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Daily wordcount: 1,237
Total wordcount: 12,547
On/off target: -7,457
Missed my 2,000 word goal today, but it's a miracle I managed to force myself to write at all, so I'll take it!
Monday was a day full of full-on suck. There was nothing that went right at work. Besides the usual getting yelled at for things that weren't my fault, as well as, admittedly, a few things that were, both the coffee machine and the copier seemed to have it out for me. Well, the coffee machine one seemed personal, the copier had it out for everyone. It jammed no fewer than three dozen times before lunch, and it only slowed down because people stopped using it. Which meant work was backing up and Tuesday was going to feel like a second Monday, undoubtedly.
I settled at my desk and tried to keep my head down, doing easy, mundane tasks. Like cleaning out the nine bajillion emails that had piled up in my inbox. I was on no fewer than five committee email groups at work, only one of which I was even marginally active in. Then there was the straight-up spam I should delete immediately, but had gotten in the habit of ignoring. Finally, actual work emails that I needed to sort or deal with. I felt a little better when, right before lunch, my inbox was down to a paltry ninety five emails, most of which I still needed to act upon. I figured the number would double by the time I got back from lunch, especially since the Activity Committee was in the middle of planning the annual company retreat. This year they were trying to hit the teambuilding exercises extra-hard, and it was all I could do to keep from sending them a link the Dam Sharks, an excellent bad movie about corporate retreats. To be honest, if it ended up like that, I'd be tempted to go. As it was, I'd been putting off a bit of dental work I figured I could use as an excuse to get out of it. Yes, that's exactly how bad it was going to be. I couldn't get out of it the first three years I worked here, and I vowed never again. And so far, so good.
Lunch was the one bright spot of the day. When I'd woken up, Steve was gone, though the sun was just peaking up over the horizon. He'd left me a packed lunch in the refrigerator, though, and it was excellent. I had to pass it off as leftover takeout, because by coworkers knew I was not that kind of a cook. And how was I supposed to explain a demon popping in after dark to cook and watch bad movies? I mean, other than exactly like that, and let's be honest, that doesn't sound very believable. They'd probably think I had some guy I was refusing to tell them about. And to their credit, even if the guy in question wasn't a demon, I probably wouldn't tell them about it.
My boss called me into her office after lunch to discuss the merger paperwork, and it went about as well as I'd expected, but not as badly as I'd feared. I tried to explain the problems with getting people to sign different paperwork when they felt that the contracts they had already signed were perfectly valid and they didn't really want to make the effort to have their lawyers triple-check an entirely new set of documents.
"I do understand your position," she said. "But unfortunately, it has to be done. Find a way."
"The former proprietor of Cainin and Burke is in Europe. Somewhere. Unreachable by phone or email for at least six more weeks, according to his lawyer. I called again this morning, and they'd gotten a postcard from him assuring them that all was well and his tour was proceeding on schedule and he'd not be back, or indeed in any real contact for that time. Something about some quest, which sounds dark and mysterious, but it was an antique store, so probably just tracking down the provenance of some painting and making it into a bit of an adventure. "
"And?" She asked archly, tapping her long, perfectly manicured nail on her desk.
"Well, short of going through all of the research he left behind and travelling to his last known location and somehow figuring out the same things he did and following in his footsteps and tracking him down to get him to sign, I don't see what else we can do but accept the perfectly valid contract documents we have, or wait." I was starting to feel like it wasn't only the coffee maker who had a specific vendetta against me. My boss had been decidedly frosty towards me the last few weeks, and for the life of me I didn't know why.
"That sounds like a splendid plan," she said dismissively.
I got up and left her office, knowing that if I was crazy enough to try to track down Evan Burke in Transylvania or wherever the hell he was, it wouldn't be on the company's dime. They'd expect me to foot the bill myself. I could argue that I didn't have a passport, but then, that could also be expedited with the help of even more of my money. Or I could just not come in to work for six weeks, claim I was trying to track him down, and catch up with him when he got back into town. It was iffy whether they would pay me while I was on my wild goose chase, so doing nothing and not spending extra money on airfare, hotels, and eating out would probably put me ahead. I started to formulate a plan for faking my way through Europe. Was it even possible, I mean, they wouldn't be reimbursing me, so they couldn't realistically expect receipts. If contact was by email or phone, who's to tell where I am? Photos could totally be faked. I started to get a bit jazzed about my staycation. I needed the break from work, anyway.
I spent the afternoon making preparations for Operation Hermitage. I looked up flights and accommodations on the computer, contacted the lawyer for all the files Evan Burke had left in case someone did need to try to find him, and tidied up the loose ends with my other projects. At the end of the day, I popped my head into my boss's office to tell her I was off to track down the wayward antiques dealer. I had expected her to be cool and distant about it, but instead, she seemed genuinely surprised.
"You're actually going to look for him?" She asked.
"I got the impression that was what was expected. And I'm going to try, but I make no promises. I've been reading the notes he left and I'm not sure I'd have followed his trail as far as it's gone, let alone being able to guess his next move. So all I can do is my best." I almost felt bad for lying, but the tiny glint of malice in her eyes made that fade very quickly. Perhaps a better use of my time over the next few weeks would be job hunting.
"Well, good luck," she said softly, then swiveled her chair away from me and back to her computer. It didn't completely sound like she meant it.
I left the office and headed home, making a quick stop at the grocery store to pick up some supplies for dinner.
