It was a rather ordinary day at work. Another day banging away at the keyboard to hack away fruitlessly at a constantly growing mountain of data to enter.
I heard a buzzing. Faint at first, it became louder and closer until it was like a bee in my ear. This made sense because there was a bee in my ear.
“Goddammit Frank. What do you want now?” I asked followed by an exasperated sigh through my nose.
“I need your help Tyler! I’m desperate!” This question was topped off by the visual of Frank buzzing around erratically a foot in front of my face while producing rainbow sparkles and all sorts of similar garbage.
“Alright, what can I help you with this time?”
“I really really really really need your help this time! I need your help so bad I don’t know what . . . “
“I already said I’d help, please stop.”
” . . . I don’t know what I’m going to do I’m freaking out whatever will I do I can’t deal with this please . . . “
“STOP!” I demanded. I was weary of this before it even began, words couldn’t describe how annoyed I was now. “What do you need?”
Frank took a deep breath.
“I’m going to Olive Garden tonight and I’m not sure how much I should tip?”
This was a complete waste of time. Like always. I buried my forehead in one hand and sighed again.
“I dunno. General rule of thumb is fifteen percent I guess. Adjust as needed.”
With an exuberant thanks Frank poofed away in a puff of smoke.
And that’s why this report was late. I absolutely swear that’s the case. Please don’t fire me.
I am so good at Splatoon 2. Someday I’ll even play the game proper!