I'm Fantasizing About Work

by Smiley McGrouchpants

               "What's it like?" I said, trying to be nice.  "I just got distributed into every Barnes & Noble in the country.  What's work like?"
               "Well . . . ?"  She seemed to drag it out, like she needed a more specific question to answer.
               So, I tried to be nice: "Do you . . . show up . . . regularly, and . . . "  I waved my hand around, so she'd get the idea.
               She didn't.
               "I mean, isn't it a comfy cozy campus with also ominous undertones?"  I used lilting tones on the last words, trying to be nice.
               "It's um . . . "  She wiped her chin and put the rest of the croissant on the plate.  "So she knew you from . . . college, and you're . . . Dan, is it?"
               "Dave.  Right.  Dave."  She started grinding her teeth a little, and gripping the napkin tighter, as though something vexed her.  I don't know why.  I tried to be nice.
               "Well . . . "
               This wasn't getting me anywhere.
               "The Internet's scary, isn't it?"
                                                          THE END

               "Hi, I'm Dave, and it's months later, and I haven't heard of data storage, or the 'signal-to-noise' ratio, or 2600: The Hacker Quarterly.  But here's my novel, they'll put it up when that John Grisham one isn't so new anymore, in the same place, it's called The Line and it's about scary bosses  who can't relate to that? and, uh, power beyond, you know, control, and  "

                                                           THE FINISH