Total wordcount: 12,547
On/off target: -7,457
Missed my 2,000 word goal today, but it's a miracle I managed to force myself to write at all, so I'll take it!
Monday was a day full of full-on suck. There was nothing that went right at work. Besides the usual getting yelled at for things that weren't my fault, as well as, admittedly, a few things that were, both the coffee machine and the copier seemed to have it out for me. Well, the coffee machine one seemed personal, the copier had it out for everyone. It jammed no fewer than three dozen times before lunch, and it only slowed down because people stopped using it. Which meant work was backing up and Tuesday was going to feel like a second Monday, undoubtedly.
I settled at my desk and tried to keep my head down, doing easy, mundane tasks. Like cleaning out the nine bajillion emails that had piled up in my inbox. I was on no fewer than five committee email groups at work, only one of which I was even marginally active in. Then there was the straight-up spam I should delete immediately, but had gotten in the habit of ignoring. Finally, actual work emails that I needed to sort or deal with. I felt a little better when, right before lunch, my inbox was down to a paltry ninety five emails, most of which I still needed to act upon. I figured the number would double by the time I got back from lunch, especially since the Activity Committee was in the middle of planning the annual company retreat. This year they were trying to hit the teambuilding exercises extra-hard, and it was all I could do to keep from sending them a link the Dam Sharks, an excellent bad movie about corporate retreats. To be honest, if it ended up like that, I'd be tempted to go. As it was, I'd been putting off a bit of dental work I figured I could use as an excuse to get out of it. Yes, that's exactly how bad it was going to be. I couldn't get out of it the first three years I worked here, and I vowed never again. And so far, so good.
Lunch was the one bright spot of the day. When I'd woken up, Steve was gone, though the sun was just peaking up over the horizon. He'd left me a packed lunch in the refrigerator, though, and it was excellent. I had to pass it off as leftover takeout, because by coworkers knew I was not that kind of a cook. And how was I supposed to explain a demon popping in after dark to cook and watch bad movies? I mean, other than exactly like that, and let's be honest, that doesn't sound very believable. They'd probably think I had some guy I was refusing to tell them about. And to their credit, even if the guy in question wasn't a demon, I probably wouldn't tell them about it.
My boss called me into her office after lunch to discuss the merger paperwork, and it went about as well as I'd expected, but not as badly as I'd feared. I tried to explain the problems with getting people to sign different paperwork when they felt that the contracts they had already signed were perfectly valid and they didn't really want to make the effort to have their lawyers triple-check an entirely new set of documents.
"I do understand your position," she said. "But unfortunately, it has to be done. Find a way."
"The former proprietor of Cainin and Burke is in Europe. Somewhere. Unreachable by phone or email for at least six more weeks, according to his lawyer. I called again this morning, and they'd gotten a postcard from him assuring them that all was well and his tour was proceeding on schedule and he'd not be back, or indeed in any real contact for that time. Something about some quest, which sounds dark and mysterious, but it was an antique store, so probably just tracking down the provenance of some painting and making it into a bit of an adventure. "
"And?" She asked archly, tapping her long, perfectly manicured nail on her desk.
"Well, short of going through all of the research he left behind and travelling to his last known location and somehow figuring out the same things he did and following in his footsteps and tracking him down to get him to sign, I don't see what else we can do but accept the perfectly valid contract documents we have, or wait." I was starting to feel like it wasn't only the coffee maker who had a specific vendetta against me. My boss had been decidedly frosty towards me the last few weeks, and for the life of me I didn't know why.
"That sounds like a splendid plan," she said dismissively.
I got up and left her office, knowing that if I was crazy enough to try to track down Evan Burke in Transylvania or wherever the hell he was, it wouldn't be on the company's dime. They'd expect me to foot the bill myself. I could argue that I didn't have a passport, but then, that could also be expedited with the help of even more of my money. Or I could just not come in to work for six weeks, claim I was trying to track him down, and catch up with him when he got back into town. It was iffy whether they would pay me while I was on my wild goose chase, so doing nothing and not spending extra money on airfare, hotels, and eating out would probably put me ahead. I started to formulate a plan for faking my way through Europe. Was it even possible, I mean, they wouldn't be reimbursing me, so they couldn't realistically expect receipts. If contact was by email or phone, who's to tell where I am? Photos could totally be faked. I started to get a bit jazzed about my staycation. I needed the break from work, anyway.
I spent the afternoon making preparations for Operation Hermitage. I looked up flights and accommodations on the computer, contacted the lawyer for all the files Evan Burke had left in case someone did need to try to find him, and tidied up the loose ends with my other projects. At the end of the day, I popped my head into my boss's office to tell her I was off to track down the wayward antiques dealer. I had expected her to be cool and distant about it, but instead, she seemed genuinely surprised.
"You're actually going to look for him?" She asked.
"I got the impression that was what was expected. And I'm going to try, but I make no promises. I've been reading the notes he left and I'm not sure I'd have followed his trail as far as it's gone, let alone being able to guess his next move. So all I can do is my best." I almost felt bad for lying, but the tiny glint of malice in her eyes made that fade very quickly. Perhaps a better use of my time over the next few weeks would be job hunting.
"Well, good luck," she said softly, then swiveled her chair away from me and back to her computer. It didn't completely sound like she meant it.
I left the office and headed home, making a quick stop at the grocery store to pick up some supplies for dinner.
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