It would be at least a few centuries before the light of our planet’s sun would reach the earth, and even longer before the humans would develop the technology to communicate with it let alone reach it. By then, I’m sure we would have evolved into something more spectacular, more complex so that when the humans do arrive, we would not instantaneously be recognized as forms of life. But the human race fascinates me so. Their fragility makes them even more endearing. They are but a few millimeters from the primordial swamp that they emerged from, and have already achieved so much greatness and destruction in just a few millennia.
My goodness! Millennia! I have been on earth for so many centuries now and the lifespan of these human beings, they call themselves Homo sapiens, is still short enough that the idea of an entire millennium cannot be fathomed. They can calculate the depths of the outer reaches of space but cannot feel it the way my people can. They have managed to see things beyond the limited capabilities that their primitive eyes have allowed them, yet there is no way to translate just how small, small can be.
Though the most fascinating aspect of these “lowly” creatures is what their wonderful minds are capable of. A human’s imagination easily dwarfs the vast expanse of the known universe with the ability to create the most beautiful art, everything from the simple to the intricate. Their greatest attribute, for better or for worst, is also their largest downfall. For it is this very same imagination that has proven to be the most destructive force on this frail, green and blue planet.
To think that humans have humble beginnings as hunter gathering tribes, developing the concept of love to keep their species thriving in a time of the planet’s violent beginnings is astounding. Just as important was their concept of fear to teach their young to stay away from perilous dangers. It would only be a matter of time before their hunger to feed individual egos would overwhelm the needs of their entire society, and thus was born this delusion of power.
Man’s hunger for power blinded him from the needs of their fellow homo sapiens. It started with simple possessions and escalated to small territories then to larger ones then to something as useless as currency. At one point, these creatures believed they fought for their enemies very souls. Yes, it seems that mankind has been able to take two proverbial steps forward and three giant leaps back. But observing them is far from a fool’s errand, for there is such great potential, such great hope, and such beautiful dreams, that it is not farfetched to think that they may evolve into beings such as us one day.
Over history, to observe humanity as a whole would be to see their triumphs over nature and struggles with themselves resulting in the entanglement over the very thing that should propel them forward. But to observe a handful individuals is to witness just how much greater the Homo sapiens are capable of. For what are these nations other than a declaration of their territorial tendencies? It no more separates one human from another as does the color of their skin or the name of their god, but if this species survives their own undoing than our kind may have found a kindred spirit, a distant (quite literally) relative.
I know I’ve been raving on and on about these primitive creatures but it’s rather amazing to think that we were at one point as petty and naïve as they are. They are currently at a tipping point. They have ravaged their planet’s resources and wreaked such havoc on their ecology that limits their ability to live in it. Every intelligent species has reached this point where the consequences of war and greed loom over the horizon threatening to wipe out intelligent life. And if you remember: our kind chose to stave off and found a way to live together in harmony while the creatures on our third moon failed to heed our warnings resulting in the utter desolation of said moon. But there is one thing that these humans are abundant in more than any other creature that I have studied in the known universe: hope.
Despite all their trifle bickering and how close it has brought them to the edge of Armageddon, there are so many of them that hold onto hope for the future. Hope is something unique to the human condition. The only way to describe the concept of hope is to call it a delusion, but it is far from that. It is a driving force that spurs them on to greater heights and will, in my expert opinion, propel them towards great things.
They strive to be a great people, but all too often let their own egos get the best of them. Perhaps it is this potential to become more like us that fascinates me so. It will be just a while longer before I can go back home. For every war and crime and sin against humanity that humanity commits, there is the laughter and joy and camaraderie and solidarity and yes, hope. They wish so much to be better than themselves, but it is their basest of primitive instincts of a few that hold all of them back. I am confident that they can overcome the obstacles that they have laid for themselves.
Until I can be completely sure that the humans will not destroy themselves under the weight of their imagination, I cannot be sure if this will be the perfect place to migrate to. Perhaps it is because I have spent many human generations on this planet, and maybe it is because I have grown fond of these “inferior” creatures, but a part of me hopes to see them succeed. And until I do, I shall remain here, constantly yearning to be back with my loved ones back home.
The smells of summer and spring rain filtered through the aged wood that made up the frames that held the garage up. Joe Benchley opened the creaking garage door and the stale air breathed onto him as if the structure were alive. He half expected its rectangular nostril to breathe him into garage. When it didn’t, he decided to climb in of his own accord. Clutter and boxes of faded memories occupied the space that would have been filled by his car. Today was to be the last day that these boxes would call the garage their home.
