C Is for Cookie

At the office today, a woman gave me a stack of paper and a slow-as-molasses notebook computer and asked me to test some software. The headset was broken and there was no mouse.

“This headset is broken,” said me.

“Yes, it is,” said she.

“You don’t have another one?” asked me, knowing that they have cases of both headsets and mouses (mice?) but not knowing where and not wanting to be pushy.

“Not right now,” said she.

“….” said me.

So I tried to get on with it, but couldn’t really do it right because the touch pad couldn’t tell the difference between me trying to navigate and a left click.

“I can’t really do this right without a mouse. Isn’t there an extra one around somewhere?” asked me.

“Oh, maybe. I don’t know. Use mine,” said she.

“….” said me.

A while later, the broken headset was digging into my head and giving me a headache. I took it off.

“This hurts,” said me.

“Oh, here. Use this one,” said she.

“….” said me.

A job that was booked for two hours stretched into four.

“This computer is very slow,” said me.

“Yes, it’s heavy,” said she.

“….” said me. “Oh, you mean the program.”

“Yes,” said she. “Are you hungry? Have one of my rice balls.”

“Thanks,” said me.

And then I went downstairs and bought some cookies and she was very pleased when I shared them with her. The one thing that always makes sense, especially when nothing else does, is cookies.

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