his way back to his desk, Tom stumbled over now larger bumps and now could see what was clearly roots protruding from the pulverized floor. Or were they limbs? He thought about going back and asking the supervisor to get someone to fix the floor outside of his office before somebody got seriously hurt. But he figured the repairs department was busy and probably already knew about the rippled floor and had a lot of better things to do with their day than listen to him. Besides, the supervisor scared him a little.
He finally reached his desk and was eager to enact the supervisor’s solution when he saw that his problem had multiplied. There was not only a daisy sprouting from his computer but a black-eyed susan, a chrysanthemum, a blue tulip, a lily, a lobelia, a violet, a carnation, and even a Jack-in-the-pulpit. By the dozens they engulfed his computer, covering his monitor, his hardrive, his keyboard, his modem and even his little mouse, like a regular field of wild flowers. He found the daisy and plucked it out and put it into his mug of cold mocha. He waited a second, hoping for the miracle the supervisor promised. But nothing happened. How was he supposed to finish his work now? He was supposed to have all the zeros counted before the quarterly report was due. He had only reached 144,042. This was unacceptable. He started worrying again.
“Jane?” he said. No answer. He looked over to her desk, but she was gone. He only saw a little glowing bug banging helplessly against her keyboard.
“Joan?”
“Yes Tom?” she said, thankfully still there.
“I’m looking for Mr. Timothy James. Do you know where he is?”
“He’s in the break room, Tom. At least that’s where he was a minute ago.”
“Where’s the break room again?”
Joan pointed, still invisible behind the partition.
“Oh right. That’s where I thought it was.” He made his way to the break room, traversing the hazards of the unfortunate floor. Jenn and June were in the break room. Hope was there too, trying very hard to make herself inconspicuous in the background.
When Jenn saw Tom coming, she perked up and straightened her gray nun dress and fixed her hair. June did the same, a bit slower than Jenn.
“Hi Tom!” Jenn said before he noticed her. “Nice day, huh?”
“No,” he said. “I need to ask you ...”
“Hey Tom,” Jenn said, putting on an imitation intelligent political tone. “You know what those darn supervisors decided to do without asking us?”
“I don’t care. Look ...”
“They decided,” she continued, “to replace the coffee with maple syrup. Can you believe that? No signs or anything. If you want coffee you just have to settle for maple syrup. I could’ve accidentally poisoned myself to death and sued them or something. I mean, who eats maple syrup? Besides, like, like, bears or something ...?”
“Or bees,” June added.
“Or bees. Can you believe it?”
“Well, you can’t reason with a bee,” Hope uttered, unnoticed, she hoped.
“Shut up, Hope!” Jenn said. “Nobody asked you.”
“And you know what else they did?” June said, also putting on an imitation intelligent political tone. “They replaced all our snacks with fruit and nuts and berries.”
“I like fruit,” Hope said, nibbling a tangelo.
“Shut up, Hope!” June said. “Nobody asked you.”
“So, Tom, can you believe that?” Jenn said, putting a hand on his shoulder and tossing her hair provocatively.
“Yeah, can you believe that? The nerve!” June said, leaning forward to show a little cleavage. “So tell me, what do you think, Tom?” She winked.
“Yeah, what do you think, Tom?” Jenn winked.
“Where’s Mr. Timothy James?” he said. “I need him to fix my computer.”
Jenn and June both cocked their left eyebrow and put their hands on their hips. After a second, “Office 4B,” they said simultaneously. Tom headed back to his desk.
“Gay,” Jenn said.
“Definitely gay,” June said. And they went about their regular business.
Back at his desk he saw that there was little left of his computer now but flowers. Not to mention the rest of his desk which was now a bush, his cubicle walls which were now a wall of vines, and his chair which was now a chair shaped bonsai. “Wow, that looks uncomfortable,” he said in his brain.
“Joan,” he said. “Where’s office 4B?” No response. He only saw one of those glowing bugs fly up visible from behind the partition as the other bug continued to bang away at Jane’s keyboard. “I’ll find it myself,” he finally said.
And he did find it, surprising himself at how little time it took, down a long corridor of cubicles. The sign on the door said “4B Mr. Timothy James, Computer Repairs Department.” He opened the door, but all he saw was a wall covered in leaves and vines and fruits and flowers and a single tiny gold glowing bug buzzing around the office. But no Timothy James.
