There’s something on my desk, and I didn’t put it there. Continue reading Morning coffee, 8.10.17
They’re onto me. Continue reading Morning coffee, 8.9.17
There’s a stain on my cubicle wall, and it looks like a duck. Continue reading Morning coffee, 8.8.17
There’s something wrong with the office doors. Let me explain. Continue reading Morning coffee, 8.7.17
A couple minor changes, right out the box. Continue reading Morning Coffee, 8.2.17
I sat a table of three: a mom, her daughter, and Grandma.
After sitting, Grandma left to order spaghetti at the Italian place next door.
Mom seemed to be having an existential crisis. I asked her what she wanted to drink.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Can I get you some water?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want me to come back later?”
“I’m not sure.”
The daughter, who was getting impatient, stood up on her chair.
“Hey!” she said. “I’ll have you know. I want apples!”
“But first I have to get you something to drink. Would you like some water?”
“I want apples!”
Grandma ate Italian food in silence while Mom stared at a menu for an hour and a half and the daughter ate apples. When they finished, Mom paid, and they left. She tipped well, considering all they bought was $.50-worth of apple slices.
tl;dr: I sat and waited on a living Wes Anderson movie.
I’m finally working in a position that encourages me to think creatively, so it behooves me to take fifteen minutes every morning warm up my brain. Continue reading Morning coffee, 8.1.17.