The explosion to my right sent me flying to the floor. Bullet after bullet whizzed past my head, ringing as they struck the precious things around me. It was a fucking automatic. Dammit! I thought I had the only one.
Bella is firing a Nerf Vulcan Automatic Heavy Blaster. Nerf gun battles are a common thing in the geek world. This scene was inspired by one we had just survived at my work. They are not as cool a this scene though. Mine is only a six-shooter. But it’s really fun to hit the bald guys in the head.
My plush oversized microbes were the first collateral damage, one flying from its huge petri dish, landing with a splash in the beta's bowl. The poor fish was confused – and rightly so – as it was attacked by a Microbe of Unusual Size. The onslaught continued, and I seethed to see Brainiac the Remote Controlled Zombie fall. He had put up a worthy defense, but ultimately was only as good as the man controlling him. That man – me – was currently playing Cowardly-fucking-Lion, hiding under my desk. Still the missiles rained down, taking good soldiers at every turn. Boxing Nun fell next, taking Jesus Bobblehead with her. Half-Dead Potted Plant was the last to fall, suffering a mortal blow as the desiccated soil spilled from its overturned pot.
You can get plush oversized microbes at Think Geek along with remote controlled zombies. Like Edward, I also have a beta on my desk at work. Her name is Mrs. McFlufferpants. Boxing nuns and bobblehead Jesus can be found randomly online.
Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ how long is the ammo belt on that thing?!
In case you hadn’t gathered in from my pen-name, I’m a bit obsessed with Diana Gabaldon’s “Outlander” series. Her main character, Claire, says “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ” a lot. This is my nod to her.
Suddenly I felt something warm and disturbingly wet dripping down the back of my neck. Looking up I saw it was coffee. Drip after drip was playing lemming on the edge of my work station.
Son of a bitch! There was coffee all over the schema I had been working on. That was my only copy. Now I have to go talk to the asshat hipster kids in the Creative department in order to get another one. Ugh.
In reality most of the people in our Creative department are cool. There are some hipster kids, but they’re mostly OK (and they’re mostly writers, not designers). This was more a reflection of my frutration at work that as a developer I don’t get to use the “good” printers. Twatwaffles. Just because we code doesn’t mean we can’t appreciate nice quality paper and some freakin’ color on the page, ya know?
Right now though, I had bigger things to worry about. Like the twatwaffle who shot at me. She was going to pay.
Looking around at the damage, I saw the Nerf dart soaking in the pool of brown liquid around my overturned coffee cup, ironically drowning in its own victim. Anger wrapped its ugly fingers around my heart. That right there is unadulterated sacrilege. You don't fuck with my coffee. Grabbing my own Vulcan Automatic Nerf blaster – stashed handily under my desk for just such occasions – I channeled my inner ninja and crept stealthily along the inner sanctum of my cube.
Coffee = sacred. It’s my only religion.
Bitch. Must. Die. Or at least be slightly bruised by the Nerfageddon I was about to unleash on her. Peeking around the corner I saw nothing. She must be hiding behind the half-wall of her cube.
Coward.
Crouching lower, making sure my back and head were well below the top of the low filing cabinets, I crept along the wall towards the next set of cubicles. Rounding the final corner, still crouched, I raised my weapon in anticipation of the hell-fire of terror I was about to unleash, when–
"Cullen! What the heck are you doing down there, man? I've been looking every where for you. We need you in a status call with the client. They're really hot to trot on this new interactive project and we need someone to speak geek to their geeks."
I work with someone like this. But he’s an Art Director. With a soul patch. *shudders*
Holy poop on a stick, it was Mike Newton – Project Lead and King Asshat. I sighed, not bothering to disguise it and got to my feet, waiting for the gloating that was sure to come. As I rose, a dark slender figure stood on the other side of the half-wall. Hood pulled up, dark hair peeking out, she gave me the exact shit-eating grin I feared seeing.
"You're learning well, padawan. But not well enough," Bella's voice was quiet but had an unmistakable ring of victory.
I had nothing. She owned me this time. Who am I kidding, she owned me always. But just this once I might have had a chance had Mike "Fucktard" Newton not called me out.
"Coming, Cullen? We're meeting in McD's."
All of our conference rooms had been named for fast food chains. McD's was one of the biggest, with nasty-ass yellow walls. I think the color was supposed to be "Golden Arches", but it turned out more "Baby-shit Mustard".
"Yeah Mike, I'll be there in a minute. Let me just get my notebook."
Mike scurried down the hallway, his loafers squeaking on the polished cement floors as he went. Turning, I spoke quietly, giving my words a solemnity appropriate to the occasion.
"You killed my Microbes of Unusual Size"
Yes, this is a Princess Bride quote. They reference the Rodents of Unusual Size. If you haven’t seen Princess Bride, please stop reading this right now, get in your car, and go rent it. No. Buy it. Now. I mean it. You will not be a complete person until you have."No I didn't Edward, they're only mostly dead."
Another PB quote.
She reached in her hoodie pocket, handing me a fuzzified almond M&M.
"The chocolate coating makes it go down easier."
She offered the candy, clearly intended as a "miracle pill", to revive my Microbe of Unusual Size. She was truly a strange girl. I took it, holding back my comment on M&Ms being candy-coated, not chocolate-coated. You don't fuck with a movie quote, even if slightly misused. It's just rude. Walking back to my desk, I put my Vulcan Automatic Nerf blaster down, frowning at the mess.
Aaaaand some more.
"I'll reprint the schema for you, Edward. Sorry about that."
She sounded genuinely penitent. It wasn't necessary – I would have fucked her up the same way if I had thought of it first. But Bella Swan was always one step ahead of me. Hell, who was I kidding. She was like four fucking steps ahead of me, at all times.
God she was a bitch.
And by "bitch" I mean "the most amazingly brilliant, funny, beautiful, wank-worthy woman, I will never, ever, ever have."
Ugh.
I had a client call to get to.
Did I say "ugh" already?
Running a hand through my disheveled hair I turned, walking down the hall towards McD’s.
Twenty four and a half minutes, three eye rolls, and eleven stupid questions later, I was just wrapping up the phone conference with our latest panic-inducing client and their equally bored, eye-rolling geeks, when I got a text message.
Perhaps it’s just marketing, but all client interactions seem to be panic-inducing. I particularly hate being a part of these calls, as the questions are generally so absurd it’s hard to answer them without going “Gah, are you serious?!” every two seconds.
What ever you do, don't answer their questions. It's exactly what they'd expect you to do.
I quickly typed my response.
It's too late for me, they know everything. Get out! Save yourself!
We did this goofy shit all day long. It made my day — every day.
I really am loving this story. Best Geekward I've read in a while. :)
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