Story 243: You Just Can’t Leave on Time

            [8:01 a.m.]

            Friend 1: (Entering the office) Morning.

            Friend 2: (Sighs softly, not looking up from the computer) That it is.

            Friend 1: (Settles belongings at desk and sits) Just a heads-up: I’ve got a thing right after work today, so I have to leave at 4:30 on the dot.

            Friend 2: (Looks over) What, you mean on time?

           Friend 1: Yeah yeah, I always wind up doing one last thing that pushes me over a few minutes, but today I really need to leave at 4:30.  As in, not even a minute later.

            Friend 2: Not gonna happen.  (Returns to the computer)

            Friend 1: What?  How do you know?

           Friend 2: (Looks back) Because you jinxed it: you said it out loud, and now it doesn’t matter how much you prepare ahead, you will not get out of here on time.  The universe has accepted your challenge and will deploy everything it has to keep you from leaving.  Your fate is sealed: no point in fighting it.

         Friend 1: I’d say you were talking out of your hat if you wore one, and now you’re just throwing me off my schedule.

            Friend 2: You’ll see I’m right.  Enjoy your misguided optimism while it lasts.

            Friend 1: It’s like talking to a wall.

            [10:30 a.m.]

           Friend 1: Did you see the e-mail about a meeting at 3:00?!  That’s going to set me back at least an hour that I can’t spare, and it’ll be pointless to boot!

            (Friend 2 looks over and smiles evilly)

            Friend 1: Oh shut up.  I’ll just have to push that one report I was going to work on today off to tomorrow.  That day is now pre-ruined, but this day is salvaged.  Yes, that should do nicely.

            Friend 2: (Shakes head slowly) You poor, poor sap.

            [1:15 p.m.]

           Friend 1: (Answers the desk phone) Billing Department, this is -----, how may I help you?... Oh hi, what can I do for you?... Oh…. Oh, OK…. Sure, I can do that for you…. How soon do you need it by?... Well, we actually have that meeting at 3…. Yeah, I’ll get it to you before 5…. `K, bye.  (Disconnects the call, then slams down the receiver and whispers) Noooooooooooo….

            Friend 2: (Leans back from the desk to look over at Friend 1) What’s that?

            Friend 1: Nothing!  (Starts typing furiously)

            Friend 2: You sure?  It seemed like the sound of an unexpected project being tossed your way.

            Friend 1: The more you talk, the more I’m delayed!

            Friend 2: Uh-huh.  (Resumes work.  After a minute) Need any help?

            Friend 1: (With blazing eyes fixed on the screen) No one can help me!

            Friend 2: Hoo boy.

            [3:15 p.m.]

            Speaker: (To the employees gathered in a conference room) …and when you select this tab, you’ll see all your options for restructuring, drilling down, and purchasing….

           Friend 1: (In a whispered conversation with Friend 2) Son of a gun, this is the exact same stuff that was covered in the e-mail they sent out last week!

            Friend 2: Yeah, but who actually reads those?

            Friend 1: I do!

            Friend 2: Then you’re in the minority.

            Speaker: Next question?

          Co-Worker 1: Yes, will we still be able to use the old system to place orders once the new system goes live?

            Friend 1: (Stands and addresses the ceiling) For the love of all that is decent, no!  Read, fools, why can’t you people read?!!! (Runs away)

            Friend 2: Heh-heh, sweet.

            [4:03 p.m.]

            Friend 1: Done!  Finished all of my work, finished all of other people’s work, and I just have to finish this one last thing and I’m free!

            Friend 2: (Sing-song) You’re not gonna make it….

            Friend 1: If you’re the one who makes me late, you will never know peace again.

            [4:28 p.m.]

            Friend 1: Dare I say it?

            Friend 2: I wouldn’t.

            (Friend 1’s desk phone rings)

            Friend 1: (Turns sharply to glare at it and hisses) Beast!

            Friend 2: I’d let it go to voicemail.

           Friend 1: Of course you would, you never answer the phone anyway!  (Ringing continues) Ooh, I’m technically still on the clock, and what if it’s important that can’t wait `til tomorrow and I get fired because I didn’t answer?!  (Snatches the receiver) Billing Department, this is – Hiiiii?  How are you?... Well, I'm actually leaving for the day…. (Friend 2 slowly taps a watch; Friend 1 grabs a pencil to chew on) Uh-huh, so you need me to walk you through it?... I’m sorry – what is your actual question then?

            (Co-Worker 2 enters and hovers around Friend 1’s desk)

            Friend 2: (Packing up to leave) Need help?

            Co-Worker 2: Yeah, but I can wait.  (Gestures at Friend 1)

          Friend 1: (Still on the phone) OK, I’m listening.  (Slumps down onto the desk and weeps soundlessly)

            Friend 2: Take a number, and maybe bring some candy as a peace offering.

Story 226: Tunnel Vision at the Workplace

            The employee stared at the spreadsheet on the screen in front of her, wondering how on Earth to reconcile the columns of numbers there with the columns of numbers that she previously had been given.  The data had not changed in the meantime, so this certainly was a puzzler.

