Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2050970-Writers-Cramp
Printer Friendly Page Tell A Friend
No ratings.
by stuck
Rated: E · Short Story · Fanfiction · #2050970
7/29 for the contest.
Use the following line as the LAST line of your story or poem - it must be bolded and it must appear exactly as it does below, with no edits or changes of any kind.

"Does there have to be a reason?" she asked.

He was a tyrant.

A typical day involved me showing up for work at 0825, five minutes before he did, so my car would be in full sight when he drove in the lot. It didn't matter, really, that I beat him to work, but it did matter to me in someway for some reason. He didn't care if I was there or not at any certain time of the morning and he gave great latitude to me in scheduling my day. Why I felt the need to precede him in the building is anyone's guess, I guess.

My cube was located in the converted warehouse of the building, behind the executive and IT area, in the Operations Pen where it was noisy not unlike a casino. Of course, employees didn't generally yell out like people occasionally do at a casino, but the murmur and the low electronic phone-ring noises were similar. Too bad I gambled with professional fate one too many times- maybe I took the place for the place of odds that it sounded like. His office resided up front, next to the front door, and you needed to walk past it to get in or out of the building. Maybe that was one reason I tried to beat him to work, I don't know.

I handled the corporate customers. Yes'sir No'maam You got it, friend. That type of stuff. I was thrust into the role without having any experience in the industry- didn't even know what a semi colon was- but I was good sluffing off on my butt in front of a computer. I guess that is why they hired me.

John was the lead typist and was the typical type for that role. You know- proper posture, polyester pants, cheap tie, near sighted. You get the picture. He was in the next cube over and so we were silently in each others business at all times. Click, click, clickety click he would go. Yeah, no problem, but I just can't find your account right now I would go. And on and on it would go. One day I felt wise and offered him some advice to type at a different pace to change his outlook on life. He stared at his computer and typed on without reaction or cadence change. What a funny guy, I thought. What a funny guy, he thought. I could see that we thought alike. I liked him for that.

John drank cheap coffee and ate doughnuts in the morning. He drank Diet Coke and ate Doritos in the afternoon. He was like clockwork in his actions and about as fun as clockwatching to be with. He did have talent, though. Due to his typing ability, we put out 4,000 words per day more than our competitors did. And the words were long, too. That meant that the Government needed us and kept the money flowing in. Churning out that many words meant that our customers were always full, too. Full customers meant questions which justified my desk. I liked John for that.

© Copyright 2015 stuck (air2desk at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2050970-Writers-Cramp