He looked at the stacks of boxes and poked around at them to judge which ones would be easiest to take out first. Every now and again he would whisper to himself the various memories stored in each cardboard cube.
“This one’s from Niagara Falls, when we took the kids,” Joe said under his breath, “And this one’s from when we lived Brooklyn. Wedding photos. Christmas, 1992. My old notes from college. Oh, and there’s the box that holds the year that I met Eve.” Such memories, and under these circumstances could be such distractions. He smiled to himself as he moved the boxes just outside the garage onto the cool driveway.
For the first time in years, the garage was beginning to resemble a garage; all cavernous and empty and dark. He looked at the metropolis of cardboard and plastic in the driveway and darted his eyes back to the remaining boxes in the garage. Something was not right. Joe couldn’t explain it but he was sure that there was something missing. He paused and stroked his chin, furrowing his eyebrows to figure out what exactly was no longer there that should be.
“That’s odd,” Joe whispered as he squatted next to a box with a year written on its side, “There are two years missing.” He looked among the boxes in the driveway and couldn’t find them. Back into the garage he went and still did not see the two years of tangible memories. “It has to be somewhere.”
Joe took another look at the stack of boxes in the driveway, then back to the boxes still in the garage, then back to the boxes in the driveway. His eyes furrowed, confounded and worried he crossed his arms across his chest. Eve came out with a pitcher of cool lemonade for her husband.
“I just don’t understand,” Joe thought out loud.
“Don’t understand what, dear?” Eve asked.
“There are boxes missing.”
“Missing? That’s not good.” Eve handed her husband a tall glass of lemonade. The condensation collected on the sides of the glass and dripped down the side of his arm. “I’m sure you just misplaced them.”
“But that’s not possible. I’ve looked at every box out here in the driveway and in the garage at least three times.”
“I’m sure they’ll turn up. Why are these two boxes so important to you?”
“The memories. But now it’s almost as if those two years just disappeared like smoke in the wind.”
Eve walked over to the stack of boxes clumsily lumped to the side of the driveway searching for something. She couldn’t find whatever it was she was looking for, but she knew exactly what it was. Unfortunately, for Mr. Benchley, he did not.
“What are you snooping around for? I told you I couldn’t find those boxes.”
“It’s funny how you feel when objects go missing, you feel as if those memories have to fade as well. What years did you say were missing?”
“It was the year I met you and the year Sue was born, but I don’t see how--” Eve put a hand up to silence her worried husband. She smiled at a box and bent over to pick it up. The dust that shook off left a light brown cloud that dragged the sunlight along the path of the box.
Eve ripped the years old tape from the box with a gritty scratching sound as if the glue on the strip sighed with desperation to cling to the cardboard. It fell as a cellophane curl on the driveway floor. More dust kicked off as she swung the flaps of the box open. She was smiling, squinting to keep the heavy dust out of her hazel colored eyes. Her slender fingers grew elegantly from her delicate hands that rummaged through the box and pulled out a silver picture frame, tarnished only slightly by age. She handed the picture to Joe.
“Do you remember that picture?” she asked.
He looked at the picture and brushed the light coat of dust leaving streaks where he dragged his fingers. It was an image he had long forgotten: a younger version of himself smiling so the corners of his lips tried in vain to reach his earlobes. His wife was in the picture as well. Her smile was not as wide as his as she was exhausted, her brow covered in glowing perspiration. But the twinkle in her eyes made up for the rest of the smile that she was too tired to complete. And in their arms was the culmination of their love. Bundled up, eyes closed tight among her sweetly silent pink face was their first and only child, Sue.
“The day we became a family,” Joe replied, “It’s hard to believe that either of us could smile after that ordeal.”
Eve got on the tips of her toes and kissed her husband gently on the cheek before walking off back into the house. Joe set the frame up so his past self could keep watch over his present self’s current project of cleaning out the garage. The boxes were never found, but the contents were strewn about here and there among other boxes and it didn’t matter. When the day’s work was done, Joe Benchley would look back at the sliver framed picture of his family smiling at him and couldn’t help but smile back. With his handkerchief, he dusted the frame thoroughly and brought it inside the house, where he enjoyed dinner with his beautiful family.
