Tony’s sitting at his desk typing away at a computer, his main screen with work and his right screen with e-mails ignored in favor of the smaller one on the left. He thinks he’s awfully smart, doing his own thing on a monitor no manager can see unless they come down the row behind him. Smug bastard.
In a bizarre choice of style he’s wearing a gray long-sleeve sport T-shirt, gray jeans, and gray-and-technicolor striped socks. And the same black running shoes he wears every day. Has he been wearing the same pants for a week now? Weirdo.
He keeps reaching for peppermint Altoids from his desk drawer. He always talks about being frugal and eating so rarely, he’s probably starving so he keeps grabbing for something to munch on. He’s got a job and all, so what’s he so worried about? He needs to live a little.
What the hell is with his desk? He’s got a black phone hooked up to a computer with a pink charge cable, some poor contorted monster figure hanging from a divider that looks like it’s doing something awfully lewd to a rubber duck, and a French press air-drying next to an empty coffee mug.
But worst of all is the cardboard tubes. They’re all behind his monitors. In bags, stacked on top of each other, rolling out along the sides. That can’t be safe. With any luck his screens are going to burn out or the bags and tubes are going to catch on fire.
It’s really amazing. This guy can handle a couple of problems in a day, then just ignore everything else and do something entirely unrelated. Out of nowhere he’ll respond to some casual e-mail from a former colleague then go back to working on some sort of weird web site.
He seems pretty happy though. In fact, I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time. He keeps talking about how happy he is he moved closer to work, even if he still has to drive to avoid all the scary folks on the way to work. He wishes he could easily ride a bike to work every day instead. He mentioned he had to get the a rim on his car replaced earlier today – bummer for him. But he keeps trucking on, reading Mr. Money Mustache every morning even if there’s only a new post every two weeks.
(I’d love to write more but the prompt I based this post on called for fifteen minutes and I’m about there.)