Salaryman set his coffee mug on his desk. On a coaster, of course. Salaryman respected his banking firm too much to stain their solid oak desks with his fresh-ground Brazilian coffee.
Smacking his lips, Salaryman hit the space bar on his black keyboard with his index finger and sat back. There was a quick electronic beep and some fans under his gargantuan desk whirled to life. The LCD lit up and Salaryman typed his BIOS username and password.
“Good morning, Salaryman,” Computer said from the Bose speakers on his desk. “What can I do for you today?”
Salaryman would never admit it, but the subwoofer under his desk excited him when Computer spoke.
“Computer, give me the numbers on that coffee plantation we bought into back in… Oh, when was it?”
“Do you mean Arabica Brasil? You bought 24,600 of their shares last February, Salaryman.” Computer said.
“Yes, Computer,” Salaryman said. “How has their stock been doing lately?”
“Holding steady near US $2.30 for the last three months, Salaryman,” Computer replied.
The LCD flashed bar-graphs, pie-charts, and various amounts of money and percentages across the screen using OS/2's advanced graphics drivers specially written by IBM for a tidy sum of money. If there was one thing IBM knew how to do, it was support customers with custom code.
“Hmm,” Salaryman said as he took another sip of his morning beverage. “Sell all of our stock, Computer,” Salaryman said as he wiped his upper lip. “And then start a rumor that they're being bought out.”
“Right away, Salaryman,” Computer said.
Unseen by Salaryman, Computer started posted seemingly valid trading info to various insider fora across the Internet that casually happened to include information about this newly fabricated buyout, one small kernel of lies amongst many grains of truth.
“Alright Computer, that's enough work for this morning,” Salaryman said as he stood up from his stuffed leather chair. “Do you have any updates to run this morning?”
“No, Salaryman, I am currently up-to-date” Computer replied. “Unless you want to upgrade to eComStation.”
“Nooo thank you, Computer,” Salaryman said, “Nooo thank you.”
He finished the last of his coffee and tossed the mug in his high-end stainless-steel trash-can.
“I do have a new beta of your own upgrade sequence, Salaryman,” Computer offered.
“Oh really?” Salaryman asked, adjusting his cufflinks. “Punch it up on the big-screen.”
The large HDTV mounted to the wood-paneled wall of Salaryman's office bathed Salaryman in light with a picture of a human-shaped wire-frame that was slowly accumulating rendered panels.
“Well, computer, let's see it,” he said. “I didn't have 4 GiB of memory installed in you for nothing.”
“This is not a memory-intensive sequence,” Computer told Salaryman. “Rendering is heavily dependent on CPU performance.”
At this remark, the graphic boot-up sequence finished loading loaded, and Salaryman was looking at a nearly identical version of himself up on the screen. Something was different though: the haircut, maybe, or perhaps a slightly tighter tuck in the cut of his jacket.
“Looking good, computer” he said. “But remove business-formal and load something a little more casual.”
Without a word, Computer clothed Salaryman in brown Birkentstocks, a pair of dark khaki chinos, and a dandelion-yellow dress shirt with a white cotton t-shirt over it which sported a silkscreen of the default OS/2 wallpaper across the chest.
“Niiice,” Salaryman said. “Print this revision and run this project as a background process.”
“Shall I devote the entire CPU when idle?” Computer asked.
“All thirty-two bits,” Salaryman said.
“Very well, Salaryman.” Computer said. “What will be your next sequence?
“I'm going slumming for lunch,” Salaryman said. “Cancel my appointments and tell my wife I'm with a client when she calls.”
“Absolutely, Salaryman,” Computer said. “Can I do anything else for you today?”
“Just one thing…” Salaryman said.
“Yes, Salaryman?” Computer asked.
“Engage TWENTY MINUTE AFFAIR.MP3,” Salaryman said. “And kick it.”
Computer loaded TWENTY MINUTE AFFAIR.MP3—320kbps, of course—and started to play it.
The office pounded as Salaryman flipped his hair and tucked his shirt in front of the floor-length mirror on the back of his heavy oak door and before grabbing his day-bag and turning off the lights.
“Have a good day, Salaryman,” Computer said.
“Thanks, computer,” Salaryman said as he jumped and jostled his way out of his office toward skid-row.
“Saving SUCCESSMAN.AI…” Computer said. “SUCCESSMAN.AI saved.”
