Up Jack got and home did trot,
as fast as he could caper.
Two weeks later, Jack returned to Dob’s Advertising Agency. He hadn’t expected to return at all. Not that his traumatic brain injury, wrenched neck, and broken rib were life threatening, it was just that he’d expected to be canned. After all, he was just an intern. Part of the agreement between the university and the agency had to include something about attendance the majority of time – which he obviously couldn’t do if his, literally, swollen head couldn’t get itself off the pillow. However, the HR guy called and his doctor said yes and so back to the grind. He hoped that coffee runs were no longer on the list of things he had to do.
He stepped off the elevator and into the fishbowl area outside of Mrs. Dob’s office where he’d been stationed before. The usual noisiness seemed comforting. He spotted Jill before she spotted him. Her injury seemed to have healed because she had sexy platform shoes on with white straps that snaked up her dark leotard legs toward the frilly white skirt she had on. Jack found himself smiling when she spotted him. Instead of smiling back – because why would she do that, Satan’s daughter that she was – she held up a hand indicating that he should wait, and slipped into Mrs. Dob’s office, closing the door firmly behind her.
Jack ignored her implied order to stay at the doorway and went to his desk.
Except it wasn’t his desk anymore.
Some punk sat at it. A straw-haired, ivy-league, cable knit sweater wearing – probably on the frigging rowing team – punk sat there.
He stood up when Jack paused at the edge of the desk. Jack watched him rise. A large, rowing team punk.
“Oh, you must be Jack.” He held out a paw. “I’m Al.”
“Hey,” Jack answered and had his hand engulfed.
Al seemed about to say something but changed his mind, coming to an alert attention like a Great Dane about to get a treat. Jill swished up and said, “Oh good, you’ve met. Excuse us, Al, Mrs. Dob wants to see Jack.”
“Yes, ma’am. Nice to meet you, Jack.”
Jill and Al smiled at each other. Jack looked down at the paper on his old desk and saw “Al Forma, Intern” on the name plate.
“Oh, and Al, Mrs. Dob would like some coffee.” Jill added, “Could you run up the hill to get it, please?”
The Great Dane gets to get coffee by himself?
Jack’s head started to hurt.
“Of course, Ma’am. Right away. Can I get you anything?”
“Oh, no thank you. But it was very sweet of you to ask.” And she said it with no hint of sarcasm.
Jack looked around to see if any of the other office workers had noticed her decline in to niceness. No one paid any attention to them.
“Coming Jack?” Jill said over her shoulder as she swished off to the boss’ den.