This was a whole different place at night. He didn't recognize anyone from the night crew, they avoided eye contact with him. A man with a sash and pork pie hat shuffled a deck of cards. A bashful young human woman was bright red like a tomato. Maybe it was her first day.
Sneakers made way too much eye contact. Rats don't blink, so he couldn't help it.
He shared a secret look with Roberto. In his mind he was squinting, although surely he wasn't actually changing his facial expressions at all. He practiced isolating particular muscle groups in the mirror to allow for more diverse face language, but there had been no dividends so far.
Roberto was still staring at him. "Oh, man, that's Roberto!" He realized. They must have moved him to the night shift. He must have done something terrible.
"Hey, what are you doing here?" Roberto asked. He pulled Sneakers in closer so he could whisper something to him. "They sent me to the night shift when my key went missing. All employees have keys for their departments, you know this. Why am I explaining it? It's like there's another person reading it who doesn't know that already."
Sneakers gestured for him to hurry up with the story. It was like they were playing a game of charades.
"Hey use this contraption," Roberto said, producing a cone shaped muzzle with a bunch of lights on it. Suddenly, Sneakers could talk.
"So..." Sneakers started. Wow, he could talk. This changed everything.
"Hang on this is important," Roberto interrupted him right back.
Sneakers was thinking too hard to pay attention to Roberto's speech. He tried various methods to learn to talk; he killed a parrot and implanted it's voice in his throat, he took a 2-week course on telepathy, he even tried to implant his brain in a humans body. Luckily for him, his headless body still functioned while his head wasn't attached long enough for him to reattach his head. Scary moment, though.
He looked up at Roberto, who was frantically paging through a large leather bound book, occasionally pointing at a page and speaking in a hushed tone about whatever it might say. He pointed at a flow chart, opened various Microsoft Excel documents and even Facetimed in an expert from Oxford.
"This is big! This is really big!" Roberto said more loudly than planned. The rest of it was whispers, so that was the only part Sneakers picked up on.
A great idea popped into Sneaker's head, why not market these conical talking cones? They could make millions. It'd be like his remote control lawnmower idea but more practical.
Some guy was lifting heavy boxes up the stairs on a dolly, one step at a time. Each stare he ascended was accompanied by a loud thump. He sighed and released the dolly, putting his hands firmly on his hips.
"Let me have a go on it!" Sneakers said.
"Be my guest," the rodent of ambiguous nature said, stepping aside.
"You haven't listened to a goddamn word I said have you?" shouted Roberto from in his office down the hall. Whoops, Sneakers had wandered off.
Sneakers failed miserably at moving the dolly and he somehow managed to break his beeper and cellphone in his foolhardy effort to hoist the cargo.
"I hated this damn thing anyway. It's 2016, who uses a fucking beeper anymore?" Sneakers said out loud on accident.
"Good luck with this bullshit," Sneakers said to the mover, kicking the rectangular metal crate and returning to Roberto's cubicle.
Roberto looked pissed as he frantically closed popup windows. A vein bulged in the back of his neck.
"Sorry, can you start over?" Sneakers asked as politely as possible.
Roberto still looked pissed for a minute, but then shook it off and grabbed the baton he had been using to point at the boards of information behind him.
"Actually can you just bottom line the whole thing for me?" Sneakers asked. If he had been paying attention the first time, he figured he would have been so bored.
"Ghosts are stealing our jobs. Ghosts are stealing the keys. There's some bad shit going down in Ghostland right now, so they're moving over here at a record rate."
"But that's not fair," Sneakers slammed his hand on the table. " They're incorporeal, they don't need sleep, and they never die! Shit! My wife is a goddamn ghost, you know."
Roberto narrowed his gaze. "That isn't the true issue. This city has gone to shit since the cats took over Cattown, anyway."
"Well what is the issue?" asked Sneakers.
"Oh shit, here he is," Roberto whispered and pointed toward Mr. Slimsy, their boss. He was slowly lurking towards them, but presently harassing a different employee in a cubicle down the hall.
"You've noticed how he pretends to do human things, right? When he pretends to drink coffee, he spills all over the place. He had those teeth installed so he can chew, even though he has nowhere to store the food. He applies balm to his behind so he appears to slither like a snail, but we all know he isn't a snail."
