The Monday makes sense, but Tuesday?
The Help Desk is on speed dial. They've all begrudgingly learned me by name and voice- but my computer is up to par now. No bother, I'm told by a superior. The squeaking wheel gets the attention around here. I settled in with the folks in London, got their confidences taken care of, but the supply closet loomed over me.
After a few days of requests, writing utensils handed out, I eventually had to retrieve the key from the head hancho's office. Down the long slinking hall, I shimmied the key in and revealed a mess of office essentials. Have I ever mentioned my adoration for office supplies? Give me a bouquet of freshly sharpened pencils! Notebooks...colored paper clips! I rooted around a bit and uncovered the Double A batteries and glue stick that I needed.
I turned to the door. Closed. I reached for the handle: wait. What's this? Am I?
I pulled, shook. Rattled. It's late in the day o'clock. Rattle. Rattle
Rattle!?!?
Suddenly I felt a pressure back.
Pete. Elizabeth peered around his shoulder. Eyes sparked, "Nice work. We heard the sounds. Came to investigate."
"I did- scuffle a bit. I'm a moron, it seems."
"It took me a while to figure out the door, as well," she looked down to my fist full of batteries and glue.
"Locks aren't my strong suit, it seems. I assure you I have other strengths, like updating websites...things you: hired...me...for."
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