I Hate That
By Morrisa Sherman
The maroon wombats in the hall don't bother me in the slightest, nor do
the eddies and drifts of toxic snow around my desk that pile higher
under my rolodex and in my paper-clip caddie. I have to keep shaking it
off of my mouse tablet using rubber-handled forceps (for safety; I got
them from X Industries).
Still, that's not particularly inconvenient. I
also have to be careful not to let the locusts get too interested in my
ears, so I leave some fresh kale on my desk each day as a simple
precaution, and I'm just fine. I didn't even blink when the whole
Quality Assurance department was swallowed up by a great, fetid, toothy
maw that opened under their feet in front of the counter at the Thai
Food Hut in the mall today. All of their eyes were opened wide, and
they gasped and shrieked in terror as they hurtled into the darkness,
the delicate wood of their satay skewers cracking audibly between their
desperately clutching fingers. "They'll be back," I said, and of course
they are now. I did raise an eyebrow when I found out that Holland, the
B'nai Brith, and the Franklin Mint had just signed a merger for the
ultimate purpose of controlling all world interests in Mint Juleps, but
still, you can't let that sort of thing get to you. International cabal-
monopolies for the sake of far-fetched puns start up every day,
especially during a recession. It does really irk me that I can't adjust
the air-conditioner by myself, but must ask facilities to send someone
with a key to unlock the box over the control. You just never get used
to some things, you know what I mean?
I'm Dan R.'s saner moral fetish.
Copyright © 1992, Morrisa Stanfield Sherman.
This work may not be reproduced in any form without the author's explicit permission