The gray clouds gathered in the sky looking like ash streaking across a vast blue canvas of light. It looked like rain was coming around in the usual way. The billows crawled against the sky slowly filling the void above the planet. There was nothing peculiar about the weather until the clouds showed that they seemed to be in a hurry. They sky seemed to shimmer a dull purple as if night struggled to make its presence known before its appropriate time. As if an upside-down ocean, the calm grays and cool silvers of the cumulus clouds waved in a silent violence, its rippling becoming more and more apparent with each passing moment.
Gentle breezes that swept the leaves into the gutters became stiff winds that firmly thrashed against the sides of houses. Was it a tornado? Impossible. A hurricane? Not likely. There were intricate patterns weaving itself into the very fabric of the atmosphere. No one was quite sure if this was an omen of iniquity or a prophecy of fortune. Walks around the block had halted. Drivers stopped, making the highway a glorified parking lot. Pedestrians froze mid stride like statues that turned their gaze to the swiftly changing skies. Faces emerged on window panes, the eyes turning skyward.
A young boy sat quietly, drinking his chocolate milk through a long plastic straw. His eyes were glued to the phenomena but his mind melded with the creamy goodness that filled the glass in front of him. There was no need to look at how much was left. It was almost as if he could feel how much he had left in the glass which his fingers gently touched. The condensation collected in the whorls of his fingertips and dripped alongside the glass. It formed a ring of water on the window pane that would earn a scolding from his mother. The boy picked up the glass and wiped the ring of moisture from where he laid the chocolate drink. He ignored the ring of chocolate milk that dripped from his chin. Surely, his mother would not scold him for that. The boy flicked his tongue against the back of his teeth and ran it alongside the sides of his cheek and savored every drop of his sweet drink.
In an instant, the air flashed blue and purple and white with the veins of electricity running from the center of the massive ripple. But the masses paid no special attention to the lightning. It spurred them back into movement and summoned the sheets of water from the rain clouds. The feet that once were planted into the ground scurried back onto their merry own ways, towards their individual destinies, away from the rattling rain. The sky had lit on fire, a cool fire that burned with clouds and water and thunder-less lightning. For a few seconds, the world had ceased to rotate on its axis to observe the foul and fair happenings over a small portion on the enormous globe and just as quickly, it was business as usual. Nobody had realized that there was no freak occurrence that caused the happenings in the sky other than the vivid imaginings of a small boy who enjoyed chocolate milk.
It is with a sad and heavy heart that I inform the office that Thomas Nadler, an employee at the company for the past 7 years, has passed away last evening. He was the unfortunate victim of an auto accident that took place shortly after he left work yesterday afternoon. Mr. Nadler is survived by his brother’s family of three with whom he lived with for the past four years. If you would like to make a small donation or send your condolences to the Nadler family, please place them in the envelope on my desk by five o’clock this afternoon. His brother, Simon, will be coming by to pick up Tom’s things at that time. Plans for a memorial service have not yet been made.
Thank you,
Sue Ambrose, Receptionist
**********
“Oh, my God,” Jill was shocked upon reading the latest memo from Sue, “I can’t believe it!”
“It’s shocking, isn’t it?” Art’s deep, gravelly voice asked Jill from the other side of the cubicle wall. “I was just talking to him before he left.”
“Are you guys talking about Tom?” Roy turned the corner and leaned against the entrance of Art’s cubicle where Jill had entered and taken a seat on the edge of the desk. “He was always so quiet. I hardly even knew he was there half the time. But when I did get the chance to talk with him, he was always really sweet.”
“Yeah, I remember that first day he started here,” Art replied, “and you decided to play that practical joke on him.”
“That’s not very nice!” Jill commented.
“It wasn’t anything malicious, just a sort of rite of passage to let him know we were all on the same team,” Roy answered.
“What did you do?” Jill inquired.
“He had Tom do all the mundane work like changing the toner in the copier and filling the fax machine with paper when it needed it on top of having to do all the work he was actually responsible for,” Art chuckled.
“Tom was a great sport about it though,” Roy added, “At the end of the day, I told him about it. And the very next day he switched the sugar with salt at the coffee machine just for me. That was the worst way to start off the morning!”
“What?” she pretended as if she didn’t hear the question to give herself a moment to process an answer. “Well, I guess we did talk to each other a lot. I have to admit that I did have a crush on him when I started here.” Jill had only been with the company for three years, the youngest tenure in the department.
