I’ve got ten minutes to write, and I know I’m in trouble when Ducksauce enters the department. She’s my favorite librarian, and she resides in the cubicle next to mine. Blue-collar to the core, she loves rock and roll and bike riding.
“Dude, I don’t know what to do with my bike,” she says. I’m here, recording her announcement. But I need to focus. I want to write about my desk. I need something to concentrate on while only allotting myself today’s strict writing time frame.
“Hey dude,” she says in my direction. “Green Day. Love it.”
I’m wearing my old school 1991 tour hoodie. It’s supposed to be black, but it’s so faded it looks dull and flat. The red and white lettering are peeling, and the cuffs are ripped. There’s a cigarette burn in the left arm as well.
I’m skeptical. “You? You like Green Day?”
“Yeah, man. That song–with the line I’ll be there for you–“
“Poprocks and Coke. I adore that song!”
“Me too! Here.” Ducksauce sets something on my desk as my fingers fly across the keyboard. I try to glance at it and document our discussion. The idea of writing about my desk fades. What sits near my elbow is a pine cone. A teeny, tiny one, at that.
“Why?” I ask.
“It’s good for your brain. That pine cone is the size of your pineal gland. It gives you good luck. That gland in your brain is where all of the answers to the questions you seek reside.”
I think I recorded that correctly, but I’m having a hard time functioning on writing and talking and comprehending.
“My… questions will be answered by a pine cone?” I stop typing to scratch my scalp. Ducksauce laughs.
“Oh, dude, Thor!”
Thor 2: The Dark World is on my television. Part of my job is to transcribe in library records whether or not an item is widescreen/full screen/closed-captioned. I can’t take it from the box; I must verify every item on my machine.
“I love Thor. And Loki,” I say.
“I’m a Superman girl,” she says. “Look! Up in the sky! It’s Superman! He’s got a pocket full of Kryptonite in his pocket and I can think of a good place to put it.”
I’m not sure this makes any sense or not. But I’ve only got a minute left.
“But–Superman is faster than a speeding bullet,” I say. “I’m not sure how I feel about that. Wouldn’t say no to getting hammered by Thor, though.”
“That’s okay, dude.” I note she says dude a lot. “He’s not for everyone. But he stands for truth, justice, and the American way. And I like that in a man.”
“Duly noted,” I say. My time is up. “Duly noted.”
Where I wrote this post from.
1o minutes uninterrupted writing–no more, no less. From today’s Daily Prompt.