“So, what do you think?” Johnson asked timidly to the large, bearded man seated behind the gigantic oak desk in front of him.
The bearded man, who allowed people such as Johnson to address him as Mr. Terski, looked up from the plastic-bound manual he’d been reading. He shut the book with a loud clap and slammed it on the desk. Mr. Terski shifted his weight to his elbows which rested firmly on the desk, interlaced his fingers, and pressed his mouth to his clasped hands. He inhaled quickly before letting out a long and labored sigh, his massive shoulders rising on the intake, then, like Johnson’s already fragile hope, sinking steadily.
“This,” Mr. Terski began, unclasping his hands and bringing a heavy index finger down emphatically onto Johnson’s manual, “is, without exception, the most poorly-written, utterly nonsensical excuse for a Windows 95 tutorial manual I’ve ever encountered in my fifty-seven years on this planet, Johnson.”
Johnson’s jaw dropped – this was not the response he’d expected.
Mr. Terski continued “Johnson, I could literally shit it my hand, wipe it on the face of one of my numerous customers, kick them in the balls and tell them Bill Gates fucked their mother and she loved it, and as they lay writhing in that perfect mix of physical agony and shame, they’d come far closer to a complete understanding of Microsoft’s 1995 operating system than if they spent ten fucking years reading this incomprehensible drivel you dared to bring into my office and call a technical manual.”
His assessment of Johnson’s work complete, Mr. Terski pushed himself back from his desk and stood up with considerable effort. He then retrieved Johnson’s manual from his desk, walked over to one of the many windows of his corner office, and enthusiastically threw the manual out into the city air like a Frisbee.
Mr. Terksi turned backed to Johnson. “I suggest you join your work back down on the street, you hack. If you ever dare set foot in this office again, I’ll personally see to it your career in instructional manuals will be over before it even starts. You’ll be writing cooking instructions for hot pocket packages, I swear to god. Get out of my office.”
Johnson tried his best to hold back the tears, but Mr. Terski caught the glimmer of moisture along Johnson’s cheek as he turned to walk out. Mr. Terski frowned and muttered under his breath as the door closed behind Johnson.