What were you doing ten years ago? [tm]
"Hey, Shurley!"
Please don't be talking to me, Chuck hoped. He glanced over at the secretary. Seeing that Shirley hadn't reacted, he looked up warily. A tall guy in a cheap suit was leaning over his cubicle wall, smiling expectantly.
If he'd been a different man, Chuck might have cursed under his breath. Or in his head. As it was, he just sighed. "Hey Tom," he said quietly.
"So how about that Y2K bullshit, huh?" Laughing, Tom slapped Chuck's arm. "I don't know about the rest of the world, but our computers didn't crash."
Chuck winced, hunching over in his ergonomic office chair. The wheels squeaked when he rolled closer to his desk. "Yeah," he said, laughing weakly. "Looks like it was nothing."
"And to think," Tom said, swinging around the side of the cubicle, "that you were so convinced we'd be back in the Stone Ages. Guess you were wrong there, Shurley."
Swallowing, Chuck out the window. The mail guy should be coming around soon, he thought. It was about that time of day.
A finger poked into Chuck's shoulder. "Guess you were wrong there, huh, Shurley."
Chuck swallowed again. "Guess so," he conceded quietly. After a too-long pause, Tom smiled and wandered down to his office. His real office, with wooden walls and a door and everything. The door shut with an audible click, as if to mock Chuck's lack of door.
"Asshole," Shirley said loudly. Chuck barely held back a shaky laugh, nodding. Two cubicles down, Wesson didn't bother hiding his laughter. Chuck rubbed at his temple absentmindedly, looking back out the window. If his ears weren't lying, that was the sound of the old mail cart coming down the hall...
The office door opened. "Hey Rufus," Shirley said. "Anything for us today?"
"A few things for Mr Smith, one for each you, John, Chuck, and Bobby, and one for a 'Carver Edlund'."
Chuck froze in his seat. (Stay casual, he reminded himself.)
"Really?" Shirley asked playfully. "Directed to this office?"
"Care of Shirley Campbell," Rufus pointed out helpfully. (Remain calm.)
"So it is. I'll make sure it gets to its proper owner, then."
"Alright then." With the smooth sound of well-oiled wheels and the click of a shutting door, Rufus left the office. Chuck slowly shuffled some pages around on his desk, waiting. Shirley delivered his mail last, sticking the terrifyingly small envelope addressed to Carver Edlund at the bottom. "Maybe this time they liked it," she whispered.
Chuck finished organizing his desk, carefully read over his other mail and several interoffice memos from Tom, then set them aside. Pulling out his letter opener, he carefully cut the envelope. Sliding out the letter, he unfolded it with shaky hands. In mismatched typewriter print, it read:
To Carver Edlund :
We regret to inform you that we at Harvelle Publishers have decided to reject
"Oh honey, I'm sorry," Shirley said, and it took Chuck a minute to realize that he'd crumpled up the letter.
"It's alright," he said, flattening out the paper. "'One of these days', right?" Chuck pulled out a blue folder and added the letter to the collection. He rubbed at his temple again, frowning.
"Hey, Shirley, do you have some aspirin? I'm starting to get a seriously bad headache."
( tm)
Please don't be talking to me, Chuck hoped. He glanced over at the secretary. Seeing that Shirley hadn't reacted, he looked up warily. A tall guy in a cheap suit was leaning over his cubicle wall, smiling expectantly.
If he'd been a different man, Chuck might have cursed under his breath. Or in his head. As it was, he just sighed. "Hey Tom," he said quietly.
"So how about that Y2K bullshit, huh?" Laughing, Tom slapped Chuck's arm. "I don't know about the rest of the world, but our computers didn't crash."
Chuck winced, hunching over in his ergonomic office chair. The wheels squeaked when he rolled closer to his desk. "Yeah," he said, laughing weakly. "Looks like it was nothing."
"And to think," Tom said, swinging around the side of the cubicle, "that you were so convinced we'd be back in the Stone Ages. Guess you were wrong there, Shurley."
Swallowing, Chuck out the window. The mail guy should be coming around soon, he thought. It was about that time of day.
A finger poked into Chuck's shoulder. "Guess you were wrong there, huh, Shurley."
Chuck swallowed again. "Guess so," he conceded quietly. After a too-long pause, Tom smiled and wandered down to his office. His real office, with wooden walls and a door and everything. The door shut with an audible click, as if to mock Chuck's lack of door.
"Asshole," Shirley said loudly. Chuck barely held back a shaky laugh, nodding. Two cubicles down, Wesson didn't bother hiding his laughter. Chuck rubbed at his temple absentmindedly, looking back out the window. If his ears weren't lying, that was the sound of the old mail cart coming down the hall...
The office door opened. "Hey Rufus," Shirley said. "Anything for us today?"
"A few things for Mr Smith, one for each you, John, Chuck, and Bobby, and one for a 'Carver Edlund'."
Chuck froze in his seat. (Stay casual, he reminded himself.)
"Really?" Shirley asked playfully. "Directed to this office?"
"Care of Shirley Campbell," Rufus pointed out helpfully. (Remain calm.)
"So it is. I'll make sure it gets to its proper owner, then."
"Alright then." With the smooth sound of well-oiled wheels and the click of a shutting door, Rufus left the office. Chuck slowly shuffled some pages around on his desk, waiting. Shirley delivered his mail last, sticking the terrifyingly small envelope addressed to Carver Edlund at the bottom. "Maybe this time they liked it," she whispered.
Chuck finished organizing his desk, carefully read over his other mail and several interoffice memos from Tom, then set them aside. Pulling out his letter opener, he carefully cut the envelope. Sliding out the letter, he unfolded it with shaky hands. In mismatched typewriter print, it read:
To Carver Edlund :
We regret to inform you that we at Harvelle Publishers have decided to reject
"Oh honey, I'm sorry," Shirley said, and it took Chuck a minute to realize that he'd crumpled up the letter.
"It's alright," he said, flattening out the paper. "'One of these days', right?" Chuck pulled out a blue folder and added the letter to the collection. He rubbed at his temple again, frowning.
"Hey, Shirley, do you have some aspirin? I'm starting to get a seriously bad headache."
( tm)