"Maggie! Can you grab me a tissue?" Steve yelled from his swivel chair, it appeared slightly more padded than the others in the office, but it was simply because all the stuffing had migrated away from the weight that seldom lifted during office hours and plumped up the edges.
"Maggie!" he yelled again, rolling himself towards the door. The chair didn't roll very smoothly on the carpet and Steve would have saved himself the effort if he just got up. Maggie didn't reply. With a loud grunt that sounded as if it came from the depths of his belly, he pulled himself up, pushing the chair away, which glided across the carpet easily now free of it's burden. Opening the door he was confronted by an eerie silence. No one was in the office. What also struck him as odd was a cold breeze flowing between and through the cubicles. The heater must've konked out, Steve thought to himself, wandering the aisles checking each of the cubicles. But this was obviously quite the error (arrogant-narrator style) as he stumbled upon the shattered glass littering the carpet. He stood there in shock as the overhead heater blew out hot air, trying it's hardest to compensate for the invasion of the cold, down the back of his neck. As he stood there he began to hear tiny, little voices. Voices telling him to climb out. To jump out the third story window. He shook his head, he was sure that it wasn't the case, that this was no reason to jump to his doom. The heat on the back of his neck was getting hotter, and hotter so he stepped away from the outlet and towards the window. there was a crowd down below, and a firetruck, and another fire truck, and a third and low and behold there was the ends of a ladder poking up from the window ledge (a three story ladder? how convenient). He looked behind him and sniffed the air, nothing. there was absolutely nothing to provoke such a visit.
"What seems to be the problem?" He yelled down at the crowd, but couldn't hear any reply so started off down the ladder, each rung sagging slightly with the bulging weight of the transcend-er. It took almost ten minutes for him to reach the bottom, covered and smelling of sweat. Maggie stormed up to him and ripped the blaring earphones from his head, that Steve had somehow failed to notice. Suddenly the something-rock was replaced by sirens and Maggie.
"I told you we had the drill today!" Maggie shook her head furiously. She'd put so much effort into making it real, she'd practically been on her hands and knees begging her connections from the fire department, and forking out a heap of "funds". Idiots, surrounded by idiots. At least it was tax deductible.
p.s. i have no idea if fire drills are tax deductible.
Unrelated text: quit that job the day after. i'm not a photographer, especially one that works for commission on items in a store that isn't up yet. 400 items? you gotta be kidding me, i'd die.
"Maggie!" he yelled again, rolling himself towards the door. The chair didn't roll very smoothly on the carpet and Steve would have saved himself the effort if he just got up. Maggie didn't reply. With a loud grunt that sounded as if it came from the depths of his belly, he pulled himself up, pushing the chair away, which glided across the carpet easily now free of it's burden. Opening the door he was confronted by an eerie silence. No one was in the office. What also struck him as odd was a cold breeze flowing between and through the cubicles. The heater must've konked out, Steve thought to himself, wandering the aisles checking each of the cubicles. But this was obviously quite the error (arrogant-narrator style) as he stumbled upon the shattered glass littering the carpet. He stood there in shock as the overhead heater blew out hot air, trying it's hardest to compensate for the invasion of the cold, down the back of his neck. As he stood there he began to hear tiny, little voices. Voices telling him to climb out. To jump out the third story window. He shook his head, he was sure that it wasn't the case, that this was no reason to jump to his doom. The heat on the back of his neck was getting hotter, and hotter so he stepped away from the outlet and towards the window. there was a crowd down below, and a firetruck, and another fire truck, and a third and low and behold there was the ends of a ladder poking up from the window ledge (a three story ladder? how convenient). He looked behind him and sniffed the air, nothing. there was absolutely nothing to provoke such a visit.
"What seems to be the problem?" He yelled down at the crowd, but couldn't hear any reply so started off down the ladder, each rung sagging slightly with the bulging weight of the transcend-er. It took almost ten minutes for him to reach the bottom, covered and smelling of sweat. Maggie stormed up to him and ripped the blaring earphones from his head, that Steve had somehow failed to notice. Suddenly the something-rock was replaced by sirens and Maggie.
"I told you we had the drill today!" Maggie shook her head furiously. She'd put so much effort into making it real, she'd practically been on her hands and knees begging her connections from the fire department, and forking out a heap of "funds". Idiots, surrounded by idiots. At least it was tax deductible.
p.s. i have no idea if fire drills are tax deductible.
Unrelated text: quit that job the day after. i'm not a photographer, especially one that works for commission on items in a store that isn't up yet. 400 items? you gotta be kidding me, i'd die.
posted by Frances bo bancess at Thursday, July 03, 2008
2 Comments:
have u written a book or two. writing comes so easy to you.
um... it's a bit few and far between to say it comes easy and i personally don't think of it as easy(not that it's a chore), the quality of finished product is a bit debatable too. i don't have enough dedication to write a book, but thanks for the compliment. =)
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