           To take a quick break and hope the math would resolve itself, she checked the e-mail messages that she had ignored for the past two hours during the vain attempt to finish this project.

            Ten new messages – oh boy.  Most of them would be meaningless.

         One did catch her attention: Emergency Mandatory Meeting at 10:00 a.m. in the Blue Conference Room.  She shifted her eyes to the bottom right of the screen and saw the time was now 11:47 a.m.  Oops.  Oh well, no other related messages; can’t have been that important.

           She unwillingly returned to wading in the sea of numbers and saw at last what needed to be done: she proceeded to do it, in triumph.

            An hour later, one of her co-workers stopped by on her way to lunch: “Wow, can you believe what’s going on?  I mean, I just, there are no words.”

          Not wanting to admit that she had not attended the meeting that required attendance, she noncommittally replied with: “I hear ya.”

            “You’re not kidding.”

            She buried her head in a random file folder to signal that she was significantly busy and had no time for idle chit-chat about important issues; the other employee took the rude hint and looked for other company with which to share the misery.

           The employee stared at the papers in the folder and could not believe her eyes: How could such a glaring typo have been included in this policy for… eight years?!  And no one noticed it!?  Now it’s going to have to go through committee review all over again; who knows what else is wrong with it?!  The worst part of the whole thing was that she was the one who had written it.

            She was engrossed in cross-outs, inserts, and transpositions when her phone interrupted: “Yes, what is it?” she answered with her standard greeting.

            “Can you believe what’s going on?  I’m beside myself.  I mean, can you believe it?”

            She quickly reviewed her options and went with: “No.”

            “I know, right?  So, any ideas on what you’re going to do about it?”

            Another unnecessary apostrophe?!  Son of a – “Listen, I can’t talk right now, I’ve gotta go.”

            “Ooooh, I understand, say no more.  Good luck!”

          She hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment: Should I start being concerned about whatever it is everyone else seems to know and I don’t?  That was overridden by the shame in seeing her correction-riddled document, which she originally thought she had written so well.  If I had messed up so badly with that, what else in life have I messed up without knowing it?!

            “Hey.”  She looked up from the cross-referenced papers to see her manager standing next to the desk.  “Got a minute?”

            Not really; there is too much to be done and too much is at stake.  “Sure – what’s up?”

            He sat on the edge of the desk, threatening her precarious piles.  “You know, what they said at the meeting today, that affects all of us.”

            “…Yes?”

        “And, frankly, we’re not certain what’s going to happen down the road, and everyone’s worried.”

            “…Yes?”

            “Is there anything you’d like to talk about, with me or with Human Resources?”

            “…No?”

            He raised his eyebrows at her.  “‘No?’”

            “No.”

          “Wow.  OK.  Then I guess there’s nothing left to discuss here.”  He stood to leave, then hovered again.  “You know, I’m actually a bit surprised – I figured you of all people would’ve had a few choice words to say about all this.”

            “Well, you know me.”  She looked back down at her papers.

            “What?”

            “What?”  She looked back up at him again.

            “Never mind.”  And he finally left.

          She went back to tearing her work apart when a new e-mail caught her eye: Please meet with Human Resources and your manager at 3:00 p.m.  That was in five minutes, and it would take five minutes to walk down there.

            Oh, bother.  She threw her pencil and papers onto the desk and stalked all the way to H.R.  How am I ever supposed to get any work done around here with all these interruptions?!

Story 221: Now They Have You; or, Trapped in Telemarketer Prison

            In the supermarket, Shopper had just finished with the checkout line and is on his way to the exit with his one bag when his eye naturally is caught by a huge sign above a table.  The sign reads “GUESS THE NUMBER OF PIECES OF CANDY TO WIN!!!”; on the table itself is a tall jar filled with the candy, a box marked “GUESSES,” and a tear-off pad for customers to enter their guess and contact information.

            Shopper stares at all these for a few moments.

Shopper: (Shrugs) Hm.  Couldn’t hurt.

He leans down to write in everything the form asks.  He views the jar at different angles with twitchy looks on his face as he tries to calculate the number, at one point picking up the jar to count pieces with his pen before shaking his head and setting it back down.  He then writes “365” on a whim, tears off the page, and places it into the box.

            Guess Box: (Demonically) HA.  HA.  HA.

            Shopper freezes with his eyes widening as he stares at the box.  He looks around to see if he is being pranked, then stares at the box some more.  He then thinks maybe he is losing track of the seasons, as his 30+-year-old brain has been doing so more and more lately.

            Shopper: Is it Halloween?  (Looks out through the store exit and sees the snow falling on the parking lot, then turns back to the box) Guess not.

            He leaves the store and goes home.  In his living room, he takes out his laptop and signs onto his e-mail: his Inbox displays “1,750” as the number of new messages, all received within the past hour.

            Shopper: (As he scrolls through the neverending list) Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa-how did this happen?!  Did I get hacked?!  (He thinks back to the supermarket incident) Oh no, I gave them my e-mail address.  And now they have me.