“You two would have made a cute couple,” Roy commented, “Why didn’t you two ever hit it off?”
“Well he did ask me out to dinner one time. It was last year after the Christmas party,” Jill explained, “but I didn’t want to jeopardize my career. Also what if it didn’t work out? I have the cubicle next to his, and it would have been really awkward.”
“Fortune favors the bold, Jill,” Art added.
“But if I was ever tempted to break my rule about dating anyone from the office it would be with Tom,” Jill commented, “He was the only one to ever make me question that rule.”
“The only one? Well, I never!” Roy sarcastically retorted. The three laughed boisterously as they remembered their fallen friend.
Just then, the electric ding of the elevator echoed through the short hallway followed by the mechanical sliding of the elevator door. Everyone turned their head towards the elevators. It was a known fact at the office that it was usually Tom who came rushing into his cubicle approximately five minutes late every Wednesday. However, it wasn’t Tom who emerged from the hallway.
“Why is everyone just standing around?” Megan Stone demanded, “I just came back from a meeting that started at seven o’clock this morning and I really expected to see some productive employees when I came back down to my office. I suppose that that was too much to ask for.”
Roy walked off back to his desk weary of having to hide his eye rolling from Ms. Stone, the department supervisor and local curmudgeon. Tail between her legs, Jill bolted from Art’s desk and returned quietly to her own cubicle.
“I might have expected this from our younger employees, Arthur, but you should know better than to spend company time socializing,” Ms. Stone had lightning bolts in her eyes. It wasn’t that she had to get up early in the morning for a meeting. She was just always this way. In fact, it was this tunnel vision that allowed her to get to the top of her department. She took pride in not giving into petty distractions like a social life and a family.
Art had seen all types of bosses before, and while Ms. Stone’s personality is not his favorite, it was the easiest to please. He was the oldest person in the department by at least 10 years and knew the limits of his abilities and ambition enough to know that he was happy just where he was, even if it meant having to take orders from someone like Ms. Stone.
“If you’re referring to those reports that are due by the end of the day,” he replied to her, “I put them on your desk yesterday just after you left. I stayed an extra couple of minutes to finish them early.”
“Oh, I see,” Ms. Stone did not know how to respond to people who could stand up for themselves. She turned away and saw that Tom’s cubicle was empty. She looked at her watch angrily and asked Art, “Where is Mr. Nadler? He is much later than usual.”
“I guess you didn’t get the memo,” Art answered.
“What are you getting at? What memo?” Ms. Stone demanded to know.
“Tom was in an accident last night. He passed away, Meg,” Art enjoyed calling her Meg. He knew that she hated being referred to as a person especially by someone she considered more of a subordinate than a co-worker.
“Oh,” again she did not know how to respond. There was no compassion in her response, not even a quiver of guilt in her delicate timbre, “Those reports I asked him to write up would have never made it to my desk by five anyway.” She walked straight to her corner office without noticing Art shaking his head in disgust at what she had just said.
For the next two minutes the sound of neon bulbs’ electric humming and the clickety-clacks of everyone’s computer followed by the intermittent high pitched clicks of mouse buttons filled the sterile office atmosphere as was the norm. On occasion there would be the dragging footsteps of someone’s leather shoes across the cheap carpeting, or the buzzing of the printer and the photocopier, or the electronic hiss of the fax machine sending a message to some far off city in the form of light. But today was unlike any other day in the office. The banality of the office cacophony needed only the single familiar yet unfamiliar ding of the elevator to break the thunderous silence of the workplace.
Roy popped his head up over the cubicle. Art rolled his office chair to his cubicle’s entrance and leaned over to get a good look at the hallway. Jill stood up and walked towards the elevator ding. She hear the doors slide open and the sound of impossibly familiar footsteps coming towards her. Jill could not see the hallway from where she was currently standing, but she did see Roy’s jaw drop and Art’s eye widen, his pupils shrinking to a pinpoint. Just then, the impossibly familiar footsteps were just around the corner but Jill was too enthralled with the look of shock on Art’s face to turn around and witness the cause of its current state. As she turned the corner she bumped into it.
“Oh, my goodness,” she said, “I’m so sorry, sir!”
“That’s perfectly all right,” the voice replied, “And when did you start calling me sir?”
