘technology’ to what was fundamentally a real estate company, and Angie was worth $75 mm for 2 years of work.

She tried to go over to WeYou, but their CEO, John Robinson was a narcissist, eccentric that had no business running a business and she quickly grew tired of the ring kissing.  One day, after a long breakfast, watching a Netflix movie at her desk while drinking wine- flagrantly- and ordering a Strip-o-Gram for one of her direct reports, she was asked to John’s office to “resign”.  She did, and she walked out.

That was 4 years ago.  Purpose was elusive, and the drug habit expanded.  Cocaine.  Heroin.  Sex.  Gambling.  She did it all.  It served a purpose…. But not THE purpose. And quickly, she lost interest in the fabrication of experience.

That’s why she was in the plane.  Terminal velocity.  Wait as long as possible to pull the shoot.  Feel something.  Get inspired.  Write a book.

EEEEEEEEEEHGN.  The buzzer sounded and the red light of the fluorescent bulb illuminated the body of the plane, filled with 4 other would be jumpers and an instructor who was there for encouraging words.

The instructor- bored at his 1000^th jumping adventure with amateurs was going through the motions.  Wearing his pack, going around checking everyone else’s, mindlessly asking “Are you excited?  Are you excited?”

Terminal.  Velocity.  Angie had jumped 30 days in a row now and was pretty comfortable with it.  Each time to got closer to the earth before pulling the shute and each time was had figured out how to go faster.  How to steer, and glide and move with the wind.  She could accelerate and decelerate and go where she wanted.  But she had never really been at risk.  She had never really felt alive.  Not like the way she used to when we was running a million miles an hour, building, and branding, and hiring and growing.

Today was the day.

“Hey Bob.”

“Hey Angie.”

“Today’s gonna be pretty exciting.”

“Yeah, why?  Every day is exciting”

“Because I want you to go before me today.  I want to go last.”

“You aren’t ready.  Hang on.”

Bob turned to Guest number 1, checked the shute, and said, jump, count to 8 and pull, if you haven’t pulled in 12, the timer will activate.  Then we charge you $1000.  Don’t rely on the timer.”

The first guest smiled and jumped out of the plane.  Geronimo!

“Bob.  I don’t think you get me.  I am ready.  I need to do this.”

Guest number 2 was more nervous and clearly wanted no part of this.  “My girlfriend thinks I’ve done this before.  I lied to her.  I told her I like hiking too….. but we aren’t on a hike are we??  We are in a fucking plane.”

“It’s like a bandaid.  You just need to rip it off.”  And with that, Bob pushed him out of the plane, timer set, and in 12 seconds he would be floating peacefully to the earth.

“I’ll pay the 1000 myself” Bob said.  I’ve always wanted to do that.

The third guest was a 75 year old ex Marine.  Frank Metal.  What a fucking name!  He hadn’t jumped out of a plane in 30 years.  He was dressed in full fatigues.  Combat boots.  Had painted his face and was wearing his medals.  He smiled at Bob and said “Fuck man!!!  I haven’t done this in so long.  I can’t tell you how much love doing this.  Hey, you, hang on to this for me…. For Luck!  Fuck Yeah!!!!!!” He handed Angie a piece of paper and he jumped out of the plane.  He’d even brought his old shute.  No amateur hour shit for him.

“Angie.  Your turn.”

“Bob.  I don’t think you understand.  You are going first.  I’ll catch you.  But I need you to hang on to this for me.”

Bob looked …. Confused wouldn’t be the right word because it was a combination of mortal fear and recognition at the same time.  Angie handed him her parachute and pushed him out of the plane.

1 one thousand.

2 one thousand.

3 one thousand.

4 one thousand.

5.

And she lept….. she knew she had roughly 30 seconds to catch Bob before he would activate his shute and she would have no chance to grab hers.

Terminal velocity.

She dove headfirst out of the plane after him.  6.   7.   8.    9.   10.

She could feel the wind, she was the pure embodiment of acceleration as she could feel herself closing the gap as Bob tried to make himself as big as possible while still holding on to her shute…. She couldn’t actually see his expression…. But she knew what it was.  Panic.  Fear.  Helplessness.  Hope.  Dread.  All the emotions she saw in her face every single day.  Today was about getting rid of that look.  Be free, or die trying.  That was the entire content of the email she had crafted that was set to auto-send in 1 hour if she didn’t get to her computer on time.  There was another line, but now wasn’t the time to think about it.

17  18  19  20.  She was closing fast, and could feel the power.  The velocity.  And the fear.  She was almost at Bob, and now she could hear him screaming “You are fucking crazy!!!  You are fucking crazy!!!”

She had 3 seconds….. 2…… 1…… impact….. at maximum speed she grabbed Bob… and more importantly, the shute and bear hugged it…. She gave him a kiss on the cheek as she took the shute and spread out her body to slow her descent, the window to get the shute on and pull the cord was 11 seconds.

She got her first arm in but the wind was pretty severe and was struggling to control the second strap.

7 seconds.

She couldn’t get it over her shoulder and dread and fear and regret began to fill her body.

5 seconds.  She faced the backpack and instead of wearing it on her back, she put it against her chest.

2 seconds.  Now or never.  Hugging as tightly as she had ever hugged in her life she buckled the harness between below her knees to brace herself and pulled the ripcord.

An explosion of cords and fabric and the tension that comes from massive deceleration strained her arms to the max as the harness dug into knees and the cords slammed against her face…. It felt like 2 minutes, of a wrestling match with an alligator fixated on having you for dinner…. But slowly, gradually, Angie realized that she was floating.  She had reached the correct speed for a comfortable descent and notwithstanding the ackward position of the parachute and the harness, she was going to hit the earth at a delicate pace and make it.

Holy Fuck.  That was terrifying.  I really don’t want to die.

1,000’ below, she could make out roads, and houses and people.  As she looked up, she saw the plane overhead, Bob about 2000’ away also floating but mad as hell.  She thought of her parents.  She thought of her company.  And for the first time in 4 years, she thought of what’s next.

She smiled.

And then she heard it.  Sirens.  Oh man, I’m gonna have to deal with the police on this. What is the crime exactly?  This should be fun.

Her feet touched down.  She took the shute off and saw the police cars and ambulance barreling down on her.  She sat down in the grass and said “I’m ready.”  She lay down, looked into the sky and waited to be arrested.

Only, they drove right by her.  She quickly stood and looked 500’ from where she was.  She saw 2 shutes blowing in the wind, removed but still attached to the packs, a number of cars and onlookers gathered around and the ambulance screech to a halt right in the middle.

From her knees, she put her hands on her hips and felt the paper Frank had given her.  She pulled it out, and slowly unfolded it and it read.

“I did everything I wanted to do and it was just my time.”  That was the second line in her letter too.