katiekitten
The Compromise
Try 2.
;_;
I'm sure those with siblings will understand when I say, completel heart-feltly and with slight anger: I hate my 'baby' brother sometimes.
Especially now he knows how to use a computer.
*headesk*
Hence, as the last thread was 'accidentally' deleted, I'm re-posting this.
(With some revision - why not take a chance when it's presented to you? - I must represent you with this.
The monotonous, automatic ringing hummed pleasantly in her ear, suitably irritating, in the eyes of the increasingly infuriated woman holding said phone, as it beamed itself happily through the phone network, going once, twice, three whole times before finally being interrupted by the sound of it’s counterpart being picked up on the other line.
“PIC Special Occasions limited on thirty second Goldenstreet, how may I help you?”
The woman shut her eyes briefly, a roughly manicured hand rising in aggravation to pinch the bridge of her nose above her glasses as she all but hissed into her Nokia, simmering with withheld anger.
“I would like to talk to your manager, please.”
The answering voice was innocently confused, almost apologetic in tone as it responded. “I’m afraid she is unavailable at this moment, but may I be of help?”
A tremor of her anger slipped into the woman’s tone this time, sharpening it unnecessarily. “I would like to file a complaint.”
“Just a second…”
She scowled as the chipper voice faded, leaving her with the muted silence of a phone set down on a sheaf of papers as she waited for the woman to return, silently seething. A ‘complaint’ was an understatement, she decided crisply, nevertheless holding her anger in check, if only because she was at work, in the community foray. She would not let ‘PIC’ ruin her reputation in the workplace, as well as her home. She had many words to give to ‘PIC’, many words indeed- and none of them were ‘Perfect Imagery Catering’.
“Yes?” The new voice was decidedly more authoritative, she decided, without the simpering factor of the last girl, and she found herself satisfied that she would be able to have this discussion with someone worthy of her attention.
(So ha.)
“Hello. I am calling in relation to the cake I ordered for my son two weeks ago, which was delivered last night.”
There was a brief pause, the sound of papers being shuffled in the background before the voice returned. “Was the cake to your satisfaction, madame?”
To my satisfaction? She found herself wanting to snort in derision, but maintained the urge with slight difficulty, instead picking a piece of lint off of her grey suit jacket, pinching it to obliteration between two fingers before flicking it violently at the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the drab office.
“No,” she said in the same clipped tone as earlier, “I believe it was not.”
“What exactly was the problem, madame?”
She had to take a deep breath then, a sharp glance around at her surroundings (the employees taking a break around the coffee machine, eyes glued to the murmuring television in the corner) serving as the distraction and reminder she needed to reign her emotions in enough for a decent response. One that did not involve screaming at the infuriatingly cool voice on the other side of the line.
“The problem, madame, is that instead of the baseball cake I ordered for my son, I received… I don’t know what. My god,” she paused as her voice rose slightly on the last words, forcing herself to calm down before continuing in a lower tone. “I don’t know what sort of joke your staff thought they were playing, but last night when I opened your ‘cake’-” she broke off again to cast a final, furious glance across the room to doubly ensure the privacy of her conversation, “I saw it to take the image of the ‘baseball bat’ a step too far.”
“So it was a baseball themed cake?” She blinked at the woman’s tone - was that relief? – eyebrows furrowing once again into an incredulous frown, mouth thinning rapidly at the woman’s every added word. “You mentioned baseball bats-”
“Yes, if you can call it that!” She steamed, cutting off the woman in her anger, taking a breath to continue-
“Then what is the problem? It says here that you ordered no other requirements...”
She was wrong. This ‘manager’ was just as dumb, if not severely more, than the last girl.
“What is the problem?!” She almost screamed into the phone, knuckles showing white as her grip on the hand piece caused one of its components to snap off and drop to her feet, to be pulverized under the cold dispassionate spike of her heel. Acutely aware of the stares of her other employees, she waved a hand of dismissal but also of slight warning, backed up with a deadly glare, before she turned and continued on with the conversation: “I hardly think two… ‘au natural’ ladies straddling a baseball bat with ‘Happy Birthday’ written across it is not a problem! Not only is it crude and vulgar, but it is a… defilation, of common decency, for god’s sake!”
“I still fail to see the problem, madame.” There was an air of weariness in the manager’s tone now, and the woman felt her anger boil at the words, silently mouthing ‘fail to see’ before turning on her heel and striding powerfully to the far corner of the office, stopping under the shade of a potted cedar with her back to the windows in a final, futile attempt to not destroy what little reputation she had left. “The product was delivered to your specifications; if you are not pleased with the theme, then perhaps you should commission another catering service to make your cakes in the future-”
‘My son is two years old!” Oh, how she wanted to shriek into that phone, march down into that office and call the health inspectors on this impertinent manager and her icing-porn delivery store-! “How dare you even try to tell- even try to think! – that that was what I ord-“
“Madame, do you know what our company is called?”
She gaped at the phone for a couple seconds, stunned speechless by the manager’s cool interruption, before snapping her mouth shut and almost snarling. “Excuse me?!”
