Briefcases For Equality

The briefcase rang my doorbell. Since my doorbell is made of bacon fat and Mediterranean chest hair, it took me a few minutes before I could hear it. Finally, in the split second's calm between two Irish military marches blaring from my radiator, I heard the soft ringing sound I'd grown all too familiar with. I got up from sorting through my colored golf ball collection and answered the door.

"Briefcases For Equality. Would you like to sign a petition?" asked the briefcase.

His leather coating was genuine, but something in the tone of his voice suggested there were other things on his mind. The quicker I respond, the more respect he'll offer me, I thought.

"What's a petition? I've heard the word before, but no one's ever specified it for me and I'm allergic to dictionaries," I responded smugly.

He went on to say a great many things about what petitions are -- things I must've been too bored to listen to. Suddenly he started leaking blood. I asked him if he was all right. He wasn't.

"It's hard to feel all right in a world as rough as this one. And if you think it's any easier being a briefcase than it is being a human, or whatever you are, then let me be the first to tell you that it's not. Do you know what it's like being handled day after day, opened, closed, stuffed with papers and files, being picked up, placed down, roughed around by people who don't remember the lock's combination number? It's 5-2-7! Is that so hard to remember?"

He had no idea about the blood. I figured he couldn't see the blood because he didn't have any eyes. But then how would this explain his ease finding my apartment, I wondered? He continued:

"Some people see me coming to their door saying 'This must be some sort of joke', but they just don't understand. And that's what this petition is all about: understanding."

There was that word again, 'petition'. What was it? What did it mean?

"Can you imagine a world without briefcases? A world where a backpack is your only option?"

Backpack! That's an interesting word. I never heard that one before. It made me laugh out loud. I snorted, too.

"You think this is funny? You think I'm here to play games?"

"I'm sorry, I was just laughing at that word you said -- backpack."

"Huh? Oh, yeah. I guess that is a funny word."

We both laughed out loud. It was a tender moment. Blood was everywhere.

"Do you know that you're bleeding? A lot?"

"I'm too sad to take notice of such trivial things. If you'd just sign here, I won't take up any more of your time."

I signed my name. It was the least I could do. I went back inside and sorted through my golf balls. Upon my return, I discovered that I was missing a purple one.

Swindled again!