Brownout

I got into work at six in the morning, which is pretty early for me. I had a deadline on the Plymouth account for later in the week, and I was running behind. I figured if I got into work early enough, I'd be able to think out the problem and come up with some good ideas in relative peace and quiet.

Unfortunately, I wasn't the only one with that plan. I was disappointed to see four others already there, and that was just the people in my department. Who knew how many more were down in accounting or sales? I put my book-bag down on my desk dispiritedly. "Is anybody not thinking yet?" I asked out loud, without much hope.

"No," returned a chorus of voices over the partitions.

"Look," I said desperately, "I've got a deadline to beat. Jim, you have like two weeks to finish up the Gailey project; how about you let me jump ahead of you?"

"Nope," said Jim, and put in his earbuds to forestall any further conversation.

"How about you, Glenda?" I pleaded. "You just have softball work to do right now. You can slack off on it and let me do a little heavy thinking, right?" Glenda told me exactly what I could do with a softball.

"Well, screw you guys," I said irritably, throwing myself down in my chair. There was no way I was going to finish my project in time, especially with a bunch of co-workers hogging all the office brainpower. I pitched my voice a little louder.

"I figure I might as well just think about my work anyways," I said archly. "And if everybody's productivity suffers because of it, well, that's just too bad."

"You better not," replied Biggs angrily. "If you cause a brownout again, you're going to be in a world of trouble."

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