Motherfawk… Oh, Hello! (Part 1)

A chorus of incessant, whirring hums and the whine of fluorescent ceiling lights greeted me as I started my shift in the computer lab. I greeted the familiar beige boxes in rows along each table, as if greeting dear, often-seen friends. There’s a certain security in working with computers. Even if you’re not the most socially adept person, and wind up in embarassing and awkward positions in public, the power that comes from sitting in front of a computer is energizing. A computer reacts only to you. You are pushing it’s buttons. You control, at your behest, vast flows of information which bend and bounce their way through the networks of the planet.

I sat down at my favorite computer in the lab, a Pentium PC running Mandrake. My fingers began traversing its keys with the furiousity of a pianist, but with little of the dynamics. All the sublelty of my performance was concentrated in the song that I began playing, which although monotonous, marched forth with creative motive.

“Excuse me.”

The words floated to my ears through continuuing clicks of the keyboard. “What is it?” The question sounded forced and hasty, as if I couldn’t be bothered. I wondered to myself if I had meant what I had hinted. I’d stayed up until six that morning, so I was a cranky and unrested. I was liable to say anything considering my state.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but you’re the lab monitor here right? I’m having trouble with one of the computers. Do you think you could help?” I didn’t turn around to look at her. That’d would’ve made her feel that I was obligated to help, so I barely acknowledged her at all.

“I think I could. The question is whether I want to get up and do something about it. I think it’d be easier for you to just try another computer, don’t you think?” I said it quickly so that she’d have no time to argue. I said it purposefully so she’d have not the will to resist. I sounded arrogant and condescending. Maybe that would get her off my back, so I could continue my work. I had an assignment of considerable weight due that night, and I wasn’t about to leave it unfinished for any reason–especially not for some fool girl who didn’t have the ability to get her own computer working.

She didn’t like to be pushed. “Listen, I would love to work on a different computer, but that particular one has my homework files saved onto its hard drive. I really do need to work on that computer, and I really do need your help. I’m sure you’re busy doing whatever it is you’re doing–a project or assignment–but its your job to help me.” It was a statement. She did not leave room for me to refute her argument. There was no argument. It was just a matter of fact to her. Something in her tone and voice could not be denied.

I silenlty cursed and pushed away from my desk. I pulled myself from the chair and turned around to sit on the smooth tabletop.

Five-four, medium build, and short auburn hair, probably dyed, so rich was its color, flashed into view. I gave her the customary male greeting, a quick once-over that is a cross between an opponent’s appraisal of a worthy adversary and a hungry man’s consideration of a juicy steak. I decided I should be more threatened than hungry. I imagined her bludgeoning me with a hair brush with no witnesses on hand to rush to my aid. There would be searches for my killer, this youthful woman, who’d certainly face execution for brutal manslaughter and second-degree murder, and a pricey funeral with throngs of my worshippers. I decided I couldn’t do that to her or my fans.

to be continued