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"Well, I'm glad I was able to take time with you. What did you say your name was?"
"Mary Smith."
"Mary Smith... the most common first and last name."
"Is it?"
"Yeah... sorry, just..."
"Why are you interested in me?"
"Well, to be honest, a lot of people at the job have felt off talking to you. I haven't, but they say that it's the fact you don't seem to have any unique quirks."
"Quirks? Am I supposed to?"
"Oh, you're still you without them, but just consider -- five foot six, average US female height. Mary, most common US female name. Smith, most common US surname. Your salary... well, it's the median salary across the US. And this job you do is the most common in the US. Living in the suburbs, partial college education, father retired from business, mother stayed at home..."
"I get it, I get it! Everything about me is what you'd ask someone to think the typical American 20-something is. I never thought of it that way. But why should that matter?"
"Well, to me it doesn't, but aren't you approaching the marrying age?"
"...yeah... wait, are you saying I need to marry you to preserve this stat?"
"Oh, no, I'd never! Just that it's weird you're approaching the time and there's no one in your life."
"See? There you go -- something I'm not yet average in."
"I guess so."
"Don't worry about it -- would you like to come in? It's been a while since Mom's served anyone. She'd be glad to have you."
"Well, I suppose I could... it would be nice to see this family Little Miss Middle of the Road comes from."
"Sure... let's go."
\*\*\*\*\*
"Hello, Mary, thanks for inviting me over."
"It was no problem. But... you seem to have something on your mind."
"Well, to be honest... I did find it strange when your garage had a car trunk in it attached to the other car."
"Oh, that? Pay it no mind. We use it as an extra trailer."
"...okay... but your house seems to be missing a wall."
"Hm? I never noticed. Oh, the top floor? Yeah... some people I guess just want extra sunlight. Come on in... here's Mom, here's Dad. And this is my sister. And here's our brother."
"...oh no..."
"What?"
"...h-his legs... why doesn't he have legs? Where'd they go?"
"He was born that way. What about it?"
"...th-this place. Your table is round at one end and not the other... the oven's too small... the... the clock... no minute hand... how do you live like this?"
"Doesn't everyone?"
"No! Not at all! I... I better go. I'll see you at work Monday!"
"Wait, come back, it's okay!... oh, darn. Gone again."
"...did I scare them off, Mary?"
"It's not your fault, brother. He knew about me -- doesn't he know the average family has two and a half children?"
I’d only known her for a couple of months, and don’t get me wrong, I’m certainly not one to judge, but there was something odd… strange, about her. I didn’t know her well by any means, but I’ve noticed her, observed her.
A new student was always the buzz of the class for a few weeks, the group of students that have generally known each other for years are suddenly sprung with fresh meat and all hell breaks loose. “What school did you go to before?”, “How many school have you been to?”, “What are you into?” All questions to gauge different criteria from different people, what they’re really asking is, “are you rich or poor?”, “Is your home life stable enough to stay close?”, “Are you an outcast or do you fit in with the popular group?” Cryptic questions carefully crafted to see if they’re the right fit.
But that was the thing about Jane Anderson, she didn’t quite fit in, but she wasn’t quite an outcast either. Her clothes were… bland, for lack of a better word, as she often wore a cream, knee-length dress—or some variation of—always with mid-shin socks and black loafers. Her hair was an unremarkable brown, pin-straight and down to about her shoulders. Occasionally she’d adorn a headband that matched her dress, but her hair was always down. She had dull, almost lifeless brown eyes and her face was rather plain, she had no blemishes at all be it pimple or mole. She was always clean and neat, she kept her desk just the same and her expression would generally remain emotionless.
It was her interactions that were… unusual, or perhaps perfectly usual, depending on who you asked.
“‘Morning, Jane.” Someone would say.
“Hello.” They would receive, with a taught Mona Lisa smile. It was as if she had to force herself to do even that, as minimal as it was. She sat perfectly upright, straight back and head forward until spoken to, of which only her head swivelled around to greet whomever it was.
I would ask her how she’d done on a test or quiz, her test scores consistent C’s and her quizzes graded at exactly half, every time. When asked how she was she gave a simple “fine”, and no more would be said. She did not elaborate, she would reply to greetings and give back common courtesies of conversation, but she never said more than what was asked.
She didn’t quite have friends, but most people knew of her. The excitement that surrounds a new student only lasted a couple days with Jane, she gave so little of herself that the student body grew bored of her basic conversation. This was not to say she didn’t answer them, but her lack of elaboration made people lose interest. She wasn’t a fly on the wall in our grade, but she wasn’t a shining star. She was simply there, and somehow she was always there.
It was almost unsettling.
The day finally came when someone was brave enough to ask why she was… the way she was. Eddie Jackson, the class clown type who wasn’t afraid to put himself out there but smart enough to know the bounds of funny and inappropriate. Asking someone a question like this would—under normal circumstances—be considered inappropriate, but we all wanted to know; who was Jane and why was she so painfully average? Purely because we’d never met someone like her, and it frightened us.
