Johnson makes his day
Johnson sat quietly, biting his fingernails. His legs were crossed, ankle to knee, right over left. His left tapped continuously like the needle assembly of a sewing machine.From inside his office, the glass walls of the rest of the offices framed a maze from this cubicle to that white board, from this entrance to that key card reader. He tapped his foot.
He could see the board room from his chair. The glass walls at angles robbed a percentage of clarity each time his vision passed through, but he could still see them in there. The suits... the empty suits.
There were four meeting rooms around the office.
HR had sent an email out when they had moved into the space, asking everyone to submit suggestions for names of the meeting rooms. Johnson had personally suggested to the hot girl in HR that the names be Shitmissile, Fuckpickle, Dongtrickle, and Tinklesquirts. The winning entry had been to name them after the different neighborhoods in the city. Johnson thought this was stupid, since that meant you always had to ask if your meeting was in the REAL neighborhood, or the meeting room of the same name, but fuck it. Meetings could be held on top of the HR girls tits and he still wouldn't want to attend.
The suits were hunkered around a long table in the largest of the meeting rooms. Someone had almost certainly paid his yearly salary for that table. It supported their elbows and notepads and laptops and egos with a Scandinavian flair. He hated the table, but not as much as he hated the projector which enthralled the suits so completely.
He imagined a long steel rod half the distance between himself and the center of the boardroom, anchored to the floor of the office with a giant hinge. In his fantasy, he strapped himself to his end of the rod, and leaped into the air, crashing through the ceiling.
His head pushed a sound-dampening tile up, and it saved his melon from a nasty crack on a pipe above the ceiling as the rod itself smashed the glass walls on its way up. He crested his arc, and paused as his weight carried him over, headfirst.
As he gained speed, he giggled.
He smashed through the board room ceiling tiles at terrific speed as the rod supporting him crushed drywall and glass under him. He shouted at the top of his lungs for the split second before he hit the boardroom table.
Johnson smiled to himself as the fantasy faded. If only he lived in a cartoon.
Inside the board room men and women got up in ones and twos to dance strangely for the group. They pointed and gestured beside the glowing projections of pie charts and lines and words. This is what we make. This is why you need it. Spend your money on us.
His boss's boss, Dane, had wedged himself into a corduroy sport coat to present himself to the empty suits. He was talking.
"Our network products really ease the hassles of maintaining many different styles of service offerings for the broadband... Oh!. Hi Johnson. Here's one of our Network people now!"
Johnson stood at the open door. His ID badges swayed slightly from the retractable string clipped to his belt. Johnson felt his body relax totally, becoming one with his mind and soul. Time slowed for him. He felt so incredibly beautiful, as he slowly leaned forward, into the first step. His body worked perfectly for him, muscles tightened and relaxed in a symphony of design, simple, yet complex. He was a lion, a cheetah.
Johnson made the two steps from the door to the edge of the boardroom table and coiled like a snake. He converted potential to kinetic and took flight, arms stretched out before him like Superman.
As he sailed, perfectly parallel to the Scandinavian table, he saw that he was going to land dead in the center, sliding through the middle of the table and clearing two laptops off of it, eventually ending up in the laps of two very rich men in leather chairs.
"This is shaping up to really be a good day" Johnson thought, smiling to himself.
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