Fridale

Dale stifled a yawn as he tried his best to appear impatient, with a dance of shuffling and glancing. He stood in the lobby watching with interest as the floor numbers digitalised above each lift bay jumped between ten and two. On his watch were the same numbers, there reading nine four six. A lift chimed. Doors split open and each of the latecomers filed in.

This crowd of tardiness Dale had come to attribute to the Friday Principle, wherein lateness was permitted to a percentage of normal weekday lateness. For Dale that was fifty percent – around 22 minutes - or one train later. Dale treated the rigidness of scheduled start times with the same respect the family of managers above him gave to spending budgets for new projects.
The doors joined again and the lift began traversing upwards, just momentarily, before shuddering to a stop on the first floor. A small contingent of extras joined the lift and like a team of childish inquisitiveness began lighting up the panel of selected floors until every one below Dales was chosen.

'Can you feel it?' a feminine voice whispered next to his ear.
He turned to see Bry, who looked particularly astonishing in her chosen casual Friday outfit, although without breaching any level of office conservatism.
'Feel what?' Dale's heart beat faster. 'Oh, shit! Uh... ever floor's lit up. It's like that...' his brain fumbled.
'No!' grinned Bry over the sound of another floor achieved 'bing'. 'The Pressure! The pressure to be late without being too late.'
'I'm feeling more pressure regarding making small talk' he admitted, after an awkward, considering pause.
She laughed in what was quickly becoming a disturbingly empty lift.
'You just need more interesting things to say' she said.
'Like about how we're running late but not too late?'
'Mmmm' she hummed, like the fan on a server box, processing his feelings and returning responses. 'I have this theory: that on Friday it's alright to be late to a certain percentage of how late you are normally, but increased. I think that's interesting.'

Dale pondered this.

'I'm interesting' he thought. 'I don't think the world is interested in my interestingness though. I don't think she's interested in my interesting interestingness. Hey... that's my theory.'
Her eyes contacted his, dragging them back to the conversation.
'Like that!' she said. 'You're thinking something, you should be saying something!'
He furrowed momentarily, and then asked: 'So, got much planned for the weekend?'
'Gosh!' she said. 'What a dull question!'
Dale looked about, embarrassed, but the lift was now rising with only two onboard. It reached the ninth floor.
'Sorry,' he started. 'I'll get better at small talk...'
'Oops! Forgot my floor!' Bry interjected, stabbing the tiny '10', illuminating the last of the lights.
'Checkm... Bing... Yahtz...' Dale stammered.
Bry laughed warmly, but with firmly eyebrows raised.
'You're going to start getting my emails' she said. 'Hopefully that will give us something to talk about.'
Dale's feet found carpet; perplexed. The doors closed on her as she waved goodbye.
'...Jackpot' whispered Dale.

Comments

Kevin Pietersen

How good are these Dale stories!

July 1 2007 - Like
Brad

Imagine how much more you would relate if you had an office job instead of the life of an international cricket player!

July 2 2007 - Like
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