Race to 200 Blog Contest

If you've looked at my side bar recently, you'll have noticed the button for J.C. Martin's Race to 200 Blog Contest.  Well the big day is hear and I've got my own race story to tell.

Before I get on to my little story, I want to explain the inspiration. For a while on Twitter, I've noticed the hashtag #FirstWorldProblems.  They're usually tongue in cheek (or at least I tell myself that) and ironic in nature.  Here are some that I found while posting this:

So I thought I'd write a First World race story.  Hope you enjoy:

Deborah was in the middle of shutting down her computer for the day when she heard the loud click, click, click of stilettos on the laminate floor between the cubicles.  Her hands froze in mid-air as she tried to place where the sound was coming from in the office.

It sounded like it was a couple of rows over, but there was only one way to make sure, and she didn’t want to lift her head above the cubicle wall.  So instead she closed her eyes and visualized herself walking out the door and going home.  Her life-coach had been very big into visualizing this month.

She didn’t know if it helped or not, but was willing to put one mark in its favor when she heard a screechy voice say “Oh, Sandy!  That color looks wonderful on you!”

Deborah breathed a sigh of relief.  Sandy’s desk was four cubes away.  She might make it.  Her hands moving faster than she thought they could, she managed the long process of clicking all the the “shut down now” buttons that stood in the way of her ancient computer actually turning off for the weekend.  

She imagined Ben waiting for her at home, maybe reading a book or magazine, dinner already cooking.  One of the benefits of dating an up-and-coming chef, he was always trying to perfect his recipes.  Just for fun, she added a bottle of wine and candles on the table.  She smiled, and stared off for a moment.

Screaming through her speakers, the shut down music started to play.

“Dammit.” She cursed softly, frantically pushing the power button.  

She sat still for a moment.  Waiting.  

Then she heard it, “Sandy!  You’re so wicked!  Well, you have fun!  I’ll see you Monday!”  

The click, click, click began again.  Each sharp report made Deborah jerk a little.  Raised out of her stupor, she started clearing her desk.  They had to have their desks completely clear tonight because the exterminators were coming this weekend.  The thought of having her keyboard coated in something toxic was enough for Deborah to not mind the decree.  

“Richard! You dog!  What are you looking at!”

Deborah was amazed at how Bethany could turn every sentence into an exclamation mark.  Each time the woman opened her mouth, you could almost see them floating out like smoke rings, or something from Alice in Wonderland.  Exclamation marks followed her around like a cloud of gnats.

Richard’s desk was only two cubes away.  She had to work faster.  Opening a drawer, swept everything on her desk in with one quick movement.  Closing the drawer, she grabbed her purse and stood up.

And faced Bethany. Every fake tanned and highly polished inch of her.

“Deb-oh-rah! Are you trying to ditch me!  You promised last week you’d come out on the town with me!”

Deborah tried to turn what she was afraid was a horror filled face to one of confusion.  “Did I?  I’m sorry, I totally forgot.”

Bethany wrapped her arm around Deborah’s, her long nails slightly digging into her.  She laughed a breathy laugh, that Deborah supposed was supposed to sound like Marilyn Monroe, but instead sounded more like an asthma attack.

“I’m not letting you off that easily!”

Deborah closed her eyes and let Bethany lead her to the front door.  She was visualizing a calmer, more subdued Bethany.  One that she wouldn’t mind sharing a girly cocktail with.  

Opening her eyes, she took a deep breath.  Visualization was supposed to be powerful. She hoped her life coach was right.