A Man Called Desk
Christopher Warm had a sedentary job. On his keyboard he typed various letters and numbers, which would become computer programs. In his company he was known as Office Desk, because when he was working he always sat behind his well-used piece of conference table standing in a hard to notice corner in the software specialists’ room. Christopher wasn’t a wide person, and so his piece of conference table didn’t have to be too big either, which also practically solved office space problems in the 0-1 Computer firm.
It was Warm’s secret that the majority of his time outside of the company, he also spent behind a desk. On his keyboard he typed various letters and numbers, which would become computer programs for the 0-1 Computer Associates company.
While the Man Called Office Desk (MCOD, or simply Cod in an alternative version) was writing an intuitive program for the management of empty office desk space in software companies, a thing that nobody had ever expected to happen happened.
Warm became fused with the chair.
The staff at 0-1 Computer were disappointed, they had expected Cod to fuse with a desk. It would have been much more entertaining to watch, you could have laughed at him a little, and the nickname, given to him by the programmers’ boss would have gotten a whole new meaning. And right now, there wasn’t even much to talk about during cigarette breaks.
Warm did not hide the fact he would have preferred to fuse with a mouse, or a mouse pad. Right now, all he could do was to pretend he totally ignored the fact he was physically stuck to a chair. And he was doing just fine until it was time to go to his second shift at 1-0 Computer Associates, where he had been working on a program for the management of empty space in staff lockers in telecommunications companies.
What Christopher felt first was a major stress on his spine. A stress much greater than a weak body of a prime programmer (pri-pro in short) could withstand. When he stood up, it caused nasty comments from his next-desk neighbor, who called the whole company, or rather, whoever was still left there in the evening, into the room to watch Cod’s exit.
Warm was completely used to such behavior and with his head raised high, as well as with certain effort, he left the office sideways, followed by his colleagues’ jokes.
” ‘A Man called Chair’. Sounds much worse and I don’t think it’ll stick,” Warm thought with certain satisfaction as he approached his car.
Only then did he realize how one chair could complicate his life. On one hand, he wouldn’t have to ask for a place to sit anywhere anymore, because he always carried his own. That was particularly important at 0-1, where you always had to fight for a desk and a chair. But there was one small problem with 0-1, as well - how could you get there by car, especially when you’re already late? This was just too much for Warm to grasp all at once, and he eventually resorted to hiring a moving van.
He quickly got used to other people looking at him with suspicion, or simply making fun of him. It wasn’t that much different, or worse, from the experiences in his youth when his face was covered with acne. Slowly he learned to manage his mobility problem - he worked out a monthly rate with the moving company. The situation was much worse when it came to his love life. Julia, his girlfriend, was already unhappy that his computer programs were more important to him than a woman, and now she couldn’t stand how the chair’s presence in bed made them a threesome.
The third took too much space, was pressing into the mattress and creaked with every turn. She couldn’t imagine making love to a guy stuck to a chair, and especially making love that would result in making a baby.
Evenings with the three of them became more and more annoying, for her, for him and for the chair, which manifested its displeasure by loosening the telescopic lever for height adjustment. It reminded Julie of unpleasantly kinky bestiality, and after a few days and a few arguments, one evening after an exchange of angry looks, she left.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure I won’t get stuck to it,” Julia remarked about the suitcase she was carrying.
Warm decided to do something about it, to solve this issue just like he always had solved problems of the inorganic computer matter. He got one idea and immediately started to work on it. Since it had started so promising, he finished a six-pack of beer and threw himself onto the bed to calmly think up new ideas. However, he forgot about the backrest and while he was making close contact with the blanket something popped in his spine.
He lay down for two days but didn’t improve.
“I can recommend physical therapy for your spine, but in your case, I don’t specialize in it, maybe you should ask at the hospital in Shpoolki,” an orthopedic specialist from the local health clinic said.
In Shpoolki, he talked with an orthopedic surgeon, a professor, supposedly the best in the country.
“Oh dear, of course something could be done, but I don’t have the time right now. And besides, it sure looks comfortable, you must admit, right? I wouldn’t do anything with it. Until it sticks, go out and enjoy life!” The professor said without even looking at the patient.
Eventually, Cod ended up with a private specialist of neutral medicine, who suggested him buttock tissue massage and antimaterialistic therapy, all preformed in his clinic, of course.
Warm rehabilitated himself for four months until one day, when he got up, he realized that his nemesis, like a scorn lover stayed in bed and even rolled over to the other side (or so it looked under the blankets).
He felt a pang of pity, and when he forgot he didn’t have anything to sit on, he felt down and broke his arm.
He continued to recuperate for another month.
