Ah, the Daily Prompt has decided to redo the 10 minutes of interrupted writing today, and I’m glad for it. Last time I wanted to talk about my desk at work (focus, girl, focus), I got nothing accomplished because I kept getting interrupted (read about that here). But not today. Today I can write about my desk.
Or so I think.
I enter the campus and I am greeted by a horrific smell. It is vile and pungent. The best I can describe of it is that it smells like rotting fish that has marinated in perfume. I can barely breathe from the cloud of rankness that engulfs my workspace.
Holy shit, I think. Then, I’m reminded of Han Solo’s quote in Star Wars: A New Hope, “My, what an incredible smell you’ve discovered!”
And I’m not the only one. Everyone is in an uproar, coughing, choking. My chest constricts and breathing becomes laborious and my head is light and dizzy. A coughing fit ensues. Hands shaking, I reach in my bag, searching for my inhaler. No luck.
I curse inwardly and leave the department. Others have too. Comments are made regarding the culprit of who doused the area with old lady perfume in an attempt to cover up stinky fish. My guess isn’t too far off the mark when I’m told that my sense of smell is more astute than I’d give myself credit for. I’m informed that someone ate rank fish for breakfast and, trying to cover up the pungent aroma, wandered around the area spraying perfume to cover up the offensive odor. But now it just smells like a fish that put on too much cologne. And now I’m stuck in an asthma attack without an inhaler.
It’s a slow walk to the nurse’s station, where I’m hoping they have albuterol sulfate, and I’m in luck. Weezer girl gets bumped ahead and sucks on the old ProAir. 20 minutes later I’m out, some tightness in the chest still lingers, but I no longer feel like I’m drowning.
So, once again, I’m unable to write for 10 minutes about what I’d originally hoped to do. I don’t know why I wanted to tell you all about my desk so much, I really don’t. I think that maybe it’s because I already do stream of consciousness posts on my own that I thought I’d at least have a focus for when Daily Prompt asks for the same.
So I’m only a few minutes to the end of the 10 minute mark today. I load up a few photos of my desk and, finally, I’m about to have a sip of my pumpkin spiced coffee when,
“Knock, knock!” Ducksauce bellows at me from behind. I jump in my chair, hot coffee spilling all over my pants, shirt, and keyboard.
“Jesus Christ!” I reach for a Kleenix and begin mopping up the mess.
“Nope–close!–but not quite,” Ducksauce grins a Cheshire Cat smile. “Whatcha doin’ for lunch today?”
“Dunno, I go at 1.” I try rubbing out the beverage on my gray shirt. Why couldn’t I be wearing black when I spill my coffee?
“There’s a lovely field nearby, with yellow wildflowers blooming. Come take a walk with me.”
I nod. “I’m in.”
…and I’m about out of time. So have the photos of my desk, without any explanation as to why it’s such a madness of men like Tom Hiddleston, Benedict Cumberbatch, Billy Corgan… Where the toys came from, why they mean something, who gave them to me.
At least you know where I am 37.5 hours a week. So when I babble about work you have an image of where I am.