“Mr. Timothy James!” Tom called, thinking he’d at least make an attempt. No answer. But on a nearby branch he saw a note on notebook paper penned in gray ink, “Headed to the 7th floor for more repairs than I’m prepared to do. If you want me to fix yer crap, screw off! I’m busy!”
He needed to get to the 7th floor. To do this, he needed to find the elevator. To do this, he needed to find somebody to ask the directions to the elevator, since Joan was no longer a reliable compass. But there was no one around. There were thousands of cubicles, but he couldn’t see a single soul in the whole office, only swarms of glowing bugs bobbing and whirring around the brown and green cubicles. He went to the supervisor’s office where he knew somebody must be. But it was in the same state as the office of Mr. Timothy James, except for one gold bug banging against the blue window. He went back to the break room where he knew somebody must be. But it was in the same state as the office of the supervisor, except for two gold bugs thrashing, stuck in mugs of maple syrup. He went into the general area and cupped his hands and screamed at the wooded cubicles, “Does anybody know how to get to the elevator from here? I need to find Mr. Timothy James to come fix my computer, but he’s on the 7th floor.” He heard nothing but a tinkling. “I’ll find it myself,” he said in his brain.
And he did, surprising himself at how little time it took. When the door finally opened, he didn’t notice there was no elevator car, only two vines climbing the center of the shaft. He stepped into air, and his poor foot met no ground to stop him. Coincidentally, his last girl-friend, Jean, had a similar experience a few months before, but Tom wasn’t thinking about that as he fell down the shaft. He grabbed the vines and slid down a few floors. Jean, unfortunately, didn’t have the same convenience. As he stopped screaming and he regained his vision, he saw a leaf on the wall that said, “11th Floor.”
“Oh good,” he said. “I’m close.”
He scooched along the vine, reading the floor sign leaves out loud as he went.
“10th floor.”
“9th floor.”
“8th floor.
“7th floor. Ah, here we are.” He jumped off the vine, onto the 7th floor, as the door conveniently dinged and swung wide open.
This floor seemed in a panic. Secretaries, office workers, gophers, interns and advertising executives were all running around in a tizzy, tidying and fixing things, obviously nervous about the quarterly report. “I’m nervous too,” he said in his brain. “Believe me.”
The walls and the floors and the computers and cubicles quivered and writhed and pulsed and convulsed, vines entwining and consuming all the concrete, metal, plastic and imitation balsa wood in the entire office. All these problems obviously keeping Mr. Timothy James from helping him. Tiny glowing gold bugs buzzed about, multiplying by the instant. Tom couldn’t pick out a single unbusy person, however few there were, to pull aside and question. Finally, he saw one fellow on his knees holding his stomach. He obviously wasn’t busy.
“Excuse me sir,” Tom
said.
“Not now, buddy,” the poor man said.
“Are you Mr. Timothy James?”
“No,” he groaned.
“Do you know where I could find him?”
“Um ... no,” he groaned again.
Tom could see the man was taking on some sort of gold glow. A rare form of jaundice obviously. “Well, do you know how to fix a computer?”
“Look buddy, this is not the time.”
“Oh,” Tom said, finally remembering what the police man told him at his 4th grade Youth for Mountain Fun meeting: “When somebody’s doubled over, it’s more than likely they ain’t right,” the police man said. “Ask them if they’re in some sort of medical, emotional or life-threatening stress.”
“Are you in some sort of medical, emotional or life-threatening stress?”
“Um,” the man said. “Well, no actually. It kinda feels good. Like eating cinnamon rolls or butter-scotch pudding.”
Realizing the man was feeling fine and would probably be no help to him, Tom sought someone else’s direction. Now he noticed there was no one around. The bustling had subsided. Even the euphorically invalid man was gone. All he saw was golden bugs flying halfcrazed around the office and creeping vines creeping far faster than they usually creeped. One of the bugs was annoyingly encircling Tom’s head, over and over and over, around and around. “Hello,” he tried the cupped hands technique again. “I’m looking for someone to repair my computer!”
No answer. Only tinkling. Finally fed up with