"You've been resting on your laurels," Mr. Slimsy was suddenly behind Sneakers. "Behind your office door is the man who is unhappy with your work. I'm not going to save you this time. These clients come here just for you, I know this. They're your clients. So fix it."
Sneakers made way too much eye contact. Rats don't blink, so he couldn't help it.
He shared a secret look with Roberto. In his mind he was squinting, although surely he wasn't actually changing his facial expressions at all. He practiced isolating particular muscle groups in the mirror to allow for more diverse face language, but there had been no dividends so far.
Roberto was still staring at him. "Oh, man, that's Roberto!" He realized. They must have moved him to the night shift. He must have done something terrible.
"Hey, what are you doing here?" Roberto asked. He pulled Sneakers in closer so he could whisper something to him. "They sent me to the night shift when my key went missing. All employees have keys for their departments, you know this. Why am I explaining it? It's like there's another person reading it who doesn't know that already."
Sneakers gestured for him to hurry up with the story. It was like they were playing a game of charades.
"Hey use this contraption," Roberto said, producing a cone shaped muzzle with a bunch of lights on it. Suddenly, Sneakers could talk.
"So..." Sneakers started. Wow, he could talk. This changed everything.
"Hang on this is important," Roberto interrupted him right back.
Sneakers was thinking too hard to pay attention to Roberto's speech. He tried various methods to learn to talk; he killed a parrot and implanted it's voice in his throat, he took a 2-week course on telepathy, he even tried to implant his brain in a humans body. Luckily for him, his headless body still functioned while his head wasn't attached long enough for him to reattach his head. Scary moment, though.
He looked up at Roberto, who was frantically paging through a large leather bound book, occasionally pointing at a page and speaking in a hushed tone about whatever it might say. He pointed at a flow chart, opened various Microsoft Excel documents and even Facetimed in an expert from Oxford.
"This is big! This is really big!" Roberto said more loudly than planned. The rest of it was whispers, so that was the only part Sneakers picked up on.
A great idea popped into Sneaker's head, why not market these conical talking cones? They could make millions. It'd be like his remote control lawnmower idea but more practical.
Some guy was lifting heavy boxes up the stairs on a dolly, one step at a time. Each stare he ascended was accompanied by a loud thump. He sighed and released the dolly, putting his hands firmly on his hips.
"Let me have a go on it!" Sneakers said.
"Be my guest," the rodent of ambiguous nature said, stepping aside.
Sneakers failed miserably at moving the dolly and he somehow managed to break his beeper and cellphone in his foolhardy effort to hoist the cargo.
"I hated this damn thing anyway. It's 2016, who uses a fucking beeper anymore?" Sneakers said out loud on accident.
"Good luck with this bullshit," Sneakers said to the mover, kicking the rectangular metal crate and returning to Roberto's cubicle.
Roberto looked pissed as he frantically closed popup windows. A vein bulged in the back of his neck.
"Sorry, can you start over?" Sneakers asked as politely as possible.
Roberto still looked pissed for a minute, but then shook it off and grabbed the baton he had been using to point at the boards of information behind him.
"Actually can you just bottom line the whole thing for me?" Sneakers asked. If he had been paying attention the first time, he figured he would have been so bored.
"Ghosts are stealing our jobs. Ghosts are stealing the keys. There's some bad shit going down in Ghostland right now, so they're moving over here at a record rate."
"But that's not fair," Sneakers slammed his hand on the table. " They're incorporeal, they don't need sleep, and they never die! Shit! My wife is a goddamn ghost, you know."
Roberto narrowed his gaze. "That isn't the true issue. This city has gone to shit since the cats took over Cattown, anyway."
"Well what is the issue?" asked Sneakers.
"Oh shit, here he is," Roberto whispered and pointed toward Mr. Slimsy, their boss. He was slowly lurking towards them, but presently harassing a different employee in a cubicle down the hall.
"You've noticed how he pretends to do human things, right? When he pretends to drink coffee, he spills all over the place. He had those teeth installed so he can chew, even though he has nowhere to store the food. He applies balm to his behind so he appears to slither like a snail, but we all know he isn't a snail."
"You've been resting on your laurels," Mr. Slimsy was suddenly behind Sneakers. "Behind your office door is the man who is unhappy with your work. I'm not going to save you this time. These clients come here just for you, I know this. They're your clients. So fix it."