“Madame,” the voice repeated, now accompanied by a weary sigh, “I don’t believe you do. PIC ltd. Phallic Imagery Catering limit-”
The voice cut off mid-sentence, replacing itself with a solid dial tone. The woman whipped the phone from her ear and stared at the cool, digital display in shock, fury bubbling up in an insuppressible wave from her very core at the thought that she, Mrs Briana Ordery, had just been hung up on.
“F***.”
Restraining herself from throwing the mobile through the large glass windows and, with any luck, shooting it through the streets of Goldenrod to the belated headquarters of ‘Perfect Imagery Catering’ – she refused to believe the store’s blatant excuse for poor management-, (and therefore promptly ignoring the niggling, steadily growing voice in the back of her mind that said that not only was the manager right, but the fault could be laid on no-one other than herself, for trusting her working partner -a man renowned for his lude personality-’s recommendation of a cake store) she turned on her heel, striding back towards the coffee machine. The sudden silence in the office as she crossed with definite steps left her unfazed, if not all the more angrier – if those ba- she stopped herself before she could curse again- thought to eavesdrop on her conversation by muting the TV, they were sincerely, sorely mistake-
-boom
The sudden crash of glass, slivers streaking by a mouth poised mid-word. A shiver through the air- widening eyes shriveling as silver fire roared greedily through empty window panes-
silence.
A twisted, warped hybrid of metal and plastic fell between the burning flags of the ceiling tiles, landing with a muffled thump in a small flurry of ash. The once proud brand name of ‘Nokia’ glinted feebly from its side, barely visible beneath the trails of molten rubber as in the distance, screams trailed through the air, forerunners of the explosion that rippled forever outwards.
-- and they slept
end.
And for the repeated plea of: Don't hate me! And a summary for those who are confused: (Woman is on phone, complaining about a cake she recieved, when a huge explosion destroys Goldenrod). If you found it confusing, I'm sorry - It's meant to be. *shot* xD; Abrupt ending is supposed to be abrupt. Hopefully the end disturbs you a little, but I doubt it. The ending was by far the hardest bit to write, and what I've spent the last two hours working on, so joy.
The reason for the confusion: This is the second in a series of oneshots centered around a single event. Each will reveal a little more about said event. Not a particularly original idea, admittedly, but it's enough to keep me entertained for the time being, and they serve their purpose: They allow me to experiment with different genres, writing styles, themes, devices, the whole works.
I hope you enjoy it, though! Despite the confusion and general what-the-heck-is-going-on-ness.
Random text at ending: Is supposed to be 'good bye' as given by a broken mobile screen.
;_;
I'm sure those with siblings will understand when I say, completel heart-feltly and with slight anger: I hate my 'baby' brother sometimes.
Especially now he knows how to use a computer.
*headesk*
Hence, as the last thread was 'accidentally' deleted, I'm re-posting this.
(With some revision - why not take a chance when it's presented to you? - I must represent you with this.
sleep.
The monotonous, automatic ringing hummed pleasantly in her ear, suitably irritating, in the eyes of the increasingly infuriated woman holding said phone, as it beamed itself happily through the phone network, going once, twice, three whole times before finally being interrupted by the sound of it’s counterpart being picked up on the other line.
“PIC Special Occasions limited on thirty second Goldenstreet, how may I help you?”
The woman shut her eyes briefly, a roughly manicured hand rising in aggravation to pinch the bridge of her nose above her glasses as she all but hissed into her Nokia, simmering with withheld anger.
“I would like to talk to your manager, please.”
The answering voice was innocently confused, almost apologetic in tone as it responded. “I’m afraid she is unavailable at this moment, but may I be of help?”
A tremor of her anger slipped into the woman’s tone this time, sharpening it unnecessarily. “I would like to file a complaint.”
“Just a second…”
She scowled as the chipper voice faded, leaving her with the muted silence of a phone set down on a sheaf of papers as she waited for the woman to return, silently seething. A ‘complaint’ was an understatement, she decided crisply, nevertheless holding her anger in check, if only because she was at work, in the community foray. She would not let ‘PIC’ ruin her reputation in the workplace, as well as her home. She had many words to give to ‘PIC’, many words indeed- and none of them were ‘Perfect Imagery Catering’.
“Yes?” The new voice was decidedly more authoritative, she decided, without the simpering factor of the last girl, and she found herself satisfied that she would be able to have this discussion with someone worthy of her attention.
(So ha.)
“Hello. I am calling in relation to the cake I ordered for my son two weeks ago, which was delivered last night.”
There was a brief pause, the sound of papers being shuffled in the background before the voice returned. “Was the cake to your satisfaction, madame?”
To my satisfaction? She found herself wanting to snort in derision, but maintained the urge with slight difficulty, instead picking a piece of lint off of her grey suit jacket, pinching it to obliteration between two fingers before flicking it violently at the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the drab office.
“No,” she said in the same clipped tone as earlier, “I believe it was not.”
“What exactly was the problem, madame?”