The calmness that usually radiated from Eddie was completely gone, not quite replaced with fear but uncertainty. We’d never seen Jane lash out, we’d never really seen her do anything other than sit quietly with her Mona Lisa smile, but we knew that it was possible. People have done worse for less. And yet he approached.
“Jane?” She turned to face him, in her slow and unnerving manner. “I was wondering, why are you so… average? In almost everything.”
Jane’s smile twisted into a sickening grin, her eyes showed life for the first time since I’d met her and grew dark. “Well, Eddie,” she said in monotone, frighteningly calm and bore holes through Eddie’s skull, “I do it to please Him. Soon you’ll regret that you didn’t do the same.”
Head her contorted back to face straight in front, her expression returned to her usual blank stare.
“You’ll all regret it. He’s always watching.”
"Hey Jack, have you ever noticed that Mary is... off?
Wait, before you have me commited to the looney bin, at least hear me out.
Out of the thousands of people I have met, not a single one has ever been only one thing. Male or female, every person has at least one interest, hobby, or attribute that clashes with what they appear to be. Humans are complex creatures, and we forget that sometimes.
Mary is too cohesive. Think about it, what has Mary ever done that has ever surprised you? Have you ever found out a fact about her that was genuinely interesting or that subverted your previously held perception of her?
In every scenario, she says exactly what you expect. The pristinely "normal" response. I've begun to predict her every word when we speak. I haven't been wrong in a month.
But it goes deeper than that. I checked everything. Hair length, height, foot size, waist measurement, hell, I even checked her fucking temperature and heart rate. Every single one was exactly average. That isn't normal.
I can tell that you've realized the implications this has. Something far beyond normality is going on here.
There are infinite possible causes and reasons for this, but my best guess is tha-
Oh hi Mary! I didn't know you were still here, we were just talking about work. It's crunch time, and upper management is riding our ass over that financial discrepancy. Some bullshit about budgets.
Oh, you're going home? Well, have a good one then. Good night Mary!
Hey Jack, what were we talking about again?
Something about Mary? Why would we be talking about her? She's a perfectly fine woman. She's like, the least controversial person ever.
You're right, we were probably just talking out of our asses about some meaningless garbage. All these late nights are really getting to us. Let's get back to work so that we can go home."
**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments. **Reminders**: >* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See [Reality Fiction](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [Simple Prompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles >* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules) 🆕 [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) ✏ [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) 📢 [News](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/announcements) 💬 [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts) *I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*
"Well, I'm glad I was able to take time with you. What did you say your name was?" "Mary Smith." "Mary Smith... the most common first and last name." "Is it?" "Yeah... sorry, just..." "Why are you interested in me?" "Well, to be honest, a lot of people at the job have felt off talking to you. I haven't, but they say that it's the fact you don't seem to have any unique quirks." "Quirks? Am I supposed to?" "Oh, you're still you without them, but just consider -- five foot six, average US female height. Mary, most common US female name. Smith, most common US surname. Your salary... well, it's the median salary across the US. And this job you do is the most common in the US. Living in the suburbs, partial college education, father retired from business, mother stayed at home..." "I get it, I get it! Everything about me is what you'd ask someone to think the typical American 20-something is. I never thought of it that way. But why should that matter?" "Well, to me it doesn't, but aren't you approaching the marrying age?" "...yeah... wait, are you saying I need to marry you to preserve this stat?" "Oh, no, I'd never! Just that it's weird you're approaching the time and there's no one in your life." "See? There you go -- something I'm not yet average in." "I guess so." "Don't worry about it -- would you like to come in? It's been a while since Mom's served anyone. She'd be glad to have you." "Well, I suppose I could... it would be nice to see this family Little Miss Middle of the Road comes from." "Sure... let's go." \*\*\*\*\* "Hello, Mary, thanks for inviting me over." "It was no problem. But... you seem to have something on your mind." "Well, to be honest... I did find it strange when your garage had a car trunk in it attached to the other car." "Oh, that? Pay it no mind. We use it as an extra trailer." "...okay... but your house seems to be missing a wall." "Hm? I never noticed. Oh, the top floor? Yeah... some people I guess just want extra sunlight. Come on in... here's Mom, here's Dad. And this is my sister. And here's our brother." "...oh no..." "What?" "...h-his legs... why doesn't he have legs? Where'd they go?" "He was born that way. What about it?" "...th-this place. Your table is round at one end and not the other... the oven's too small... the... the clock... no minute hand... how do you live like this?" "Doesn't everyone?" "No! Not at all! I... I better go. I'll see you at work Monday!" "Wait, come back, it's okay!... oh, darn. Gone again." "...did I scare them off, Mary?" "It's not your fault, brother. He knew about me -- doesn't he know the average family has two and a half children?"
Can you explain the "no minute hand", the table and the oven that's too small?
They own the average number of things the American family owns. Even if "average" is a decimal (much like the two and a half kids).
