Case of the Mondays

I heard a stirring from the other end of the office. It sounded like a chair falling at first and I imagined Charlie Benson, who sat in that area, is quite a large man, leaning too far back and snapping the back of his new chair. But then I heard something thud. There were rolling of chair wheels, a rustling of paper, and eventually there were so many sounds at once that all I heard was a nondescript ruckus. I slid my chair towards the edge of my cubicle and stared out into the aisle like a curious groundhog. Down the row, I see other people staring out as well. Then there is a flash in front of me and I notice that it is Don from security running past me, chattering on the radio. My comrades and I emerge from our office dwellings and wander towards the source of the morning's intrigue.

As we got closer, the nose grew louder, and what we saw when we got there was a strange sight. I have never been in a fight in school. I think I might have witnessed one that one time, but it was very inconsequential. But there I was, standing in a semi-circle of similarly dressed office folk, watching two adults tussling on the ground while Don was trying to separate them.

As I had earlier guessed, one of the men was Charlie, but I doubt the sound I heard was him falling off his chair. The other guy's name was Jim I think, the mailroom guy. Jim was just as tall as Charlie, but about half his weight. It was almost comical to watch their scuffle. I am not sure any one of them landed one punch. It was more of a wrestling, tugging, pushing skirmish that spent most of its time on the ground among scattered papers and miscellaneous office supplies.

I ask around to find out if anyone knows what happened. Susan tells me that she heard from Rick who heard from Josh that Charlie had been frustrated with his computer's slow boot up time and had taken it out on his desk. He was pounding it with vigor when Jim came by and was handing Charlie his mail. Charlie's coffee cup shook from his pounding, teetered on the desk's edge, and fell, splattering Jim with coffee. One thing led to another. Jim called Charlie a degenerate desk jockey. Charlie called Jim a talentless bum.

After backup came for Don and both brawlers were sent home, we milled around to gossip before we were compelled to return to our desk by the presence of management types floating around the aisles. Back at my desk, Gloria--who was not my boss, but thought she was--came by with a stack of manilla folders that obscured half her face and asked me review them for her. I wondered whom I would have to fight to get sent home too.