inlikeflynn

Gussie calls back. 'Gussie' is what they call her in the office, she says, but her real name is Garcia. That's fine. She says she's still not connected. She needs the number. The 199 number.

I ask her, 199.250.blahblahblah, etc, etc?

Yes, she says, that's the one, she has it in the box. The lockbox with the lunch menu. Connections? Entries? Where's the pencil to connect to Florida?

This is beginning to sound like a psych intro textbook chapter on schizophrenia. She has no internet. It's connected. The whole thing is blue, but she didn't click on it. Where are the tabs?

If I bang my head on the desk any harder, I risk waking the guy in the next cubicle.

"Sugarcube catfish orgies milk," she says.

"Sugarcube catfish orgies milk?" I ask.

"No. Sugarcube. Catfish. All in cheese milk."

Head's spinning now. Dreams are like this, except they don't seem like nonsense until you're awake. She says she has a problem with swearing. Okey-dokey.

No, wait. She's got it. It's on the bottom, with the red thing. It says connected. Where does she type her password, she wants to know.

"You don't need to, Gussie. You're already connected."

"But it won't let me put in my password."

"Because you're already... connected. You don't need to type in anything else."

"Ok, but I need that 199 number from you guys."

"You need nothing else from us. There's nothing left. I have nothing left to give. I've given you all I have."

"Oh. Ok. Bye."



and that. is the end. of my shift.





BYE.