The Chapter Where I Explain My Story
All around me, I just hear the clicking of keyboards all day. I wish I had worked in tech development instead of marketing. You wouldn't believe some of the crazy shit that happens on the third floor of the Advanced Tech complex. Just a couple weeks ago, they had a new employee try out his fusing skills, and he ended up making the VR DVDs a little too realistic. He was working on a farm simulator. You can probably figure out the rest.
But I got my degree in graphic design, and my first attempt at programming crashed the computer twice, one blue screen opened inside the first. So here I am.
It's not horrible though. We get to do some zany things in marketing, too, believe it or not. Last birthday party we had was for Mr. Hooves, but I'll never forget what Tommy Zandanna did. He really went out on a limb and combined regular coffee with decaf, and then he drank it, the daredevil.
My name is Matthew Daines, by the way. If you haven't guessed already, most employees in the marketing section of Infuzed don't really have personal lives, myself included. I get up when its day out, work 'til sundown, go home, write some stuff I think about during work, watch TV, go to bed. I lost the time to play videogames after I hit thirty-one.
I should also explain Infuzed. Infuzed is a software company that is constantly pushing the limits of technology and magic. It was started in 1927 by a group of bright college kids, but remained in obscurity and poverty due to the Depression. It started up again in '82 under the American economic boom by a unicorn named Higher Standards, but that's all I really know about history. They never explained the whole thing very well in the job briefing. Anyway, what we do is we are trying to come up with new tech by linking it to magical energies. We've made some flying cars, but I'll admit myself, the're gas hogs. Our big selling point now, however, is virtual reality, and augmented microchips that will allow humans to teleport just as well as a unicorns aren't far off, either.
Sounds cool, right?
Well, any department other than marketing would be a fantastic job option, because as I said...we really don't do a whole lot in marketing. Maybe it's because I'm a slightly underpaid employee, although most bigwig companies will call that an "intern" so others will still apply for jobs. I just happened to be the only guy in the waiting room who'd have the experience for marketing, and the CEO was one man short.
"Hey, Matt," I heard a vaguely English voice say. I snapped out of my trance, thinking about what I'd be writing in my autobiography. Yes, my autobiography. I said I was a writer, didn't I? I've written a couple novellas and sent them in to be published. The editors and publishing company thought they were good and put them out on the shelves. It's not my main source of income, but it's a nice distraction from Infuzed.
About the voice, though: that's Mr. Hooves, whom I mentioned earlier. He's my superior in every sense except a sense of humor. Nobody gets his British jokes here in " 'Merica," and he's serious to being dull, but somehow, we're good friends. He's been at this company a long time, but everyone calls him, "Doc" or, "Doctor," in reference to his Physical Doctorate he received at Harvard. "Are you still thinking about that autobiography?" he asked.
I leaned back and told him, "You know it," stretching back in my chair.
Doc smiled and wryly added, "Having any trouble with the section about your love life?"
"Funny. Get out of my cubicle and take your weird sense of humor with you, ya redcoat," I retorted with a smile. Hooves was my superior in all ways but snarky comments, but when he hit home, he hit hard.
Doc left again, and I was back to my own devices. For a few seconds, at least, when the resident wiseasses, Snips and Snails decided to poke fun at me again upon hearing my talk with Mr. Hooves.
I heard Snips' nasally voice call out, "Well, well, well, if it isn't ol' paper-pusher herself, comin' our way."
My heart skipped and I shot up to survey the office. No familiar heads poked out over the identical sea of cubicles. "Where, where?" I asked in a sweaty panic.
Then I fully realized who had said she was coming this way, and I put on my "if looks could kill" glare and turned around to face the two troublemakers who had a giggle fit as soon as our eyes locked. I'm pretty sure those two hardly get any work done at all, and they still get paid more than I do. I'd complain to my boss, but...well...
Snails was in hysterics and could barely spit out, "O-oh, man, Matty, you sh-sh-should'a seen your face! Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha...!"
"Both of'em!" Snails continued.
Allow me to explain even further what these jokers are talking about. It all started with my first day on the job:
I had seen the briefing videos and tutorials and all that other inspirational bullshit and was carrying my stuff to my cubicle when I happened to stumble into Mr. Hooves.
"Hey, you must be the new guy."
"You don't say?" I retorted. Even after seven months, I'm amazed Doc didn't hit me on the spot for that.
"Oh, don't be such a downer, Mr..."