It was Tom Nadler, later than usual and he walked into his cubicle, sat at his desk and started to work on those reports. Jill stood frozen at the entrance to his cubicle. The sliding sound of wheels on an office chair approached behind Jill. Art couldn’t be bothered to get up out of it. Roy’s footsteps stopped from behind Art. Roy and Art looked at each other in utter disbelief, and fortunately for Jill, the two of them were there to catch her when she fainted.Art carried her back to his cubicle and attempted to revive her. Roy was drawn into Tom’s cubicle, his jaw still agape.
“Tom?” he asked.
“Yes, Roy?”
“How are you here?”
“I honestly don’t know, but I’m glad I am. I’m not sure how this works, but I know I don’t have much time here.”
“So you’ll be leaving us?”
“I believe so, and this time it’s going to be for good.”
“We’re going to miss you, Tom.”
“I’m going to miss you guys too. All of you are like family to me. I mean that,” Tom went to his computer and worked furiously while still able to carry a conversation with Roy. It was a talent that Tom had even when he was alive. “Roy?”
“Yes, Tom?” Roy was in awe. Tom extended a hand towards him. Roy obliged and squeezed it firmly and smiled as they shook hands.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For making me feel like a part of a team. I had never really felt like a part of something before coming to work here and you just accepted me as one of your own.”
“That’s because you are one of us Tom. And that’s why we’re all going to miss you. Don’t tell the others, but you were my best friend. Out of all the people that I’ve called friend you were the one I was most proud to call friend.”
“Thanks, Roy. That means a lot to me. It really does, and you were like a second brother to me. You really were. I’m going to miss you.”
“I’m going to miss you too.” Roy’s mouth managed to curl into a smile as he took in the bittersweet goodbye he made to his friend. Roy walked over to Art’s cubicle where Jill was just starting to wake up. Art looked at the serene calm in Roy’s eyes and instantly remembered that their formally dead colleague was busily typing away in next cubicle.
“Go ahead, Art,” Roy remarked, “He’ll be glad to hear from you.” Art was hesitant and wondered if this was all an elaborate gag orchestrated by Tom. He was certainly smart enough and resourceful enough to pull off such a hoax. But there was no way Tom was that cruel. That still left the question of what exactly Tom was doing there.
“You can ask, Art, but I can’t guarantee an answer,” Tom answered the question Art wanted to ask.
“You remind me so much of my son,” Art commented.
“So he was sexy too?”
“He’s humble and quite the smart ass.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. You know, Art, it’s funny.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s funny that you mention that I remind you of your son, because you were kind of like a father figure to me here. My dad was always hard at work trying to provide for his family, and I never really had much of a strong male figure other than him in my life; that is until I came to work here. You took me under your wing and never talked down at me. You let me make my own mistakes and you never patronized me when I succeeded.”
“Once you start working, you’re an adult. And you don’t need me spoon feeding you.”
“But that’s the point. I’ve never been trusted like that by anyone outside my family before. It’s actually quite liberating to know that someone has that kind of faith in my abilities. There’s no way I can tell you how much I appreciate that. Thank you, Art.”
“Thank you, Tom. I can’t take all the credit, though. This great atmosphere was largely because of how you and Roy would always make it fun to come into work every day. I don’t know how we’ll get along without you.”
“I’m sure you’ll manage, but I’ll definitely miss all our conversations.”
“As will I. Goodbye, Tom. It was nice knowing you.”
Art walked over to Tom and patted him gently on the shoulder. Tom looked up and smiled at the elderly man. Art smiled and felt an unusual calm come over his entire being. It was difficult to watch all his other co-workers leave, everything from retirement and transfers to even old age. But knowing that Tom was never coming back was particularly difficult to swallow. The calm that sent a shiver through his silver hairs reassured him that everything would be fine, that Tom’s parting is easier now that he had a chance to say goodbye.
“Art, can I ask you for one more favor?”
“Anything.”
“Is it all right if I borrow Jill for a minute? There’s been something I’ve wanted to tell her.”
“You got it.” Art walked out of his cubicle and chuckled under his breath. All this was surreal but something about it was necessary, as if this wasn’t done solely for Tom, as if this was done for everyone connected to him as well.
Roy had gotten Jill a drink of water. Her face was pale and slightly moist with perspiration. She drank the water and thanked Roy who promptly went back to work at his desk. Art smiled at her and looked back at Tom’s cubicle.
“What happened?” she asked.
