[ WP ] Just a guy seated at a desk .

I loosened my neck-tie, swallowing a sip of luke-warm tasteless drink that apparently passes as coffee around here. It had spilled a drop onto the dark ugly pattern of stripes that the tie bore, but there was n't anything to do about that now. I rolled up the plain white sleeves of my shirt, and leaned forward to rest my elbows on my old press-board desk. 
 
 My head fell into my arms, and I sat there staring down for a bit. The desk was smudged and stained. Does anyone ever clean this place? I looked to the floor, a rough carpet, patterned differently than my tie, yet no less ugly than it, and no less dirty than the desk. In a moment of fearing for my hygiene, I simply lifted myself off the desk, and leaned back instead. 
 
 I lazily hung my arms out limp, my head tilted back as I stared instead at the ceiling in boredom. I let my mouth hang open while counted the stains in the ceiling tiles above. I watched as a spider made its way into a little vent, and began using my feet to gently turn the little swivel chair I sat in side to side. The drone of the office around me never ceased to flood my ears with mechanical nothing, and fill my mind with utter disinterest. 
 
 Something about breathing this stagnant air felt as unsanitary as licking the desk, and so I closed my mouth as I looked forward once more. I was never any kind of germaphobe, buy maybe paying attention to the gross conditions I sat in made me a little more paranoid. I soon grabbed a pen from nearby, and wiggled it around between my fingers for a bit. I do n't know why. 
 
 Not long afterwards my desk phone rang, and, slumped in my chair, I made the tiniest effort to turn my head toward it, just giving it a blank look as it rang for some few seconds. With the utmost effort and strain to be as lethargic as possible, I made a dramatic struggle as I managed to lift my hand up, hooking my finger onto the arm of my chair enough to squirm my arm into a normal position atop it. 
 
 With little bursts of movement, I nudged my own hand forward, and with more effort than I had ever used in the past ten seconds, I thrust my hand toward the edge of my desk, catching three fingers onto the grimy surface. With as much residual strength as I could muster, my pinky was brought up along with them, followed by my thumb, and like a rock climber trying to pull themselves onto that final perch of a cliff, dragged my hand onto the top of the desk, mere inches from the ringing phone. 
 
 I turned the valiant appendage over, giving him a chance to catch his breath after accomplishing such a feat, staring at him with the same bored, chin-tucked face I had on since he began his journey. Realizing I should probably answer the phone, I flipped him back over. One finger at a time, I renewed the struggle to drag my hand along, nudging ever closer to the cheap plastic alarm yelling at me to get something done. 
 
 Finally, ending its cries for attention myself, as it would n't seem to do on its own, I lifted the phone to my head, `` He-'' 
 
 `` GOD DAMMIT JIMMY YOU NEED TO GET YOUR ASS BACK HOME RIGHT NOW, OR SO HELP ME I WILL-'' came the piercing enraged cries of what could only be a pterodactyl drill-sergeant with a megaphone, before I interrupted by yelling back. 
 
 `` EXCUSE ME BUT SHUT UP HELLO I AM RONNY OF GRAY CO. HOW MAY I HELP YOU TODAY!'' 
 
 `` DO N'T GET SMART WITH MY BOY YOU'RE GOING TO BE IN BIG TROUBLE IF YOU DO N'T GET THE HELL BACK HERE JIMMY-'' 
 
 `` YOU HAVE THE WRONG NUMBER YOU FOUL-MOUTHED KLAXON BLARE I AM JUST A GUY SEATED AT A DESK I DO N'T KNOW ANY JIMMY!'' 
 
 `` WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE SAYING TO ME B-'' 
 
 I hung the phone up. Soon I returned to wiggling the pen. This place is so *boring. *
