After a long (and rather smelly) public transition into the corporate gray world, I spent the morning sharpening a rather intimidating pile of #2's, while Mr. Olmstein studied several models of space-age bolts, muttering to himself. I came dangerously close to feeding his two favorite pens into the sharpener, but quickly stopped myself when I realized where I was going.
Mr. Olmstein turned around, gesturing at me with the strange bolt-thing, and asked me a question. Unfortunately, it was rather hard to decipher, because his words came out as clicking noises, like typing on a keyboard. I strained, watching his mouth shape the words carefully. And to no avail. I blinked, and shook my head several times, as his face warped and blurred. It was all very similar to a low-budget sci-fi flick special effect.
"Excuse me?"
Olmstein looked worried and irritated (at the same time, which is very interesting), and his forehead furrowed together so deeply that I feared his eyebrows might jump off his face, crawl away, and turn into butterflies.
"The design, Phoenix?"
I stared into my coffee cup. LSD never really did have a distinctive taste. I was undoubtedly the victim of someone's cruel joke. I rubbed my eyes and tried to fasten my attention on the doobob that Olmstein was brandishing. It looked exactly like every other doobob that we produce, here at Olmstein & Fidget.
"Fantastic," I mumble.
Olmstein sighed in that special exasperated fashion that is so inherent to balding and impatient bosses all over America. He left the room, his footprints leaving smears of glowing color that gradually faded. I was losing my mind. Either that, or Olmstein was transcending the realm of humanity and becoming a cosmic butterfly. And I figured that going insane would come first. In the designated scheme of things.
The rain drips down the window. Depression sets in.
I can see my face distorted in every drop as it slides down the glass and towards the window ledge, whose tasteful steel-blue paint has begun to raise and curl, as if in protest. "Paint me red!" it screams. I suddenly feel very sad for the paint�mixed as an apathetic shade of gray, while deep inside, all it ever wanted was to be a flamboyant rouge. God is heartless and cruel.
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