“You fainted,” Art replied.
“I fainted?” she remembered why as soon as she finished her sentence, “Is he still here?”
“He’s still here,” Art answered, “and he’s waiting for you.”
“For me? Why?”
“I reckon he has something he’d like to get off his chest.”
“I see.” And with that, Jill walked to Tom’s cubicle.
Her palms were moist with nervous sweat. She wasn’t so much scared as she was wondering what she would say to Tom. She wrung her fingers in her hands and felt her mouth drying up, running out of saliva quicker than it ran out of words. She could feel her face growing warm, her spine growing cold, and everything in between growing numb. For the first time since he came in, Tom stopped working on his computer and turned to Jill.
“Hey you,” he smiled that charming smile.
“Tom--”
“I know, Jill,” Tom’s mouth may have been smiling but his eyes were distinctly frowning, “You don’t have to say it. You know, out of everyone here I probably talked with you the most and yet you’re the one that I wish I could stay with longer.”
“Is it true what Roy and Art are saying? That you’re only here for today?”
“Yes, and up until now I didn’t mind. God, how I wish I could stay for a little while longer with you.”
“Do you think we had a chance to--”
“Don’t finish that question, Jill. Because whatever the answer is, neither of us really wants to hear it. But you are special to me. You always will be.” Tom got up out of the chair and Jill’s lower lip quivered.
“How am I going to get through the day without you?” Jill asked giggling the words out of her mouth.
“You’ll be fine, sweetheart. I’ll keep my eye on you. I promise.” He wrapped her arms around her and she felt a warmth, a kindness, that she didn’t know she had longed for but was glad to have felt it. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the deep embrace. He smelled of a crisp spring breeze that she remembered as a little girl. The two smiled at each other. Jill’s eyes were veiled thinly with tears, which she held back with ease for the moment.
Hours had passed and neither Roy nor Art nor Jill felt they had to go back and say anything else to their friend Tom who was still hard at work. It was just like any other day, but with one small difference in each of their lives. They had lost a friend and just as suddenly were given an unforgettable way to say goodbye. Fate had stepped in to fill a void in their mundane lives that had been emptied just as quickly a few hours before.
Ms. Stone’s foot falls echoed through the office like small bombs dropping across the carpeted floor. Art knew they were coming towards his cubicle.
“Is this meant to be funny?” Ms. Stone scolded.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean, Meg,” Art dryly replied.
“So it’s Roy that’s responsible for this? Roy!”
“Roy’s over in accounting clearing some stuff up. What’s this about, Meg?”
“I found this on my desk today. I went to get some more coffee and I came back and found it sitting there waiting for me.” Ms. Stone plopped a stack of reports on Art’s desk with a loud bang. “These were the reports that I was expecting from Tom today.”
“Well at least you got them on time.”
“What exactly are you trying to pull, Arthur? Did you write these up to coax some overtime money from me? Because I’m not going to sign off on that.” Art punched a few keys on his computer and the printer could be heard activating in the distance.
“Now, Meg, I know you’ve had a long day, but you know that I’ve been working on my reports. Why would I spend my time writing Tom’s when I’ve got my own deadlines? Besides, I think you’ve made it crystal clear how you feel about overtime.”
“So who wrote these reports.”
“Tom.”
Ms. Stone storms to Tom’s cubicle and an alarmed Art jumps out of his chair to stop her. It’s too late she went straight to the cubicle but stared angrily at an empty desk. Art looked in astonishment, almost a nostalgic one, at the Tom’s empty desk. His computer was still warm from that afternoon’s work.
“Tom is dead. He is clearly not here.”
“You didn’t know him very well did you, Meg?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“If there’s one thing that describes Tom’s working habits it’s that he definitely knew how to get things done, especially on time. If something needed to be written up, if there were words that needed to be said and he was the one responsible for it, he would do anything to get it done.”
“What’s your point?”
“A lot has happened today outside of your little corner office. A lot of it I can’t even begin to explain. But there is one thing I can be sure of.”
“And that would be?”
“You needed Tom to get you those reports on your desk by five o’clock, and you got those reports on your desk by five o’clock. So what is there to complain about? Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s about time for me to clock out,” Art replied. And with that he put on his coat, took his suitcase, waved to Jill and Roy who had just returned to his desk and headed to the elevator. There was that electric ding followed by the sliding metal doors and Art was on his way home.