During his chair recovery period, his duties were transferred to the programmers’ chief, the one who used to like to laugh at Cod. The chief had to work nights, because he wasn’t as skilled as his slight colleague from the far corner of the programmers’ room.
When Warm returned to work, everybody looked at him mysteriously. He went to his desk and saw his boss working on the computer. The boss didn’t even say hello. He didn’t look well either, as if he hadn’t left the place for quite a long time.
“What’s up with him?” Warm asked in the coffee room.
“Ah, nothing. Got stuck to the desk,” a receptionist quietly answered.
“It’s gonna happen to all of us, Chris,” his colleague from the programmers’ room added, a computer mouse stuck to his hand.
Mini-Anti-Aggressor
Like many other inventors before him, professor Slawomir Suwak designed only the things he needed himself. He had several patents on his conscience already: an automatic cork opener for wine in the indicative state, a portable set of board games for solving personality problems, a wallet with a mini-device for the duplications of 100 zloty bills, and a piece of equipment “the day after” used to irretrievably eliminate from the time-space continuum days burdened with a hangover.
Now came the time for a mini-device preventing the development of symptoms of psycho-motor aggression.
The device was really simple. It weighed about a kilo and was the size of a bag of flour. It was to be worn on the right wrist. The fact it had to be the right wrist was very important. Otherwise, the invention didn’t work properly, or even worse, it produced results opposite to its intended effect.
Each day, its mini-containers had to be refilled with substances promoting positive processes in the body leading to the return of good mood. There were three containers to re-fill, and the substances were not available on the local market and had to be imported using diplomatic channels from the USA. To operate the device, turning it on stand-by was enough. In that mode, it could be used continuously for one and a half hours. To recharge the batteries, you needed a charger, which was stored in a small suitcase. The device, when it was turned on, made a low murmur (or according to some - a loud growl) designed to keep the owner in a good mood.
Professor Suwak called his new baby “mini-anti-aggressor.”
The McPhilips corporation expressed its interest in the product early on, even when it was still at the drawing-board stage. The company partially financed the purchase of sub-assembly elements from its subsidiary specializing in the productions of components for technologically advanced products.
McPhilips also ordered the prototype of the device, which was to be formally presented for approval to the chief of its Europe, Africa and Israel division, who was known for being aggressive.
This was going to be a big day for Suwak. A Wednesday. The third Wednesday of the month. On days like that, at the end of the bio-weather cycle phi-alpha, the greatest number of people committed suicides and accidents of all kinds were at an all-time high. And it was exactly on such a day, as this carefully selected Wednesday (which blushed from this distinction), that the mini-anti-aggressor was going to make the biggest of impressions. Suwak was supposed to attend a press conference introducing this revolutionary invention and then meet with the McPhilips people to initial an agreement for the launch of the mini-anti-aggressor on the consumer market.
The press conference went just as the professor had dreamed it. At first, the journalists were somewhat irritated, but later, upon seeing Suwak’s phenomenally good mood, started to change their minds. During cocktails, several journalists tested the device and showed sincere, unadulterated enthusiasm. One decided to write three different articles (four columns each) for a modest contribution to cover the costs of a cousin’s son’s trip abroad.
The meeting at McPhilips went much worse. The businessmen were irritated and annoyed, and nothing could be done to improve their mood.
“Why is it so big?” One very important man asked.
“Yes, why exactly is it so big? And besides, the boss of the region died of a heart attack, and his replacement is a quiet, phlegmatic introvert. He won’t appreciate this,” another very important man added.
“Yes, the new one won’t need it. And if you bring us a device the size of a SIM card, then we can seriously talk about it.”
“Yes, then we can talk seriously. Good luck.”
“Yes, good luck and good bye.”
The professor did not explode with fury, because a large amount of substances imported through diplomatic channels from the USA entered his blood stream from three mini-containers located on his right wrist.
Before going into his apartment, Suwak turned the device off, even though the battery still had enough power for seven minutes of continuous use.
His wife greeted him cheerfully, but noticed that something was amiss. Suwak ate his dinner: the steak was too tough, and the pudding too runny. A new towel was hanging in the bathroom and a new bar of soap was sitting in the soap dish. On the newspaper rack, all the magazines were arranged chronologically with the most recent placed on top.
The professor was getting more and more angry. He ran to the closet.
“I got you now, you dumb shit,” he shouted infuriated pulling out a bundled pair of mismatched socks.
An argument of massive proportions, and not seen in the Suwaks home since the professor came back from the presentation of a portable set of board games for solving personality problems, took place.
In the morning, when his tired and still crying wife fell asleep in the locked bathroom, the exhausted professor sat down on the sofa, and said to himself:
“Now, that’s better.”