“Bullshit.”
I can’t remember when this became my answer for everything – probably when I was a kid. And, yes, I still think it’s funny. It’s just easier than trying to rationally explain my reasons to anyone with inferior intelligence—which is just about everyone, including the overseer. He gave me the paper and I just set it on top of the mess of papers on my desk, hoping it would send him closer to the edge. He was almost ready to topple over it. He was getting jumpy since it was near the end of the day so I checked my watch to see exactly what time it was and how long I could put him off. Sure enough, it added flame to the fire.
“It’s not bullshit, Tom. Get it done. Before five.”
The overseer didn’t stick around to watch me sneer. Maybe he didn’t care, or maybe he was even closer to boiling over. I would have muttered one more “Bullshit,” but no one was around to hear. Spinning around in my chair, I reveled in the carnage on my desk. Was mold actually growing under that cup yet? Yes! The cup had already adhered itself. How long had it been there? Maybe about two months – I distinctly remember wondering how long it was going to take for it to stick.
No, it had been exactly six weeks ago, because I’d marked the calendar mid-August. I put the half-filled cup there the same day I began the current campaign to see how long it would take the overseer to snap this time. Imagining the manifest fury that will be unleashed when he’s had enough always makes me smile. The overseer already made it two weeks past my original target date – a new record.
With two minutes to go, I picked up the paper he’d given me. Another sell order, and no good reason on God’s green earth why it had to be done before five. The market was already closed. It was getting too late in the day for this. Oh well. It was almost payday, and production bonuses were coming up soon.
“Alright,” I hate talking to myself, much less when I sigh at myself with no one to sympathize with me. My fingers flew over the keyboard. I hate using the mouse – it’s too slow. Thirty seconds later it was done. “Now,” I spun the chair around to look at the credenza. “A pen. A pen,” I chanted, as if saying it would actually help me find something – anything – resembling a pen in the mountain of paperwork.
“It is done?”
I hadn’t even realized the overseer was standing right on the edge of my cubicle, watching me – probably this whole time. “The order is in. I just need to finish the paperwork in triplicate.” Either he didn't appreciate my little joke, or he didn't get it. The overseer had already started sprinting toward the exit. I just talked louder to make sure he heard me. “Plus I’ve got a few other things to finish up. I’ll probably hang out here for another half-hour or so.” Yah right!
===EXERCISE: 3AM EPIPHANY - #8 (THIRD TO FIRST)
Take a story you’ve written, and switch from 3rd person to 1st person. Cut references (he/she) in half. 500 words. Current # of “He”: x71; “I”: 0 – Target 35 “I” references. Results: “I”: x20; “me”: x8
Note: I didn’t really want to do this exercise because I’m already writing a 1st person story, and I already like 1st person, and I am already the unpaid master of 1st person. So… I did it anyway. Why? 1) Because I am a rational person, capable of deciding things for myself. 2) Out of respect for the random number and the universe that dealt it to me. “You must have faith.” “Faith?” “That the universe will unfold as it should.” (Spock & Valaris)
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