Office Temp

In response to the daily prompt I offer this little romance.

Office Temp

I don’t know how the handkerchief ended up beside me.  The softness surprised me. The daintiness of the lace edge, plus the slight scent, something sweet and ephemeral made me go slightly faint.

There’s no room in my life for sentimentality. Around here I’m known as the tough guy. My home is a drawer in a high tech office.  Everything gets tossed in here, so close in proximity that we bump hard edges against each other. Scissors and the minutia of paperclips vie for space. The pens act mightier than all of us, they are contained in a narrow compartment and do not associate with the rest of us.  They are handled daily in the production of written messages that are placed in small envelopes and disappear somewhere. When there are several pages I am called on to staple them together. Life is hard, I get whacked a lot. My parts get out of line and I am opened up, almost torn apart in an effort to get me working again.

The morning the handkerchief appeared beside me I was befuddled, became tongue-tied. I imagined the what’s-a-girl-doing-in-a-place-like-this? pick up line. I sat mute as she drew herself together trying to fold her lace edges in so as not to get them snagged on the rough characters nearby.

The week passed with work going on as usual.  Normally I welcome the time spent at work, resting atop the desk on breaks. But worries persisted about my friend alone in that hostile place.  The hours seemed to get stuck, even as the clock marked their progression. I longed for night when I became her protector, placing myself near, but not touching.

The long weekend was spent whispering our hopes of always being together. But that is not the way of life.  Monday morning as I sat between jobs, I saw her being taken out and then heard a loud noise. My friend was taken from me without so much as a good-bye.

I moped around all day and when I went back to my drawer, there in her place was a plastic wrapper containing some white papers.

There should be a lesson learned here, but I have none. Only regrets of what could have been. Nothing much ever comes from  office romances. Office Temp
I don’t know how the handkerchief ended up beside me. The softness surprised me. The daintiness of the lace edge, plus the slight scent, something sweet and ephemeral made me go slightly faint.
There’s no room in my life for sentimentality. Around here I’m known as the tough guy. My home is a drawer in a high tech office. Everything gets tossed in here, so close in proximity that we bump hard edges against each other. Scissors and the minutia of paperclips vie for space. The pens act mightier than all of us, they are contained in a narrow compartment and do not associate with the rest of us. They are handled daily in the production of written messages that are placed in small envelopes and disappear somewhere. When there are several pages I am called on to staple them together. Life is hard, I get whacked a lot. My parts get out of line and I am opened up, almost torn apart in an effort to get me working again.
The morning the handkerchief appeared beside me I was befuddled, became tongue-tied. I imagined the what’s-a-girl-doing-in-a-place-like-this? pick up line. I sat mute as she drew herself together trying to fold her lace edges in so as not to get them snagged on the rough characters nearby.
The week passed with work going on as usual. Normally I welcome the time spent at work, resting atop the desk on breaks. But worries persisted about my friend alone in that hostile place. The hours seemed to get stuck, even as the clock marked their progression. I longed for night when I became her protector, placing myself near, but not touching.
The long weekend was spent whispering our hopes of always being together. But that is not the way of life. Monday morning as I sat between jobs, I saw her being taken out and then heard a loud noise. My friend was taken from me without so much as a good-bye.
I moped around all day and when I went back to my drawer, there in her place was a plastic wrapper containing some white papers.
There should be a lesson learned here, but I have none. Only regrets of what could have been. Nothing much ever comes from office romances.

Office Temp

I don’t know how the handkerchief ended up beside me.  The softness surprised me. The daintiness of the lace edge, plus the slight scent, something sweet and ephemeral made me go slightly faint.

There’s no room in my life for sentimentality. Around here I’m known as the tough guy. My home is a drawer in a high tech office.  Everything gets tossed in here, so close in proximity that we bump hard edges against each other. Scissors and the minutia of paperclips vie for space. The pens act mightier than all of us, they are contained in a narrow compartment and do not associate with the rest of us.  They are handled daily in the production of written messages that are placed in small envelopes and disappear somewhere. When there are several pages I am called on to staple them together. Life is hard, I get whacked a lot. My parts get out of line and I am opened up, almost torn apart in an effort to get me working again.

The morning the handkerchief appeared beside me I was befuddled, became tongue-tied. I imagined the what’s-a-girl-doing-in-a-place-like-this? pick up line. I sat mute as she drew herself together trying to fold her lace edges in so as not to get them snagged on the rough characters nearby.

The week passed with work going on as usual.  Normally I welcome the time spent at work, resting atop the desk on breaks. But worries persisted about my friend alone in that hostile place.  The hours seemed to get stuck, even as the clock marked their progression. I longed for night when I became her protector, placing myself near, but not touching.

The long weekend was spent whispering our hopes of always being together. But that is not the way of life.  Monday morning as I sat between jobs, I saw her being taken out and then heard a loud noise. My friend was taken from me without so much as a good-bye.

I moped around all day and when I went back to my drawer, there in her place was a plastic wrapper containing some white papers.

There should be a lesson learned here, but I have none. Only regrets of what could have been. Nothing much ever comes from  office romances.

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One thought on “Office Temp

  1. Pingback: NaPoWriMo – Day 25 – “The Ghost Of A Burden To Oblivion” by David Ellis | toofulltowrite (I've started so I'll finish)

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