Digital Diversion 9
The Trident Plan
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Chapter 9 The Break
The fracture deepened and widened.
One of his bosses summoned him one morning for a talk. Jim was very nervous but hadn’t been late in weeks. What could they possibly want?
“Jim, come in. Take a seat.
“There have been some complaints about the mail delivery service. Some of the engineers want to know why packages arriving in the evening are not brought until morning.
“Maybe you could help me explain that issue.”
“Yes of course. Some packages arrive after hours. The mail-room attendants are discouraged from working overtime, so the packages may not be delivered late in the evenings.”
“That would mean coming in later, which I’ve been cautioned about,” Jim said a little more sharply than intended.
“Hey, take it easy there Jim,” the boss said raising an open hand. “I’m not suggesting you can come in late on a whim. It has to be set in advance with the supervisor in charge.”
“So coming in early is discouraged?”
“Calm yourself Jim. You’re making this harder than it has to be. If you can’t handle the discussion send up someone who can.”
“ I can handle it. I was just confused,” Jim said more quietly, “I understand the problem and I will take care of it.”
“That’s better. You may return to your duties.”
Jim stood, bowed for some reason he didn’t understand, just as the tears started leaking.
Everything was just so crazy. It made no sense. He was lost.
He found a quiet corner restroom stall and let the tears flow. Crying silently made an ache in his throat, his nose ran, tears washed over his entire face.
When he had let enough out to control himself, he blew his nose, mopped his tears, and took several deep breaths. Then he returned to the mail-room.
Everyone was silent at first, which oddly irritated him greatly. He had planned to tell them of the insanity he just experienced but he realized they weren’t on his side particularly.
Instead he went to the mail-room sorters and asked how later they were staying. They were evasive.
“Well, it depends. If the mail carriers tell us there’s a rush delivery, we’ll wait for that. Otherwise, the usual time.”
“Can you tell me when you’re leaving for the day.”
“You’re not our supervisor, we don’t have to report to you.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Jim snapped, “I just want to know when it is safe for me to leave for the day.”
“We’re not your supervisors either, leave when you want.”
Jim buried his face in his hands. After a brief moment he turned on a heel and headed to the break room.
He sat and drank the rest of his coffee. It was at that stage between lukewarm and cold when its taste had thinned and the aroma had long escaped its liquid embodiment. No soul.
What Jim had just experienced was equally coincidence and conspiracy. It was too perfect not to have been planned. If not by Machiavellian human resources managers, then by a force greater than humankind.
Why pick on the mail delivery staff? And why him of all the choices they had. Jim sat and pondered until the mail sorters went home.
This was going to put a serious kink in his schedule.
He went home deflated, sleeping in his clothes. The alarm didn’t wake him with joy or sadness. It just was that time. To do the only thing he was good at.
He fired up the PC, double-clicked the game icon, and dropped into a stupor.
“Sorry, we’re down for serve maintenance. Expected downtime is 6.5 hours from now” the loading screen read, the timer counting down.
The silence that followed was louder than any alarm.
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