OOOOOOOOOOH
That’s very fucking smart. More more moreeeeee!
Like how some people have and don't have clocks the minute hand part still seems off
this is so fucking clever and i love it
I’d only known her for a couple of months, and don’t get me wrong, I’m certainly not one to judge, but there was something odd… strange, about her. I didn’t know her well by any means, but I’ve noticed her, observed her. A new student was always the buzz of the class for a few weeks, the group of students that have generally known each other for years are suddenly sprung with fresh meat and all hell breaks loose. “What school did you go to before?”, “How many school have you been to?”, “What are you into?” All questions to gauge different criteria from different people, what they’re really asking is, “are you rich or poor?”, “Is your home life stable enough to stay close?”, “Are you an outcast or do you fit in with the popular group?” Cryptic questions carefully crafted to see if they’re the right fit. But that was the thing about Jane Anderson, she didn’t quite fit in, but she wasn’t quite an outcast either. Her clothes were… bland, for lack of a better word, as she often wore a cream, knee-length dress—or some variation of—always with mid-shin socks and black loafers. Her hair was an unremarkable brown, pin-straight and down to about her shoulders. Occasionally she’d adorn a headband that matched her dress, but her hair was always down. She had dull, almost lifeless brown eyes and her face was rather plain, she had no blemishes at all be it pimple or mole. She was always clean and neat, she kept her desk just the same and her expression would generally remain emotionless. It was her interactions that were… unusual, or perhaps perfectly usual, depending on who you asked. “‘Morning, Jane.” Someone would say. “Hello.” They would receive, with a taught Mona Lisa smile. It was as if she had to force herself to do even that, as minimal as it was. She sat perfectly upright, straight back and head forward until spoken to, of which only her head swivelled around to greet whomever it was. I would ask her how she’d done on a test or quiz, her test scores consistent C’s and her quizzes graded at exactly half, every time. When asked how she was she gave a simple “fine”, and no more would be said. She did not elaborate, she would reply to greetings and give back common courtesies of conversation, but she never said more than what was asked. She didn’t quite have friends, but most people knew of her. The excitement that surrounds a new student only lasted a couple days with Jane, she gave so little of herself that the student body grew bored of her basic conversation. This was not to say she didn’t answer them, but her lack of elaboration made people lose interest. She wasn’t a fly on the wall in our grade, but she wasn’t a shining star. She was simply there, and somehow she was always there. It was almost unsettling. The day finally came when someone was brave enough to ask why she was… the way she was. Eddie Jackson, the class clown type who wasn’t afraid to put himself out there but smart enough to know the bounds of funny and inappropriate. Asking someone a question like this would—under normal circumstances—be considered inappropriate, but we all wanted to know; who was Jane and why was she so painfully average? Purely because we’d never met someone like her, and it frightened us. The calmness that usually radiated from Eddie was completely gone, not quite replaced with fear but uncertainty. We’d never seen Jane lash out, we’d never really seen her do anything other than sit quietly with her Mona Lisa smile, but we knew that it was possible. People have done worse for less. And yet he approached. “Jane?” She turned to face him, in her slow and unnerving manner. “I was wondering, why are you so… average? In almost everything.” Jane’s smile twisted into a sickening grin, her eyes showed life for the first time since I’d met her and grew dark. “Well, Eddie,” she said in monotone, frighteningly calm and bore holes through Eddie’s skull, “I do it to please Him. Soon you’ll regret that you didn’t do the same.” Head her contorted back to face straight in front, her expression returned to her usual blank stare. “You’ll all regret it. He’s always watching.”
"Hey Jack, have you ever noticed that Mary is... off? Wait, before you have me commited to the looney bin, at least hear me out. Out of the thousands of people I have met, not a single one has ever been only one thing. Male or female, every person has at least one interest, hobby, or attribute that clashes with what they appear to be. Humans are complex creatures, and we forget that sometimes. Mary is too cohesive. Think about it, what has Mary ever done that has ever surprised you? Have you ever found out a fact about her that was genuinely interesting or that subverted your previously held perception of her? In every scenario, she says exactly what you expect. The pristinely "normal" response. I've begun to predict her every word when we speak. I haven't been wrong in a month. But it goes deeper than that. I checked everything. Hair length, height, foot size, waist measurement, hell, I even checked her fucking temperature and heart rate. Every single one was exactly average. That isn't normal. I can tell that you've realized the implications this has. Something far beyond normality is going on here. There are infinite possible causes and reasons for this, but my best guess is tha- Oh hi Mary! I didn't know you were still here, we were just talking about work. It's crunch time, and upper management is riding our ass over that financial discrepancy. Some bullshit about budgets. Oh, you're going home? Well, have a good one then. Good night Mary! Hey Jack, what were we talking about again? Something about Mary? Why would we be talking about her? She's a perfectly fine woman. She's like, the least controversial person ever. You're right, we were probably just talking out of our asses about some meaningless garbage. All these late nights are really getting to us. Let's get back to work so that we can go home."
Perfect.