"Daines. Matthew Daines," I said.
"Mr. Daines," Doc finished. He held out his hand, but quickly retracted it after he remembered I had my arms full, and I gave him a "are-you-fucking-kidding-me, dude" look.
We got to the fifth floor in the marketing building after about ten minutes. While walking, he told me about the company and my position and my job, and his last words to me were, "Don't worry. I'm not like other superior officers. I'm going through the same torture on the same floor that you are."
I couldn't help but laugh, and I'd say that's where we hit it off.
It had been about two hours later when I said to myself, "Shoot, I'm parched. Maybe I'll go grab some of that chocolate milk I saw in the break room coming in." If I had known then what I know now, I would've stayed in my cubicle with my back to the gap for the rest of the day.
As I was walking down the twisting corridors and in-between cubicles, I was making mental notes to specific landmarks I could use to get to the break room and back without getting lost. This caused me to become extremely unaware of my surroundings. My head had only gone three quarters of the way back around when I witnessed a woman in a purple suit and black skirt for a split second before closing my eyes from the impact. I felt something warm splash onto my tie and undershirt as I fell and hit the ground. Its smell told me it was coffee. I stood up again as quickly as I could and blathered out, "Oh, dang, I'm sorry ma'am, or sir, I didn't get a good look at you before I-"
As she stood up again, and I could get a good look at her, time started to slow down. She was a mare. Full-grown, dark tan coat and golden blonde mane that only comes with age. Pretty light-magenta eyes, too. I felt my stomach sink and my heart rise into my throat which kept me from speaking, which seemed like a bad idea anyway, because she was pissed as an old wet hen. I couldn't hear what she was screaming either, because I was too lost in her to care about it. Then, two things went through my head: one, oh, God, I'm in love, and two, oh, damn, she's got good aim. Her backhand hit me like a wrecking ball, and she sprawled me on the floor again.
I got back to my desk without doing anything that normal folks do, posture-wise: I never blinked and my back was rigid. I sat down and kept the same blank, zombified stare on my face. It should be no surprise I almost shit myself when Mr. Hooves came knocking again.
"Hey, Mr. Daines, how are y-oh, my God, what happened to you?"
My face was white, I had black eye from having my ass handed to me, and my white office shirt had a brown stain right smack dab across the chest. Not really knowing how to answer without giving away my run-in with Cupid, I said, "I think I met my boss," and explained what happened. That's where he likes to poke fun at me nowadays, constantly pointing out my affection for Ms. Harshwhinny.
Apparently, Snips and Snails had been listening in to the whole shabang, because three days later, they began their constant pranking.
"Will you two shut up and get to work!?" Harshwhinny yelled.
"Well, I'll be. She's actually showing initiative today," I mumbled.
"I might be old, but I'm not deaf, Matthew."
It should be noted that, although I hadn't realized at the time, Ms. Harshwhinny was standing right in my cubicle opening. The only thing I could utter was, "...Shit." She had obviously come to chew me out on some project that was sub-quota, and saying what I just said about her probably just cost me my job.
"Watch your language, Mr. Daines. This is an office, not a prison," she scolded. I opened my mouth with my finger raised, but in that instant she sneered, "I don't want to hear any wise comebacks from you, either." I lowered my head and shut my mouth.
Harshwhinny folded her arms and continued, "I'd like to ask you about those sales spreadsheets..."
Oh, boy. Here comes Satan, I thought. I looked up at her timidly and hesitantly mumbled, "...down by...3.7 percent...?"
I could almost hear that comedic "glass-breaking" sound effect as her pupils became mere dots on her irises. "Mr. Daines you might be an intern, but..." I imagined hearing.
"Mr. Daines, you may be an intern, but that's no damn excuse to be making sure that sales go up. For God's sake, how in almighty heaven am I going to get you to buck up and make the ads look good, clean, and presentable!?"
"You could pay me, for one thing." I thought that was going to get me fired, but I couldn't resist.
"WE PAY YOU PLENTY! Have you seen the engineering department!? They practically work in a cavern system! I swear, if you were a full-time employee, I'd-" I decided it would be best to tune her out now, because when she starts ranting, there's very little stopping her. It's just best if you nod and accept whatever punishment she gives you. And don't breathe a word to no one, but I'm perfectly okay with taking her crap if it makes her happy, which is wishful thinking to most employees, but that's love. I ain't gotta explain shit.
