It’s getting late. I’ve already walked the length of this office and back three times, which isn’t much but it’s more exercise than any of the other fat asses around here get each day. I like to stay fit.
I’m the only one here now. If I sit really still the motion-sensor lights turn off so I have to frantically wave my arms around until they turn back on. Whoever thought this sustainability bullshit was going to fly has got it all wrong. Every time the lights turn off, I’m distracted, which means it’ll take me another 2 minutes to get back on track; and with the lights turning off every 15 fucking minutes, that’s 8 minutes every hour that I’m losing — and they wonder why it takes me so long to finish my work.
But hey, it’s their money. I get $10 for food if I stay past 8 pm, another $15 if I stay past 11:30 pm. It’s 1:26 now and I’m hungry again. One of the receptionists has a drawer full of snacks but it’s locked up when she’s out of the office. She doesn’t want mice getting in there, she says. Yea, right. She protects that drawer like it’s one of her cats — her precious cats. They’re displayed in framed photos that crowd her desk and then she complains she’s cramped. I’ve said she should get rid of those damn pictures then! Not like that though, of course not. I mean, I said it pretty nicely. I said it like, “Maybe if you reduced the amount of clutter on your desk, you’d have more breathing room.” Pretty damn nice, right? Bitch fucking told me to mind my own business.
Like hell I’ll mind my own business. I found the key to the snack drawer hidden inside one of her picture frames. Now her desk’s really a mess. All the pictures are out of their frames and I can’t remember which goes back where. Doesn’t matter really, I’ll just say the mice did it. Stupid bitch will probably believe me.
The snack drawer is disappointing — figures. It’s mostly chocolate-covered things and I hate chocolate. Leave it to the office bitch to bring the only snacks I don’t want to eat. I toss the key back onto her desk and turn around to return to mine. I can hear the key ricochet against one of the scattered picture frames then land with a dull thud, probably onto the carpet under her desk. Whatever, she’s a smart girl, she’ll find it. They don’t just hire anyone to be a receptionist.
Staring at the computer screen it takes me a few minutes to register where I had left off. Oh right, three more to go. Three more goddamn levels I need to beat before I can save the princess.
I’m still hungry.
For 3 more to go, see Crispy.
