Help

Jim looks over at the woman from services. She really doesn’t get it.

She insists his computer is running fine, clean of viruses and other malicious toys. She sits there fiddling with the mouse, pressing keys, with little expectation of anything happening.

He tries once more. "I tell you, Ma'am, it only happens when I sit at the keyboard."

She smiles. So infuriating, he thinks.

"By all means", she replies, and gets up from the chair.

Jim huffs and sits down. Closes his eyes. Relaxes.

Nothing.

He opens his eyes. Looks around frustrated.

She smiles broadly. “It’s ok honey, every now and then a man needs to be rescued.”

Jim fumes. It has nothing to do with his being a man. It is purely a technical issue. One she, can’t seem to find. She didn’t do anything anyway.

She leaves.

15 minutes later, it begins again. Strange, so strange.

The screen starts typing letters while he is proofreading the next report. He pauses, with his glasses half-down his nose.

“Jim ... where are you?”
“Jim?”

It stops for a moment.

Jim just stares at the screen.

“I need your help ... a terrible mistake has been made.”

Fumbling with his papers, Jim finally tosses them aside on the desk and begins to type.

“I can’t help. Who are you any way?”

“Jim, I work in the secretarial pool. I really can’t tell you. I’ll get fired!”

“Ok ... ok.” Jim struggles with his desk drawer. He looks around sidewise to see if anyone is watching his cubicle. No one. Pulling out a copy of the employee manual, he gently slides it into his briefcase.

Three weeks later, two suits from corporate come to his desk. They lead him off, never to be seen again.