A hand reached for the doorknob, then paused, “Do you have to do that like that?” It was Lynn, and he was scowling, “At least peel the tape first so you don’t leave these dismembered corners.”
He was the last person Vera wanted to catch her tearing down office correspondence. Not only was Lynn a manager, not only was his resting expression one of perpetual disapproval, but he also made her feel as if she had eaten an entire bag of chocolate-covered coffee beans. Her nerves buzzed, her mind sang nonsense, and guilt slapped each of her cheeks with splotches. “But did you see the font,” Vera held up the paper, hoping her hand didn’t tremble, “What does this font say to you?”
“Clown party,” he frowned, his mouth as tight as the knot in his tie.
Vera pointed to the words Sexual Harassment with a freckled finger. “Clown party,” she blinked, struggling with a giggle that threatened to rise out of her throat like a balloon.
“I’ll have Keith reformat it,” he took the paper from her, and folded it into a square, “Isn’t Tracy keeping you busy enough?” Lynn opened the door, and before she could answer, snapped it shut behind him.
Vera slunk back to her cube, flopping into her desk chair, “That went terribly.”
A blonde head popped over the top of her cube wall.
“Lynn . . . er, Tracy, sorry.”
“‘Sorry’ indeed, do I look like my brother?” Tracy leaned over the cube wall, his blue eyes wide, “Is he this handsome, this debonair? Does he have a letter P on his keyboard?”
“I don’t even have a letter P on my keyboard,” Vera looked down at the sad gap between the O and the brackets.
“Come in my office,” Tracy stage whispered, “and I’ll tell you one of the secrets of getting ahead in this workplace.”
Vera poked at the gap on her keyboard with the end of a pen, “That sounds like sexual harassment in Comic Sans font.”
“I want to know all about that and why I wasn’t involved.”
“There’s a training coming up on sexual harassment, and how not to do it. Things like: how to ask a subordinate to come in your office without sounding like you’re asking for sexual favors. Anyway, the secretary who typed the training memo used Comic Sans as the font,” Vera shuddered, “I hate Comic Sans. It’s so goofy and irregular.”
“And you don’t like that?” Tracy batted his eyes, “You’d rather have a Times New Roman?”
“Well, yeah.”
“You don’t think that Comic Sans has its own kind of allure?”
“Comic Sans is not my type.”
Tracy’s face fell, “Maybe I won’t show you what I have in my top desk drawer.” He turned in a huff, his curls bouncing.
Vera logged into her computer. While it loaded, she grumbled to herself, “Now they both hate me. It’s not like they have the power to fire me. Oh, wait, that’s right, they do.” Her computer made a strange clicking sound. She hit the spacebar and rattled her mouse. The screen was blank. Desperate, she hit CTRL-ALT-DEL. Nothing. Reaching under the desk, she held down the power button. Again, there was nothing. Heaving a sigh, Vera stood and made her way to the bank of offices that lined the nearest wall.
Tracy’s door was cracked open, and she poked her head inside. Papers piled on his desk in no discernible order. There was an organizer, but it was filled with an assortment of business cards, paperclips, and thumbtacks. A pile of plastic binders sat in the guest chair, and the sole bookcase sat empty, a layer of dust coating the surface. Tracy himself was working, the rectangle of light from his monitor reflecting in his eyes.
Vera knocked on the door jamb to get his attention, “Sorry to bother you, but my computer isn’t working.”
“Why don’t you go tell someone who’s not goofy and irregular,” Tracy’s bottom lip stuck out in an exaggerated pout.
“I thought we were talking about fonts, Tracy,” Vera entered his office, shutting the door behind her, “I owe you an apology.”
“Do you!” Tracy popped out of his desk chair.
“Yes, I do. Different people feel different ways about . . . fonts and I should have thought more before I insulted . . . it.”
“Vera.”
“Yes, Tracy.”
“Come hither and look in my desk drawer,” Tracy pulled it open with a flourish.
“Do we have to have this conversation again? That sounds like a really weird come-on,” Vera looked in the desk drawer. There wasn’t much inside; a few pens, a set of cufflinks, and around thirty computer keys each inscribed with the letter P. “You did it? You’re the one who took all the Ps? Why?”
Tracy snapped the drawer shut with a click, “Mindfulness, Vera. Everyone is now watching their Ps. I thought about taking the Qs too, but who even uses Q?”
“I use Q all the time.”
“Hmmm, I’ll have to remove yours then.”
Vera pushed the plastic binders into one sloppy pile and perched on the edge of the guest chair, “I want my P back. Actually, I want a new computer with all letters, numbers, and symbols intact.”
Tracy dropped back into his chair with a squeak, “What do I get?”
“You get the reports you need to do your job?” Vera crossed her arms.
“Not good enough,” Tracy spun in his chair.
Vera slumped forward, resting her cheek on a pile of paper, “I give. What do you want?”
“First, you will enter that pile of papers your head is on into the database,” he gave himself another spin. “Then you will steal Lynn’s secretary. I want him on our team, not the Times New Roman team. Lastly, I need a report by tomorrow. You’ll have to stay late to do it.”
“Tracy,” Vera sat up, “My. Computer. Doesn’t. Work.”
“I know.”
”I can't write reports or enter data - data which is supposed to be entered by you in real-time - without a computer,” Vera could feel her face redden, and she stood, “If you won’t help me, I’ll ask someone else.”
She stomped her way back to her cubicle, nearly tripping on a man crouched on her desk mat. “Oh, hello,” his white hair floated with static, “I’m Rick, the IT guy. Is this your desk?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m Vera, I’ve been working here for around a month.”
“Wow, I’m surprised this computer worked for that long. Tracy spilled orange soda inside it. Don’t ask me how that happened, ‘cause I don’t know,” Rick finished unplugging it and pulled it out from under her desk, “Anyway, I have a machine for you that should go a lot faster than what you had.”
“That’s really nice of you, but I don’t think I’ll be working here much longer.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I quit.”
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Cross Posted to 12 Short Stories
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The prompt for this was "Not my type," so I decided to do a story about typefaces. Originally I tried this story with other characters, and it just didn't work. I was going to ditch it like I ditched the story about the evil marionette, but then I decided to Tracy&Vera it and see what happened.
Strangely, it worked.
If you want to read other Tracy&Veras, here are the other two that are posted on here:
Spilled Coffee
Distraction