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Joined: 01 Jul 2004
|Posted: Mon Jan 03, 2005 5:56 pm Post subject: Sally Weathernest
|Sally Weathernest, a rather boarish woman, possessing both an age and a likeability known to few, huffed her way through the office, back to her desk. Her thick, beefy feet nearly tore clean through her white sneakers with each step and her coffee-stained breath left a wake that could bowl you right off your chair.
She wore a crooked smile on her crudely painted lips. She had just told Mr. Mansfield to shove it, the job, the company and his profit sharing plan, crosswise up his keester.
She felt a slight sense of excitement and perhaps even a little thrill from telling her boss to shove it. She didn't think about the possible consequences until she sat down at her desk a few minutes later. 'Perhaps that wasn't such a good idea,' she thought with a frown. 'I could lose my job.' She couldn't afford that, not now, she was barely able to pay the rent right now if she lost her job...well perhaps it wouln't come to that. 'Still,' Sally thought with a smile, 'It felt good to tell Mr. Mansfield what was really on my mind!'
by Heidi Yang
Losing her job was not that the worst thing in the world, she could go live with her mother in her damp one bedroom apartment until she found another job. How would she explain getting fired to her morally correct mother. With that Mr. Mansfield approached her.......
by Cinnamon Brown
..and almost instinctively, she eyeballed the stabbing scissors conveniently handy on her desk top. "Should he choose to provoke me," she thought, calmly, "after everything we've been through this morning, I will have no choice but to gore him!" The notion was both insane and comforting and when Mr. Mansfield witnessed the creepy smile crawl slowly across her face, he wisely stopped a safe distance from her cubicle.
Sally watched the old goat from the corner of her eyes. He stood hesitantly and carefully two cubicles away and was shuffling through a stack of papers. Then, he stopped and began to carefully study one of the documents. When he scrunched his nose up, and then pushed his biofocals tighter on his face up with the back of his index finger, Sally grabbed her telephone and buzzed her co-worker. “Ya see that,” she whispered confidingly, “Mr. McGoo’s on the warpath again!”
Her friend giggled at the mention of their boss’s secret nick name, but before she could respond further, …
A beatific smile, like that on the face of an alligator as it watches a lamb come down to the water's edge to drink.
"Guess what, Sally ..."
"Yes?" She answered tentatively.
"You've misspelled Mr. Martingale's name. How stupid of you - now you'll have to retype the whole thing."
Sally fingered the scissors menacingly ...
… as she placed the document he handed her on the top of a stack of several contracts already threatening to topple over onto the floor. She glanced in the direction of her friend Melinda, but by then, the girl had hung up the telephone and appeared to be entering data into her computer. Well, what can you expect, Sally thought bitterly….
..and she looped her arm up and plunged the sheers into the side of his neck with hardly any force at all! He staggered backward; his eyes told of the pain as blood waterfalled down his body. The horror created a terrible panic of piercing screams and chaos, but Sally just smiled.
"That's a pity," she said. "Red's not your color."
Her phone rang suddenly. She snapped back.
"Your phone's ringing," Mr. Mansfield uttered. "And I need that file by two, if you don't mind." He walked back down the aisle. She wisely put the scissors back in her drawer to lessen the tempation.
At precisely 1:45 p.m. Sally watched Mr. Mansfield close his office door and head for the elevator. “Oh, sir,” she called innocently. “When did you say you needed the Martingale’s contract?”
Irritated by the clerk’s audacity, as much as her apparent lack of anger, Mr. Mansfield stopped in his tracks, turned sharply, and walked towards her desk. As he approached, Sally minimized the internet browser’s window, and opened the Martingale contract.
Mansfield stood beside her long enough to see she was working on the contract, and then, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose, he replied in a sharp and clipped voice, “Well, Ms. Weathernest, I realize we all make mistakes! And, well, I know the contract is long. If you can submit the first few pages, let’s say the first fourteen pages, by tomorrow afternoon, say around 2:00 p.m., perhaps, at that time, we’ll discuss your job performance once more!" With that, he turned and clomped away.
As he was leaving, Sally quickly hit the Edit, Find and Replace keys. Three seconds later, she hit the print button. After the 45 page document printed, she threw it in the bottom of her desk drawer. “Stupid old goat,” she muttered, turning off the computer. Five minutes later, she drove out of the parking lot heading straight for the Ladies Work Out Studio!
She had some aggression to channel towards something that wasn't going to give her the sack. She didn't want to start getting that terrible rash again because it made her look like a big hunk of corned beef and she needed all the help she could get as it was. At one time she would just pay her membership and go to people watch - go to see people in worse shape than her, but after watching a succession of people getting healthy and moving on something had changed. It was here that the seeds of her ambition had been sown: here that she had decided she was not going to be buried at work with a service medal hanging from a computer-shaped gravestone.
by Paul Grimsley
3pm: Tae-Kwon-Do. Break heads, ideally without breaking a sweat. Designed to increase focus, speed and energy with a side helping of emasculating body blows (oh, how she dreamed of humiliting her boss with a perfectly executed roundhouse kick, by the water cooler). 4.15: quick shower before her 'Business Japanese 101' course, direct line to the elusive and massively profitable Miyazaki contract (the one Mr Mansfield had so far been incapable of securing). After that, home to a light dinner followed by 2 very large glasses of red Californian wine, a guilty cigarette and an evening spent perfecting her plan for revenge. Bloody, cold revenge on the system that had kept her down for so long. She laughed darkly as she played it all through in her mind.
'Its time' she whispered to herself. 'Go to it, girly. Go to it.'
by Patrick Fynes
Last edited by dkneip on Sat Jan 08, 2005 7:18 pm; edited 4 times in total