The entry-level helpdesk technician looked at the clock: 4:55 PM. Five minutes until clocking out and getting a ride from her date. She was dressed up a little nicer than normal. Nothing too fancy, since it was a work evening, but it’d also been a while since they’d gone out anywhere. Just as she was starting to daydream about dinner, the Eville Medical helpdesk phone rang: “IT… this is Sammohini!” “Yeah, hello, just a quick question.”
The cabin of the mid-sized furniture moving truck was nearly uncomfortably chilly on that sweltering Evillian afternoon. The slow traffic moved at a reasonable pace. The passenger, Jane, had her black jeans crossed so she could prop up a technical book about computers, while the driver, Jakov, kept one eye on the road while maintaining eye contact with the other eye.
“That reminds me of this awesome idea I have for the videogame.”
The young computer repair technician crawled back to her workstation after a delicious chicken curry lunch to a fury of important messages:
Hi, Sammohini…I cannot get logged in.
Sent from my eScribe ES2001K“
Messe Business message from Nessa Shailaja:
can you go see dr duce ASAP
her computer crashed
she has a meeting in like 10 min.
Voicemail: “Hey, Sammohini, Nessa. Dr. Duce needs her computer fixed ASAP. I’ll try paging you. Okay, bye-e!”
“Hopefully they don’t have you counting each one.”
There were hundreds of blue packing peanuts spread chunky-thick across the back warehouse floor of Sneaker Transport.
Jane had just returned from an easy truck route that blazing summer to find Amund, an anxious new hire, on his knees. It looked like a box had fallen off a cart. Myriad peanuts violently spilled everywhere.
“Here, let’s get you cleaned up before anyone judgemental arrives.”
Two computer repair technicians at Eville Medical were packing up for the evening. One was upbeat, with stylish clothing, while the other, dressed in plain black, looked tired.
“Doesn’t feel like I made a dent in my workload. What a waste.”
“Aww, don’t say that, Hank! You helped me out a lot! Err-umm… I took some of that time from you, so I’ll help you out tomorrow!”
“No worries, Sammohini.”
“…Can I ask you something?”
“Make sure that these straps are tightened. We do not want this flappin’ load back and forth.”
“Done. Wanna check?”
“Go maith, Jane. There are no red cards at ‘all.”
The two furniture movers were just finishing up strapping down the last of their shipment at a bicycle shop in the blazing Evillian summer heat.
“I don’t wanna be jobless, Conaire.”
“Sea! The value of paper! We’ll faint at every opportunity for it, ceart?”
The computer repair technician was typing an email before hearing…
“Yeah, I’m back,”
Sammohini’s colleague at Eville Medical, Hank, had a crackling voice,
A violent cough disrupted the phone conversation.
Sammohini saved the email, locked her workstation, and rushed over.
trashcan between his shoes,
and Hank huddled over the trashcan.
Depressing the mute button, “so our W7000Ks have a- hhoughhh!”
“You used to work with computers, right, Doc?”
The two furniture movers were strapping down their load before a full day of deliveries.
“Why do this work, then?”
“It’s a long story, Andrius.”
They closed the lift gate and jumped in the midsized truck.
“We have time. Why not lemme know what happened, eh?”
“It’s not that exciting. I think I like doing this more. We’re paid to work, not to care about bull-“
The most miserable people I’ll meet always have goals and no plans for achieving them. Large or small – whether it’s getting out of debt, buying a boat, getting a job, getting a better job, or finding happiness – people seem to be the most miserable when their goal is impossible rather than difficult obtainable. If my current big goal is writing “The Story,” centered on John [left] and Trishna [right], what goals are they focused on?
Spoilers?: Major…? (early plot structures)
WANNA CONSIDER HOW OUR GOALS DEFINE OUR SELVES? CLICK HERE TO KEEP ON READING!
“We’ve gotta hot one, Sammohini. Wanna swing up to fix a printer with me?”
“Huh?” The junior computer repair technician stopped typing. “Oh, yeah, sure!”
Hank held a large circular toner cartridge like it was a bazooka.
“Let’s blast,” he pretended to shoot the toner-bazooka, dramatically recoiling, “this one outta the water!”
She chuckled, looked at her screens momentarily, re-read the email she was typing, clicked “Send,” locked her computer, then ran to catch up.