stripped bare

Daily work stress.

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I leaned against his table wearily, chugging back my bottle of Ice Mountain like an old-timer with his hip flask of whiskey. “How?” I asked him, a frown etched lightly between my eyebrows. “I really can’t work with nothing, you know?”

“I know…” he replied apologetically. “But I also know you’re the best! You can do it! I know you can! You’re the best!” Pumping both his fists into the air as a show of support, his face turned into a wide, brilliant grin for my benefit. It’s funny how such a tall and lean man like him can be so theatrically agile.

I trudged back to my desk with a grunt. Setting my bottle of mineral water down onto the table on my left, I flexed my fingers, positioned them above the keyboard, and closed my eyes.


Half an hour later, my colleague sidled over, plopped onto an empty chair next to my desk and glided over. He peered over my shoulder and started to read aloud the first four lines of the document I was working on. Then he read them again. And again. And again. Then, he turned to me with a slight quiver of fear in his eyes. “Wah. You power, man. You’re the best.” He stood up, nodded, then turned and walked off.

To hear that coming from a guy who hardly minces his words, I had a warm, tingly feeling in me for the entire morning. Until I looked down and glimpsed the same skimpy profile of my next client’s job bag, that is.


Written by smudgi3

November 23, 2007, Friday at 23:02

Posted in Dear Diary, Insight

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