Air Fryer Guy
The approval process of a new solar farm is derailed when someone shows up with an unconventional prop.
Political satire. Woof. Satire feels harder to write than ever, and I was not very excited to try my hand at it. Done well, it can call to account those in power in creative and entertaining ways that straightforward writing cannot. And while it’s near impossible to pierce the bubble of insanity that surrounds today’s worst offenders, satire can at the very least serve as a therapeutic reprieve: “Thank goodness I’m not alone with how crazy this makes me feel!”
My story today was birthed once again from an NYC Midnight competition. This time it was for the Flash Fiction challenge, designed to force writers to put 1,000 words to paper in a tight 48 hour time frame. Similar to the Short Story Competition from my previous posts, I was assigned parameters to include in the piece:
GENRE: Political Satire
LOCATION: A solar farm
OBJECT: An air fryer
What started as a major “wtf?” feeling turned into a romp that I had a lot of fun with. Very helpful feedback pushed me to dial up the absurdity during the revision stage because, as first drafted, what previously would have seemed absurd was now just another day in the news.
My only disappointment is that I am not moving on to the second round of this challenge. I’m pleased that this story earned an Honorable Mention in my group, and I hope you have some fun with it!
Stuart knew to expect pushback, but he was prepared. A veteran public servant, he’d learned to set his expectations low, lower them further, then command the facts to make progress happen. He moved with the inevitable force of a glacier, shepherding positive change for this community.
Today’s forum was about a single topic: building a state-of-the-art solar farm on acres of abandoned soybean fields that were under threat of purchase by Big Ag. Or Chinese oligarchs, as some townspeople feared. It was a no-brainer, really: it would create hundreds of “good” jobs in the eyes of this town, and it would lower energy bills for the entire county while feeding into the state’s fragile, overloaded grid.
Polling was favorable and Stuart was happy with how it was developing. Heading into the forum, Stuart still fundamentally believed in democracy and the goodness of people. He was prepared; he knew to be patient and curious and he was ready to engage.
There was a sizable line at the podium when he finished his overview. He opened the floor for comments and the first resident asked: “Who’s going to pay for it?” A murmur of assent passed through the assembly.
“This pays for itself over time,” Stuart answered, “but the up-front funding is from the Clean Energy bill, and Google is investing since they want more energy for their data center.”
“I don’t trust the Federal government, and I don’t trust Google!” the man said forcefully into the microphone. He turned proudly to the crowd, some of whom applauded his rebellion, before returning to his seat.
Stuart calmly reminded everyone that the funding was detailed online and that they should think in investment terms, not as a one-time cost. That seemed to appease folks as an older woman stepped up to speak.
“I don’t want illegals coming here to steal our jobs and get free healthcare.”
“Ma’am,” Stuart replied, “construction will require legal, authorized workers. Many positions will be filled locally.”
“That’s not what I hear,” she retorted, but did sit down, apparently lacking evidence to further her claim. A few townspeople seemed to harbor similar concerns, but again the crowd settled. So far, these speakers didn’t represent the majority.
The next man walked to the podium with what appeared to be an air fryer in his arms. Now they were bringing props? This was new.
He settled the air fryer on his hip, surveying the crowd. Uh oh, Stuart thought, a showman.
“Friends,” he began, “Americans, my good neighbors, let me paint you a picture.” He stretched each sentence out. “It’s Sunday afternoon. Your friends are over. Cold beer is in your cooler. Brats are cookin’ on your grill. Corn dog nuggets are in your air fryer.” He paused, lifting the device in his arms, and Stuart observed heads nodding and people whispering to each other. “You worked hard all week, and you can’t wait to relax and watch some football. Imagine it: a beautiful day with friends and football–does it get any better?” More murmured assent.
“It’s perfect. That is, until the first cloud rolls in. You appreciate the brief shade,” he raised his eyebrows and scanned the crowd “but then the sun doesn’t come back out. All of a sudden, your TV is out, your air fryer is dead, and your friends are miserable.”
He lifted the air fryer up to his chest, giving it a shake to emphasize his point: “Do you really want your whole life to shut down because of some clouds?"
Stuart felt relieved; this argument wouldn’t hold water. Yet…the crowd waited for the man to continue, and he fed off their attention: “Now your friends are hungry, your kids are cryin’; heck, your wife seems to be eyein’ your neighbor who has just started his gas-powered generator.”
This guy is going off the rails, Stuart thought.
“You see, this is the real problem. What sounds like a nice idea: ‘free energy for everyone!’” (he shook the air fryer to match his mocking tone) “is actually just the starting point. Turn that football game back on and what do you see? Helmets the size of beach balls and rules to prevent anyone from touchin’ the quarterback. Do you want your kids to grow up not knowin’ how to take a punch, and not knowin’ how to hit back?”
Stuart was confused. How did this man go from a single cloud at a barbeque to children in fisticuffs? And why was everyone listening so raptly, as if Moses himself were laying down five new commandments?
“Sir–” he started, but the man, with the momentum of a freight train, barreled on.
“We don’t need bureaucrats” (he looked at Stuart with intense disdain) “to tell us how to live our lives. We need a revolution. Brothers and sisters, we need to throw off the manacles of Big Government and take back control of our lives. We have plenty of oil and natural gas right here underground!”
Like a pro wrestler with a championship belt, he held the air fryer above his head.
Oh God, this was unraveling fast. A knot formed in Stuart’s core and he started panicking as townspeople spoke up en masse. “Hell yeah!” rang out boldly, and he was pretty sure he heard someone sneer “Communist!”
“This solar farm would take years to build, but we can get fracking in a few weeks.”
He let the air fryer fall from its perch. A loud crash rang through the hall, in chorus with cheers erupting from the mob.
Stuart stared, open-mouthed. What just happened? The townspeople were in a fervor. Phones were out, recording the whole scene. He tried to reclaim control, but this forum was over. Air Fryer Guy made his way through the crowd, bumping fists and slapping backs. He turned to Stuart and they locked eyes as he mock-saluted with a smirk. He slung his jacket over his shoulder as he walked out, the natural gas logo on it visible in the folds.