TWO HOURS LATER

            He got into a rhythm of selecting “Unsubscribe,” hitting Ctrl+V to paste his e-mail address, selecting “Submit,” and then “Delete” on the original e-mail for each and every one received and kept receiving, until he finally caught up.

            Shopper: There, they can’t e-mail me ever again, according to their code of honor.

          He watches in horror as e-mails from brand-new addresses begin appearing in his Inbox, increasing the count to 20, 75, 280, 900 –

            Shopper: (Slamming his laptop cover down, as if that would do anything.  Whispers) They’ve adapted.

            His phone vibrates, signaling it has finished charging as it had sat on the lamp table ever since he had gotten home.  He jumps slightly, then unplugs it, starts it up, and unlocks it.  He sees that he has 225 missed calls.

            Shopper: (Slowly shaking his head in denial as he scrolls through the random area codes, then selects “Delete All” for them and for the 225 voicemails) Ha!  In your face!  Oh, wait, that last one was Mom.  (The phone then rings; he sees that it is a local number and answers it) Hello?

            Voice: Hello, you’re hard to get in touch with – we’ve called you 17 times.  You’ve stayed at one of our resorts in the past and –

            Shopper: That’s a filthy lie and I hate you!

            He disconnects and triumphantly blocks the number.  The phone immediately rings again.

            Shopper: (As if nothing has happened) Hello?

            Voice: Hello, you’re hard to get in touch with –

            Shopper: You think that was hard?!  (Blocks the new number)

          There is a knocking on the front door: he stares at it in fear as his phone rings again.  He chucks the phone onto the couch and opens the door to see a courier holding an electronic clipboard and a leash attached to a large animal.

            Courier: Hello – did you order an alpaca and a deed to the farm where he lives?

            Shopper: NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!  (Slams the door and triple-locks it)

            Courier: (Looks at the clipboard) Oh I see, this is for next door.

            Back at the supermarket, Shopper returns to the scene and stares at the empty place where the table had stood.  An Employee then approaches him from his blind side.

            Employee: Hi!  Can I help you?

          Shopper: Yes, actually: I was just wondering if there is any way out of the telemarketing prison to which you people have consigned me?!

            Employee: Oh, were you the one who filled out the “Guess the Candy” card?  Be right back.

           Shopper stands there in impotent rage-filled confusion until Employee returns with the candy jar.

            Employee: Congratulations, you won!  (Hands him the unwieldy jar)

            Shopper: I… won?  This is the prize?

            Employee: It sure is!  Enjoy!

            Shopper: But I thought it was going to be, I dunno, like a gift card or something?

            Employee: …Why?

           Shopper: You’re right, never mind; my real point is, how could you people completely sell all my information to those scum-sucking, low-living, dedicated-dialing –

          Employee: You mean from the card you filled out?  It said on the sign what was going to happen.

Employee whips out the sign where, in small print at the bottom, it reads: “By entering this contest you agree that your contact information will be sold by this store to everyone.”

Shopper: Again I ask, how could you?!

Employee: What, you think we’d just give something away?  What business on Earth does that?  I must say, though, everyone else had the same opinion you do, but you were the only one who actually filled out a card – we were five minutes away from scrapping the whole display when you showed up.

Shopper: And now I’m trapped forever.

            Employee: As a consolation for your negative experience, I can offer to sign you up to receive store coupons, if you like.

            Shopper: How often would I be receiving them?

           Employee: Every week, until you die.  (Smiling wildly as he looks at her in terror) Or until our company goes out of business, which nowadays, probably will happen first.

            Back at his house, Shopper slumps onto an armchair and begins slowly eating the candy from the unwieldy jar.  His phone rings; he cringes as he picks it up to check the screen, then relaxes.

            Shopper: Hi, Mom.

            Mom’s Voice: Are you all right?  You haven’t been answering and your voicemail’s full.

            Shopper: Yes it is, and on a related note right now I’m trying to give myself diabetes to speed things along.

            Mom’s Voice: Don’t do that, hon – they’ll take your foot, just like Uncle Morty.

            Shopper: (Looks at his foot, then tosses the candy jar away) Do you know how to deal with a telemarketer problem?  As in a really bad, extreme telemarketer problem?

            Mom’s Voice: I just don’t answer them, thanks to Caller ID and spam filters; they usually give up and move on to new prey, those poor saps.

            Shopper hears noises outside his front door.

            Shopper: Thanks, Mom – I’ll call you later.         

            Mom’s Voice: Good luck, sweetie!  When in doubt, just say “Not today, evildoers!”

            They say good-bye and he disconnects the call; when he goes outside, he sees the mail carrier struggling with piles of envelopes.

            Shopper: Hello.

          Mail Carrier: (Relieved) Oh, hi, here you go, thanks!  (Dumps the envelopes into a jumbo garbage bag and hands that over to Shopper) Man, who did you tick off?  (Does not wait for an answer and skips away, chuckling)

           Shopper: (Peers into the 40-gallon bag) I wonder if anyone would believe me if I told them this is why I threw out my bills.