Dreams of the Quill

“Okay, now, I have to ask you—where do you keep the cellphone when you run?”

As Joe was walking by the reception area on his way out of the office just past five o’clock, he noticed that there was a single scone sitting on a low table next to some empty envelopes. At this he grimaced—were his new colleagues going to insist on being so kind? He had seen this pattern too many times before, back home in Washington and then in Texas before coming to New York. People acted nice and drew him in only to reveal that they held nothing but contempt for that which he held dear.

He decided then and there that he wouldn’t let history repeat itself. Before acknowledging the kindness of Dan, or JP, or even Sam, he would confirm their Christianity.

Joe smiled as he savored the thought.

“Don’t even think about it, Joseph!” shrieked Ms. Harris, running from her office with her arms outstretched. “That’s MY scone!!”

Joe barely moved aside in time to keep his boss from crashing straight into him. He thanked God as she instead reeled off the table, clutching her knee. He almost felt sorry for her as she hobbled around the reception area in a circle, but his confusion overpowered his sympathy.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asked.

“Table hit me,” Ms. Harris mumbled, staggering back over to it and plucking up the scone.

“Are you… drunk?” Joe demanded, frowning.

“Not really,” shrugged Ms. Harris, taking a messy bite out of the scone and then pocketing the rest of it. Joe asked himself what Jesus would do, and then shivered at the thought of keeping an eye on his boss until she was herself again. It was obvious to him that she was intoxicated, though how and why he couldn’t understand. He thought that Buddhists eschewed alcohol.

“What’re you staring at, ’seph?” she questioned, and he realized that it was a quarter past five and he shouldn’t just stand there forever.

“N-nothing,” said Joe, turning to leave. He’d had a long day, and a hard one at that. He had lost count of how many phone calls he’d received, and his forehead was red all the times he had attempted to break his keyboard with it. He had experienced more stupidity in e-mail form in the past eight hours than he had ever experienced on Meow Meow Anim’s forums in a whole week. He was in Rapunzel’s Escape withdrawal and he hadn’t had a chance to sift through his inbox for new mail from dorito. It was high time he go home and sleep.

“Well, I’m leaving now!” announced Ms. Harris as she adjusted her the shoulder strap on her bag. She dug in her skirt pocket for her car key, spun it around her finger once, and stepped outside.

Joe massaged his temples calmly. She wasn’t always like this, at least.

Wait.

A car key.

Joe dashed outside after his boss.

“I can’t let you drive home!” he called out over the parking lot. Ms. Harris looked up at him, spectacles askew, and blinked in surprise. Joe looked away sheepishly. “I’ll walk you to the nearest subway station.”