This morning, there is a report from Skyler, acting chief feline of house security. The K9 squad detected an intrusion around 3aM and sounded the alarm. They attempted to engage the felonious raccoons in the foyer, but were held back by their human actuator while the masked bandits fled via the basement stairs. He gave me a request that the K9s be outfitted with spiked collars. He also pointed out the cracked canister of cat fud and noted that he had taken the liberty to begin cleaning it up.
I get into work at 7:25aM. From then until 8:40aM I hear no one else. Standing next to the coffee machine, I listen carefully, but to no avail. I am abandoned. Walking back to my cubicle, I arrive at three conclusions:
- there was a bomb scare and they forgot to warn me;
- there was a horrible BART and highway accident that I narrowly avoided;
- when I got my haircut last night I accidentally slipped into a parallel dimension.
I'll stick it out for a couple more hours, mostly to figure out if I am so lucky as to
like my job in this
alternate reality.
Around 9:45aM, colleagues begin to trickle in. (Distraction: Notice the compound verb that causes the preposition at the end of the sentence, but what am I going to say "to in trickle"? if some militant grammarian could advise, I would appreciate it.) It seems that they are privy to some inside joke at my expense, as I get the very same surprised start, then a mumbled salutation that includes a meaningless but pleasant compliment about my appearance from each one. I nearly believe that the hatchet-man has an appointment with me, later, at Wintersweet's prompting, I recall my new haircut.