I am fully aware that this is NaNoWriMo, but I'm not quite ready to jump in fully. I'm going to hide behind the Fear Of Rejection that has been roused by my job search. The following is a bit o' text I've been playing around with- I lost some of it while trying to *ahem* remove the evidence from my work computer. If I can somehow recover the rest of it, I'll add to it.
AutoCAD just dies. No warning, no chance to save her file first. It’s just…gone.
“Ahhh- CRAP!! Stupid AutoCAD!”
She slams a fist down on her desk- a folding table someone used as a drill block in its former life. She is trying to maintain good posture to ease the pain in her shoulders, with headphones half off one ear so she can hear the phone- or more accurately, Kathy screaming that she has a phone call holding, since she doesn’t actually have a phone at her desk. After attempting, twice, to use the excuse "I don't have a phone!" when Kathy yelled out that there was a call holding, she realized Kathy would continue to send calls her way regardless of her phone-less status. Meadows was nice enough to share his phone with her. It was his direct line, though, so the "scream-paging" continued. She looks up the “temp” file to see how much damage has been done.
“Dammit! I lost most of the room number tags I just put on!”
So much for efficiency, she thinks. She sighs and stretches; wincing at the bright, pinching pain in her shoulder, and starts the highly tedious task of putting room tags in the plan...again. Meadows leans back in his chair, poking his head around the side of his cubicle wall to talk to her.
"We're not supposed to be wearing jeans today."
"What? Whatever. You're kidding, right?"
"No, Jason came through the office last night around 5:30, telling everyone.”
Today was Thursday, and she normally didn’t wear jeans until Friday, but decided on the “fuck it” approach this morning. The only thing special about this Thursday was the prospective clients coming through the office for a project interview. She somehow thought the trash pile near the kitchen would impress them less than her jeans.
“Whatever. They can fire me. He should have sent an e-mail or something.”
“Well, you know how they always think of this crap at the last minute.”
Meadows leans forward again, disappearing behind the cubicle wall.
“Whaddya mean, ‘UNKNOWN COMMAND _XCLIP’?!?! You don’t just forget commands all of a sudden! You sorry piece of crap!”