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Trex World, part 24

kelson.philo's picture

Link to part 1

The trouble being, of course, that Paul’s day was far from optimum. His trex was purring along fine now. His left palm was sweating from holding an object in a place where objects were forbidden.

“Yes, well, ‘Hi’ is about all I’ve got for you right now, Geoff. Sorry.”

“Oh, well, that’s just not good enough, Paul, you sorry sack of waste. Oh-six-hundred I’m up and at ‘em here at our purposeful place of employment and what does the morning record scream at me, what, Paul, I ask you, no--no, I’ll tell you. TARDIES, Paul, tardies, that’s what it sez. For the past two weeks you’ve been increasingly on the wrong side of the timestamp and your excuses, Paul, your excuses have been increasingly idiotic and exasperating. And now look what you’re making me do, now, Paul, look at what YOU are making ME do, taking time out of BOTH our schedules to have to take you by the hand and lead you out of the sorry state of affairs you’ve put yourself in. Dammit all Paul, your performance review is coming up in eight hundred and sixty four hours from now and your method layers are looking atrocious; I mean really and truly shight-can stinky bad. I’m getting reports from other departments that your sheets aren’t up to spec and you’re slowing down the system, Paul, and you know what that means, right? Lost cred. Your Fault. Do you understand, Paul? Do you see why I’m agitated? This is an incredible experience, Paul, to be working for Panopticon Productions Limited and I think you knew that at one time, didn’t you? Before, as I constantly have to remind you of your temper, before you lost it anyway, that we are the biggest and most important scripting agency for the Expanse and Capillaries in veritable existence? Are you not wanting to work here anymore? Do you need a reference? I hope not, because, honestly, I don’t see how I can, in my right mind, honestly and truly give you one. It would be fraud for me to refer you anywhere, Paul; no self-respecting business should be inflicted with your kind of lazy arse, slipshod keyed old man habitry. Not going to look very good for the ol’ raisin count is it, Paul, you getting the big express ticket out of here and onto the hard, cold Expanse floor, is it? Not going to be good at all, I reckon And I suppose, I just suppose that you, blessed and perfect you, the mighty one who has deigned to fall to our sundry depths, want some sort of reprieve, am I correct? I’ve got to hand it to you, though, I’ve really got to hand it to you, you really do take the cake, I swear. Just who, I ask you who in the hell of hells do you think you are? You honestly think that you can just waltz in here, two hours late and not expect anything to happen? I mean, seriously, is that what you were honestly expecting? And then, of all the indignities that you put me thorough, Paul, you have the nerve to send my call to a mail reservoir. Seriously, Paul, what. The. Fark. And what is this I’m seeing now, Paul, right before my eyes, it’s like you’re not even there? You know what I mean? You’re like a ghost, Paul, a farking ghost of tagger who used to make people’s heads spin with the meta squared turn around times. Seriously, spin Paul, I’m not making this up, sitting and spinning on this finger and then this one if I’d deign to give you the pleasure of extending them fully which you know as well as I that I will not Paul, I will not give you that satisfaction. Not to someone who thinks so highly of themselves that they can afford to be hundred and twenty minutes late. One hundred and twenty minutes, you know what could have been done in one hundred and twenty minutes, Paul? Oh of course you do, you used to be a supervisor around here didn’t you. Liked to lord it over all the others, didn’t you. And now, look what we have here. The final tardy that I can use to send you straight to zero fundage early retirement, isn’t this beautiful? Oh my, it’s simply delicious. I feel all tingly, don’t you? It’s something in the air, I think. Some bit of excitement in the air. Maybe it was your fellow tagheads who honestly tried to get feed footage in here with your little stunt, this morning, oh, yes, don’t think I haven’t instantly sent that in for review, you sorry bit of shight butter, see? Yes, that’s right, I can come up with the funny quips too. Yes don’t think your little stunt didn’t have another negative impact on your raisin points, either, because you can be assured that it did, for the love of all that’s holy, man, do you have an ER wish? What is going through that noggin of yours, man? Hello? Anyone in there?”

Paul blinked. “…What?”

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kelson.philo's picture

Raisin Points

*Raisin: Realtime Attention Social Interactive Networks.

Mind your raisins.

You mind yours.