auraesque: Mad Men (Default)
[personal profile] auraesque
“Do you smell smoke?”  Maggie finished filling her coffee cup and
sniffed again.  “Did someone leave the coffeemaker on overnight?”

“I don’t smell anything,” Patrick said.  He took the coffeepot from
her hand and filled his own cup.  “But that doesn’t mean much.  Maybe
Jan burned her toast again.”

Maggie shrugged and headed back to her desk, the smell of something
foul and burnt still stuck to the inside of her nostrils.  Great,
she’d probably be smelling it all day.  Too bad there wasn’t a way to
scrub out her nostrils.  With a sigh she set her coffee cup on her
desk and flipped on the computer.  The usual deluge of e-mails flooded
into her inbox, and she took a fortifying sip of coffee before she
delved into them.  Most where easily sorted into existing folders for
payment, re-routing, tech support, or follow-up, but there were always
the handful that needed special attention because they were from the
higher-ups.  The spam she set aside for later in the day when she’d
need a laugh.  After a morning of dealing with disgruntled customers,
pissed-off suppliers, and cranky co-workers, broken-English spam
pushing adult products was hilarious.  Or maybe it was just that she’d
had so much coffee by that point in the day that her neurons were
fried.  Either way, it was what kept her going, day after day after
day.

She worked solidly through the morning, barely making a dent in the
correspondence.  Just as she got close to finishing, the wonderful
company server would dump another load in her inbox.  And it was a
load.  Questions that had been asked and answered a dozen times.
Follow-ups to follow-ups by impatient people with nothing better to
do.  Screwed-up invoices.  The occasional misrouted proposition, filed
away later in case she ever needed it for blackmail.  Finally, near
lunchtime, she settled in to read some spam.

Just after leaning how she could enlarge an organ she didn’t possess,
the fire alarms went off.  As she gathered up her purse and trudged
past the kitchen, a familiar odor caught her attention.  It was the
burnt smell that had lingered that morning.  She grabbed Patrick’s arm
as she caught up with him.

“Do you smell it now?”

“Uh, yeah.  Virginia nearly caught her tuna noodle casserole on fire
in the microwave.  Reckon there must have been a short, the microwave
is toast.  So to speak.”  He flapped his hand ineffectually against
the rolling cloud of black smoke flowing out of the kitchen door.  “It
must have started acting up yesterday, no wonder you smelled something
this morning.  Someone must have fried something last night.”

He wandered off to chat with the boys from IT, and Maggie wandered
over to a bench to sit down.  The microwave had been fine last night,
she’d used it to cook an early dinner, and she’d been the last one out
of the office.  Tuesdays were her day to stay until six, and the place
had been well and truly deserted when she left.

And what about last week, when she swore she’d been catching a whiff
of roses all morning, then Sharon’s husband had brought a huge bouquet
in at lunch?  And this weekend when she’d smelled oil long before the
bus had sprung the leak?  Was it possible?

“No,” she whispered.  “That’s just… stupid.”  She shook her head.
Like every girl, she’d dreamed of a superpower since she’d first laid
hands on a comic book.  Flying was high on her list until she hit high
school, then she, like most teenage girls, wished for invisibility.
And seeing the future wouldn’t be too shabby.  But smelling the
future?  What the hell good was that going to do?

Monitor Tina

Date: 2009-07-25 07:38 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
If you could smell the future, you'd always know when to evacuate before a fart!

Re: Monitor Tina

Date: 2009-07-25 08:17 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] smeddley.livejournal.com
*gigglesnort*

That would actually be a good use around my office...

Date: 2009-07-26 05:40 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] auraesque.livejournal.com
Ooh, I like this one.

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auraesque

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