The goddamn pinwheel icon spun in a loop. I couldn’t log in to the portfolio tracking program needed to perform my tasks. I clicked my mouse hard several times in a row, and even lifted it up and down, then slid it side to side to see if I could shake some sense into it. Then I called my company’s I.T. support desk extension. Unfortunately, the junior network assistant, Rodrigo, answered.
“Gooooood morning! Help Desk.”
“It’s Sean in Solutions, and-”
“Good morning, Sean! Did you see the game last-”
“Bro, listen, sorry to cut you off, but I got a big client presentation this afternoon, and I can’t get into the site.”
“Oh, ok. I’m so sorry to hear that. Did you place an issue ticket for us yet?”
“Nah, can’t. On a time crunch. Can you, just, do your thing and help me out?”
“Well, I’m not really supposed to, unless there is an issue ticket, but if it’s something small, perhaps I can help. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. Can’t get into the site. Google’s being a little bitch.”
“Hmmm. Could you explain a little more? Google is not working, or the site?”
“I don’t even know about the site, bro. Can’t get that far. Google’s acting like a bitch.”
Rodrigo, humming and narrating his actions aloud, performed something ‘on the back end’ while I tapped my pen on my chin. “Bro, got it under control? Could you see how Google was being a bitch?”
Rodrigo was making a ‘doo-doo-doo-doo-doo’ sound as he clicked on the other end and said “Now, I’m not 100% certain I understand the Google question, but I do see where your device is utilizing a large amount of memory, so I’m just clearing-”
“Bro, do you have an ETA on when you’re going to get that bitch under control?”
Rodrigo didn’t answer for a moment, continuing to concentrate on his operation. “I think….” The clicking intensified.
My face was burning. “Listen, you don’t need me for this. Tell me when the bitch is back up.” I hung up and went to the restroom down the hall.
Brian from accounting used the urinal next to me, and then at the sinks a moment later asked about my weekend plans.
“Heading to my brother’s house for the game and a barbeque. Hopefully, he won’t be acting like a little shit again.”
Brian ripped a paper towel from the automatic dispenser. “Oh, man. Not getting along with your sibling sucks.”
“Nah,” I said, adjusting my fly, arching my back, and allowing my heels to slide back a half inch. “The grill is a little shit. Never lights. Takes too long. Total shit.”
Brian nodded and went back to his office.
At a local cafe, I ordered a turkey sandwich on sourdough with no tomatoes. I hovered my credit card in the air to pay, then told the cashier to add a bag of salt and vinegar chips. She put her palm up at the credit card. “Sorry, the machine is broken,” she said, pointing to the hand-written note on the card swiper that stated ‘Sorry, the machine is broken.’
“What?” I asked. “Nah.”
“Yes,” said the cashier, her eyes darting to the line behind me.
“Damn,” I said. “What a prick.”
The cashier frowned but didn’t move.
I breathed out hard and shook my head. “So sick of these things being little pricks. What do you want me to do?”
“Do you have cash?”
“I guess, but I want to pay by card. You need to get that prick fixed.” I dug into my right pocket.
The cashier nodded and stared at my hands peeling through a wad of cash.
“What a little prick. That prick needs to get fixed, fast. Then, tell the owner – you the owner?” – (she shook her head) – “then tell him to get rid of this little prick. Get Square. Square is tight, except for when it’s being a little prick.”
The cashier made change, and I slipped my sunglasses onto my nose before turning to the line behind me. “Don’t bother with credit cards. Machine’s being a prick. She’s not the owner, can’t fix it. Just a total prick.” I turned to the door and dug into the white paper bag to pull out the chips. I told a customer coming inside, “Don’t come in. Machine’s being a little prick.”
Back at my desk, turkey sandwich condiments falling out of my sandwich like little assholes, I called Rodrigo. “Any word on the bitch?” I asked.
“Oh, yes, hello, good afternoon! How has the day been treating you?”
“Nah, no time. Is the bitch back up?”
“Right. Yes, you should have received my voicemail to you from, let’s see… 12:34 pm stating that you were back up and running. I had to reconfigure your profile.”
“Oh, so the profile was being a bitch? Not Google?”
Rodrigo cleared his throat. “Well, actually, it was a network connectivity situation-”
“Nah, it’s good. I’ll check that bitch out now. But, just so you know, I was at lunch when you called. Next time, text me.”
“Oh, interesting request. I.T.’s policy is to notify employees by company emails or phone numbers only. I apologize-”
“Got it. Your policy’s a little fucker.” I heard a click on Rodrigo’s end. “Hello? Hello? Bro?”
Guess something was wrong with the phone. Phones at this company are such cunts.