She had to take a deep breath then, a sharp glance around at her surroundings (the employees taking a break around the coffee machine, eyes glued to the murmuring television in the corner) serving as the distraction and reminder she needed to reign her emotions in enough for a decent response. One that did not involve screaming at the infuriatingly cool voice on the other side of the line.
“The problem, madame, is that instead of the baseball cake I ordered for my son, I received… I don’t know what. My god,” she paused as her voice rose slightly on the last words, forcing herself to calm down before continuing in a lower tone. “I don’t know what sort of joke your staff thought they were playing, but last night when I opened your ‘cake’-” she broke off again to cast a final, furious glance across the room to doubly ensure the privacy of her conversation, “I saw it to take the image of the ‘baseball bat’ a step too far.”
“So it was a baseball themed cake?” She blinked at the woman’s tone - was that relief? – eyebrows furrowing once again into an incredulous frown, mouth thinning rapidly at the woman’s every added word. “You mentioned baseball bats-”
“Yes, if you can call it that!” She steamed, cutting off the woman in her anger, taking a breath to continue-
“Then what is the problem? It says here that you ordered no other requirements...”
She was wrong. This ‘manager’ was just as dumb, if not severely more, than the last girl.
“What is the problem?!” She almost screamed into the phone, knuckles showing white as her grip on the hand piece caused one of its components to snap off and drop to her feet, to be pulverized under the cold dispassionate spike of her heel. Acutely aware of the stares of her other employees, she waved a hand of dismissal but also of slight warning, backed up with a deadly glare, before she turned and continued on with the conversation: “I hardly think two… ‘au natural’ ladies straddling a baseball bat with ‘Happy Birthday’ written across it is not a problem! Not only is it crude and vulgar, but it is a… defilation, of common decency, for god’s sake!”
“I still fail to see the problem, madame.” There was an air of weariness in the manager’s tone now, and the woman felt her anger boil at the words, silently mouthing ‘fail to see’ before turning on her heel and striding powerfully to the far corner of the office, stopping under the shade of a potted cedar with her back to the windows in a final, futile attempt to not destroy what little reputation she had left. “The product was delivered to your specifications; if you are not pleased with the theme, then perhaps you should commission another catering service to make your cakes in the future-”
‘My son is two years old!” Oh, how she wanted to shriek into that phone, march down into that office and call the health inspectors on this impertinent manager and her icing-porn delivery store-! “How dare you even try to tell- even try to think! – that that was what I ord-“
“Madame, do you know what our company is called?”
She gaped at the phone for a couple seconds, stunned speechless by the manager’s cool interruption, before snapping her mouth shut and almost snarling. “Excuse me?!”
“Madame,” the voice repeated, now accompanied by a weary sigh, “I don’t believe you do. PIC ltd. Phallic Imagery Catering limit-”
The voice cut off mid-sentence, replacing itself with a solid dial tone. The woman whipped the phone from her ear and stared at the cool, digital display in shock, fury bubbling up in an insuppressible wave from her very core at the thought that she, Mrs Briana Ordery, had just been hung up on.
“F***.”
Restraining herself from throwing the mobile through the large glass windows and, with any luck, shooting it through the streets of Goldenrod to the belated headquarters of ‘Perfect Imagery Catering’ – she refused to believe the store’s blatant excuse for poor management-, (and therefore promptly ignoring the niggling, steadily growing voice in the back of her mind that said that not only was the manager right, but the fault could be laid on no-one other than herself, for trusting her working partner -a man renowned for his lude personality-’s recommendation of a cake store) she turned on her heel, striding back towards the coffee machine. The sudden silence in the office as she crossed with definite steps left her unfazed, if not all the more angrier – if those ba- she stopped herself before she could curse again- thought to eavesdrop on her conversation by muting the TV, they were sincerely, sorely mistake-
-boom
The sudden crash of glass, slivers streaking by a mouth poised mid-word. A shiver through the air- widening eyes shriveling as silver fire roared greedily through empty window panes-
silence.
A twisted, warped hybrid of metal and plastic fell between the burning flags of the ceiling tiles, landing with a muffled thump in a small flurry of ash. The once proud brand name of ‘Nokia’ glinted feebly from its side, barely visible beneath the trails of molten rubber as in the distance, screams trailed through the air, forerunners of the explosion that rippled forever outwards.
-- and they slept
end.
And for the repeated plea of: Don't hate me! And a summary for those who are confused: (Woman is on phone, complaining about a cake she recieved, when a huge explosion destroys Goldenrod). If you found it confusing, I'm sorry - It's meant to be. *shot* xD; Abrupt ending is supposed to be abrupt. Hopefully the end disturbs you a little, but I doubt it. The ending was by far the hardest bit to write, and what I've spent the last two hours working on, so joy.
The reason for the confusion: This is the second in a series of oneshots centered around a single event. Each will reveal a little more about said event. Not a particularly original idea, admittedly, but it's enough to keep me entertained for the time being, and they serve their purpose: They allow me to experiment with different genres, writing styles, themes, devices, the whole works.
I hope you enjoy it, though! Despite the confusion and general what-the-heck-is-going-on-ness.
Random text at ending: Is supposed to be 'good bye' as given by a broken mobile screen.
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