David is standing by the door, looking at his watch. “Do you know
what time it is?” he asks. His voice is soft, but cold and pointed as an icicle.
“About five after,” you say. “And it looks like your customer isn’t here
yet. Guess I lucked out.”
“But what if he was?”
“But he isn’t,” you say.
“That’s not the issue,” David says. “You know how important this
meeting is to me. If my feelings made any difference, you would have been
here early instead of bopping in almost 10 minutes late.”
“But David—”
“How many times do I have to tell you how important punctuality is
to me? I guess it doesn’t matter to you.”
“Of course it matters to me, but—”
“Not now,” David says. “He’s here. We’ll talk about this later.”
You sigh, knowing you won’t get much sleep tonight.
*
Jenna is race-walking down the hall. Behind her back they call her the
wicked witch, or something that rhymes with it. Luckily, since she’s a senior
partner, most peons don’t have to endure more than the occasional glare
as she strides by the bullpen. This time she stops and looks around. She’s
holding a binder in her hand. “Which of you is responsible for this literary
masterpiece?” she asks, holding up the offending document gingerly, as if
it were a dead animal.
It’s yours.
* * *“There’s something wrong with this stupid toaster,” Zack say, as he yanks
the plug from wall, and begins fumbling with the lever. “This thing is stuck.”
“Maybe you should work on it later when you have more time,” you
say hopefully, knowing he won’t listen.
Zack’s movements become more rapid and jerky. His conversation
turns to four-letter words muttered under his breath.
You clear out of the kitchen, knowing what’s coming next. Just as you
close the door, you hear the crash of the toaster hitting the floor.
204 ❧Explosions into Anger