It's days like this when it feels
like the cubicle walls are closing in. The clock couldn't possibly move
any slower and if one more whiney customer calls to complain - I'll scream.
The front office says no more
typewriter ribbon until next month, yet they still expect their reports to be
printed dark and fresh looking.
I couldn't take it anymore.
I got up and headed for the window. Everyone stopped typing and
just looked at me. "I don't care." I snapped at them.
For as long as I've worked here
the number one office rule was, never - ever open the shade on any of the
windows. NEVER!
Let them fire me, I thought.
What's the big deal?
As I reached out and grabbed the
bottom of the shade, I heard an auditable gasp from behind me.
I gave the shade a small tug and
let it go. With lightning speed and years of dust bursting out - the
office flooded with sunlight. People were squinting and covering their
eyes. I work with a bunch of mole people, I mumbled.
Subject:
Detective work
I have learned two things
watching detective shows,
The first is to follow the money,
the second is to look for a pattern.
As there isn't any money involved
in my dilemma, I have focused on looking for a pattern. I believe I have found
one.
Every day it's the same. My
first email of the day is sent without a hitch. Any email I create after
that sits in the Outbox all day long. Sometime during the night, they
send, as they are gone in the morning when I check. The thing that makes
it a pattern is the same experience repeated each day. No matter what I
do I cannot get anything to send after that first email.
Keep in mind I do not have a
forensic department, or a staff of seasoned assistants. I've me wits,
that's it.
OK, I heard that. Which one
of you just said, Good luck Pal.?
Anyway, I figure it has to be one
of two things; the first is the shape of the peninsula itself. It is
shaped like a large antenna, but it's facing the wrong way. By late morning all
of the electronic email waves are headed out to sea. I can't solve that one.
The second possibility has to be a conspiracy. I know for a fact
the government has 3 strike punctuation policy (I learned that one the hard way), and florivorous
email restrictions. They have also employed the Northwest Utility Tracker
System out of Canada. Yes, I know that’s N.U.T.S.
I'm sure of it. They have
intercepted some of my outgoing emails and have now put the kibosh on me. I've
been added to their No Email List. That's why some of you have received
postcards. It's my only avenue left.
With any luck this one
won't send either.
Have a great Thursday and
remember to do something frivolous.
Subject:
Border town
The Sun got up this morning and wanted to
play, while I was still in the throes of a dream involving some fancy sports
car and a mysterious, overflowing bank account.
Suddenly the crows were agreeing with the Sun, and they too began yelling,
"Rise and shine" in their raspy crow voices that sounded in my dream
like I was trying to shift gears in the sports car but was grinding them.
Each crow squawk was another failed attempt to find second gear.
Now, an hour later, as I sip my coffee I'm wondering about that border town,
that place halfway between dreaming and being awake. I have no way of knowing
exactly how long I spend there. Time never seems to enter into it. There
is a very small part of me that knows I'm not actuality grinding gears, somehow
I know I'm still laying on the bed and the Sun is getting more difficult to
ignore.
The non-grown up part of me, however, wants to stay in the little sports car,
find second gear and speed along the coast highway, cliffs to my right, a
drop-off down to the ocean on my left, and a gas tank that never runs dry.
Maybe, this is a glimpse of Heaven I'm seeing. Just maybe that is how it
all works. We get to see little snippets of our future existence in that
brief moment. Maybe even God can't keep a secret, he's so excited for us
that he slips in little bits and pieces for us to enjoy while we're here.
Subject:
One day in New York
She had heard there was a
finder's fee, that was her only motivation. When she showed up at the
door she was holding a shoebox. She had one hand supporting it from the
bottom and the other holding the top down, like something was going to pop out
if she didn't.
I looked at her for a moment and
then asked, "How did you ring the bell?"
She didn't answer, in fact, her
expression never changed. There was just a vacant stare.
"Would you like to come
in?" I asked.
I stepped aside and she
cautiously entered, looking around to see who else might be in the room.
Just a couple of steps in she stopped, turned, and in a shaky voice said,
"There's supposed to be a finder's fee."
I'll need to see inside the box
first, I said. She quickly drew the box in closer to her.
I'm not paying unless I see, I
said. Again, she glanced around the room then carefully lifted the top
from the box.
I could see them, they looked
perfect. I went over to the coffee table and got my wallet. I
pulled two twenties out and handed them to her. It was the first time
there was a hint of a smile. She handed the box to me and quickly tucked
the bills into her pocket.
As I carefully took them from the
box, I looked back at her. "It's called a delivery charge, not a
finder's fee."
She left without saying a word
while I tried on my new shoes.
Subject:
Based on actual events
Picture
if you will...
It
is Friday morning, 6 am and the sun flickers on my eyelids like an old movie.
It takes a moment or two to get my bearings. There are forces at
work telling me it's time to get up. I had taken half of a sleeping pill the
night before so my morning fog hasn't lifted yet.
I
make my way to the bathroom, close the door and turn on both the light as well
as the exhaust fan. It is very bright but my eyes adjust. You may want
to sit down for this part, I did.
Imagine
the desert sun shining brightly upon a rock. Their is a lizard warming
himself there. He hasn't a care in the world when suddenly an ominous shadow
crosses over him. What was that, he asks himself, unaware that overhead a
hawk circles back around, thinking only of having his breakfast.
I,
myself, suddenly experience such a dreadful moment. I am positive I just
saw a shadow cross the floor tiles in front of me. Something has passed
in front of the lights that hang over the mirror. I am not so groggy as
to believe a bird has made its way into the room, but something much smaller is
not out of the question.
A
mental image flashes in my head. It is a scene from The Sixth Sense, with
Bruce Willis. A small boy is walking down the hallway in his house when
something seems to quickly pass behind him. Even the audience isn't sure
what just happened. Is it real? Did I really just see a shadow
cross over the tile floors before me?
Suddenly
I am wide awake. There is no sleeping pill residue
affecting
me. It's a mosquito, I know it is, and it's about to snatch me from this rock
and have me for breakfast.
Welcome
to my Friday.
