Interactive Voice Response in the Dark — Live-Tweeted Mystery “The Golden Parachute” Continues

Here are Week 127 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

There’s a place you go in your mind at times like these. You don’t know what’s going on in your living room. You don’t know what to expect.

Anticipating possibilities, I turn sideways to shrink my target area. I shift to my heels and bend my knees to lower my center of gravity.

Without taking my eyes off the room, I remove my jacket which I wrap around my left arm and my necktie which I wind around my right fist.

I just put on my jacket and tie! Oh well. I’m ready, certain I’ll withstand a gun blast, knife stab, a fistfight, jujitsu or anything else.

As I think about that I realize I haven’t tied my shoelaces. Regi shrieks. Times up! Springing into action I trip headfirst down the stairs.

I try to grab the banister but my tie-wrapped hand can’t get a purchase. I try to shield my fall but my other arm is pinned under my jacket.

There’s not much time for reflection. I had put faith in defensive rituals. Now I plunge headfirst down my stairs. I’m not ready for that.

Regi yells “For God’s sake Arkaby, drop your damn phone!” No time for that. A dark pool awaits me at the bottom of the stairs. I dive in.

Down, down into a darkness far deeper than the blackest night. It has no bottom. I don’t remember this being here when I bought this house.

A black pool, but somehow familiar. I consult Twitter, going back to the beginning. “Black pool at my feet. I dive in.” I HAVE been here!

If I had a shilling for every dive! It can’t healthy to be so often in the dark. I’d check my pulse, but in the dark I can’t find my wrist.

Last time I was here I thought I was finished. I accepted my fate and waited for the bright light to lead me to my final destination.

That’s not the case this time. I’m probably resting at the foot of my stairs, my head cradled in Regi’s lap as she and Stuart revive me.

When I wake my tongue will be parched like it crossed the Sahara barefoot and my head will burn like the Hindenburg exploding. So I hear.

One question: How am I tweeting? From deep in the dark I hear a voice. “Arkaby wake up!” “Lemme sleep Ma. I’ll look for a job tomorrow.”

I slip back down into darkness. “Arkaby!” My phone chimes. “Hello?” “You have reached Body Parts R Us. Press 1 for Farley Granger’s killer.”

“Huh?” “Press 2 to discover how he was killed. Press 3 to find out why.” I press 1. “OK. I’ll connect you with the killer. Please hold.”

“Wait!” Music plays. What the hell? Torn Between Two Lovers? After what seems an eternity the music cuts off and a voice comes on the line.

“¡Bienvenido a Partes Del Cuerpo R Nosotros!” Oh no! That damn IVR again! “Pulse 1 si se conoce el órgano o miembro que desee reemplazar.”

That robotic sonofabitch has really gotten under my skin! Not only am I dreaming about interactive voice response, I’m dreaming in Spanish!
I shout “I don’t want to replace a body part! I want to find Farley Granger’s killer!” “Please hold.” Torn Between Two Lovers comes back on.

The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery !

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