32 posts tagged with "Micro-fiction"

Old Pierre was an optimist, or at least he seemed to be. On the French Navy's nuclear submarine "Dawn," he was responsible for cleaning the toilets. It wasn't a glamorous job, but Old Pierre always hummed a little tune as he scrubbed the toilets until they gleamed, as if he were completing a work of art. His optimism was like a thin film, enveloping the damp air inside this steel behemoth.

Every day, he would open his pedometer app. A free app called "Vitality Life" recorded his steps and calories burned. This app did more than it claimed. It recorded location, altitude, and movement trajectory. Inside the submarine, Pierre's "movement trajectory" looked comical; he traversed the narrow corridors back and forth like a lost crab.

Old Wang had worked at the "Color Harmony Promotion Center" for fifteen years. His workstation, much like himself, was always in a state of gray. The center's main responsibility was to "bleach" or "deepen" the public's perception of colors based on social sentiment reports. To put it bluntly, it was about using various methods to make people "see" the colors they wanted them to see.

Recently, the center's operations had been unusually busy. Old Wang had to process thousands of "color adjustment requests" every day. Today, his task was to change the public's impression of "gray" from "depressing" and "mediocre" to "serene" and "noble."

title: Washing Sins slug: 2025-01-20-xidi-zui keywords: [University Student, Hotel, Laundry, Absurd, Irony] description: A university student actually booked a room just to do laundry at a hotel. What kind of social truths are hidden behind this seemingly absurd act? authors: [yangshun] meta: University student criticized for “wool-pulling“ by booking a hotel room just to do laundry date: 2025-01-20 tags: [Society, Satire, Micro-fiction]

The elevator doors opened, revealing a row of straight legs, all wearing black suit pants, reflecting the bright office lights. I, Li Ming, at 172 centimeters, barely squeezed into this forest where the average height was 180 centimeters.

This wasn't a modeling agency, but our company's routine morning meeting. Since the company introduced the "Project Excellent Height," all new male employees were required to undergo "height-increasing surgery." I hesitated at the time; after all, "breaking bones" sounded chilling. But HR's smile was gentle yet firm, "Mr. Li, this is not only for your career but also for the overall image of the company. We are pursuing the perfect height."

Old Wang has been working as a human standee at the company entrance for three days.

Not the kind wearing a cartoon costume, nor the one holding a billboard. He's just standing there in his wrinkled suit, motionless.

Old Wang got promoted.

Not to team leader, nor a small department manager, but directly in charge of a "world-class mega-project."

Old Wang retired, not gloriously, but "gloriously laid off."

The word "glorious," in Old Wang's life, was like a gilded nail, firmly hammered into the wooden board of his "life," emitting a harsh metallic scraping sound. He was once the pride of the entire unit, no, it should be said, the pride of the entire country—a model who received a First Class Merit in the army less than a year after graduating with a bachelor's degree. At the time, the publicity was overwhelming, and Old Wang's name was tightly bound to phrases like "promising young talent" and "role model of the times."

Old Wang has been very busy lately, busy with "trade-ins." It's not that his old TV or refrigerator at home needs replacing, but as a member of the company's "trade-in" task force, he's busy helping other people "trade" their old things for new ones.

Old Wang's company is a large home appliance enterprise, and it established this task force specifically to respond to the national call for "trade-ins." Every day, Old Wang sits in his office, facing his computer screen, browsing through mountains of "old goods" information – old televisions, old air conditioners, old washing machines... The photos of these old goods are like crumpled faces, silently telling of their past glory and present decline.

In Zhang Qiang's third month at the company, he was transferred to the "Stellar Observation Department." He initially thought it involved astronomical observation, but on his first day, he was led into an airtight room. In the center of the room was a giant screen displaying mobile phone screenshots, each increasingly red.

“Your task is simple, count the number of stars in each screenshot,” said Department Head Li, handing him a counter with a deadpan expression, as if announcing that lunch would be steamed buns.

The red cherries, like agates, were crammed into the entire refrigerated truck. Old Wang drove carefully; the cherries were freshly picked from the port by his boss. Each crate was worth several thousand, and if they arrived late, their value would drop. He glanced in the rearview mirror, a red fire truck flashing its lights and emitting piercing sirens, closely tailing him.

Old Wang frowned, muttering, "Who's on fire again? What bad luck." He looked left and right, the road was narrow and full of cars, making it difficult to yield. Besides, who knows if some "drunk" was causing trouble again? There were news reports about people deliberately honking to scare others. Old Wang decided to wait a bit; what if it wasn't real?