Your plan to move your desk and chair outside in order to facilitate a more comfortable work environment was misguided at best. Somehow you managed to forget you work in the city and that half a mile really isn’t enough distance from an oil refinery to mitigate the horrid smell or the choking smog. Instead of creating a stress-free work space, you may end up working yourself into an early grave.
Frustrated by the spoiled fruits of your ill-laid plan, you pound away at the keys of your laptop, when Brad taps you on the shoulder. You groan and, without turning to face him, ask “What, Brad?”
“Toss me a beer, bro?” Brad asks, slightly embarrassed. The worst part by far of your calamity of a workday shake-up is the three members of the Alpha Phi Rho fraternity seated on the pizza-and-cum-stained couch behind you. The frat boys had the same idea you did, apparently, on theirs was to drink beer and play Xbox outside.
You lean over and open the mini-fridge, grab a disgusting Natural Light, and toss it over your shoulder. “I don’t see why you couldn’t put the fridge closer to you, Brad.”
Brad does not answer. You hear the hiss and crack of Brad opening the beer followed by a disgusting slurping sound.
“Extension cord wouldn’t reach, bro,” Steve chimes in. “HEADSHOT!”
“There is a television six feet in front of you, Steve. What’s that plugged into?” you ask.
“Different cord, bro,” Steve replies condescendingly. “Don’t wanna overload the circuits. That’s how fires start. Do you even fire safety, bro?”
Fully exasperated, you slam your hands down onto your desk, then turn around in your chair. “Yes, Steve, I fire safety occasionally. I also work occasionally, like right now, and you guys are distracting me.”
“Whoa, dude,” Ben interjects, “seems like you’re projecting your inability to smoothly complete your tasks onto a manufactured antagonist, i.e. we three brethren, in order to alleviate the frustration you feel with yourself over a poor decision to move work into a non-work environment. Could I have something here, maybe?”
You hate Ben. He thinks he’s so fucking smart.
Ben smiles smugly. “Hmm? Maybe?”
“Use your words, bro.”
“Okay, well, I forgive you, and so do Steve and Brad. Toss me a beer bro, don’t leave me hanging.”
You reach into the fridge and toss Ben a natty.
“Love you, bro! You should grab one of those for yourself, you seem stressed.”
You promise yourself you’ll move the desk back inside tomorrow, but you end up moving your cubicle out instead.