“Alright, alright, I’ll get rid of them. Jeepers.” You mutter, waving your hand in the air.
Immediately the sky clears and the otherworldly creatures vanish into puffs of sulfurous smoke. The officers who had been battling the creatures stand dumbly for a few moments and then, shrugging, climb back into the few remaining squad cars and whoosh out of the lot. The manager levels a finger at you and growls though gritted teeth.
“That’s better. Next time, keep it in your pants, Chacho.”
Then, whirling around she swishes back through the door and into the bank, a trail of visibly shaken employees following in her wake.
“What a lousy ‘B’,” you curse and kick at some sand on the sidewalk, “Why does she have to be so mean about it?”
You head back inside and make your way to your desk. You sit staring off into space for a while, the fluorescent light above your head flickering and buzzing. Then you shuffle some papers around for another few minutes and decide to head out to lunch. As you pass her office, the manager screeches out at you.
“And just WHERE do you think YOU’RE going?!”
“Lunch?” You ask.
“Oh no. You HAD your lunch. You can just consider that little RUCKUS you caused earlier your lunch, buddy boy.”
You hang your head and trudge back to your desk. You spend the rest of the day at your desk creating a crossbow out of paperclips, a rotten rubberband, and a small pencil you’ve gnawed almost to the lead.
You never really get it to work, and so you toss it into the trash on your way out the door at the end of the day.