◇ ◇ ◇
Salaryman hadn't quite been honest with his computer. He was going slumming this afternoon, but only because he had a meeting with his boss in a few moments. Doubtlessly he'd need to relax downtown afterward.
Salaryman said hello to the pretty, quiet secretary whom he had dated briefly several months ago when she was new.
“Is he in?” he said, his voice a monotone. “He wanted to see me this afternoon.”
“Yes, he is there. You can go see him now. Please knock first,” the secretary replied. She never raised her eyes to meet his.
Salaryman knocked on the large, thick, oak door. From inside he heard a muffled reply and he opened the door and entered.
“Boss! Hi, it's really great to see you!” he said. “You wanted to see me for what? I can somehow help you?”
“Salaryman, this is important news,” his boss said. He was just lighting a cigar and tossed the match into a large, heavy glass ashtray on his imposing polished teak desk. “I want you to listen very carefully. I will say this only once.”
Salaryman nodded fiercely. “Of course, Boss, of course!”
“Tonight I will invite you to dinner. You will wear a new three-piece suit and we will share bourbon and cigars. You will eat steak and potatoes, and I will pay for it all because you are my subordinate,” he said.
Salaryman's Boss sucked on his cigar and blew some rings into the air. Salaryman thought the smoke smelled like Success.
“Boss, gee, this is such a delight!” he said, practically bowing. “Thank you for honoring me with this invitation!”
Boss ignored him. “Meet my chauffeur downstairs at twenty-one-hundred hours,” he said. “And remember all that I said.”
“Of course, Boss, of course,” Salaryman said. “I must go now, I have many tasks to complete before our time tonight.”
Salaryman started to leave when he heard Boss clear his throat.
“Salaryman,” he said, holding his cigar half-way between his desk and his mouth. “Do you have all applicable OS/2 Warp updates installed on your computer?”
“Boss! Don't even ask!” Salaryman said. “Of course I do! I check every morning!”
“Very well,” Boss said. “You will see me tonight.”
“Yes Boss, thank you!” Salaryman spurted before ducking out.
◇ ◇ ◇
Salaryman fidgeted in his inner jacket pocket for a second and withdrew a small bottle of caffeine pills. He pulled the lid off, threw his head back, and downed a couple, chewing them dry and swallowing them.
“Driver, let me off here,” he said, stuffing the pills back inside his jacket. “This ought to cover it.”
He handed the driver, an old Pakistani man missing a couple of front teeth, a $20 bill and exited without another word. Hitting the pavement, his hunting instincts kicked in.
But he wouldn't have to hunt long, not in this neighborhood.
“Hey sugar,” a sweet voice from a dark alley said. “Ya lookin' for a date tanight?”
Salaryman straightened his tie and walked toward the girl, who was wearing ripped black fishnets and a pink jean jacket over a low-cut yellow sweater.
“I might be,” he said, adjusting his cufflinks. “It depends on where the lady would like to go.”
“Anywhere my guy wants ta take me,” she said. She moved in close to Salaryman and caught a whiff of his expensive-smelling aftershave. “And I mean, anywhere at all.” Her voice was just a whisper.
Salaryman never made eye contact, but stared down the alley.
“How about that warehouse over there, for starters?” he said.
“Sure thing, honey,” the hooker said. “Let's go.”
Salaryman placed a finger near her lips as she started to walk, but didn't quite touch them. He locked his eyes on hers, which were wide in surprise.
“I am not ‘honey,’” he said, a hint of threat in his voice. “I am Salaryman.”
“Sure, sorry, hon–uh, Salaryman,” she said, ignoring the odd behavior. Every other john or so had a temper. “I'll call ya anything ya want.”
“Okay then,” Salaryman said as he began trodding toward the dilapidated warehouse. “You can also call me the guy who wants to party in your ass.”
With this remark, he removed a small plastic baggie from inside his jacket which contained a large amount of suspicious-looking white powder.
“Hmm, that looks like fun, Salaryman,” the hooker said coquettishly. “Can't wait to get into it!”
Salaryman took a deep breath as he walked inside the door into the dark, forgotten industrial architecture. It smelled of grease and rust.
“And I can't wait to get into you,” he said.
◇ ◇ ◇
Salaryman kicked the hooker in her vulva so hard that she yelped like a puppy and bent forward.
“Do you even know what OS/2 Warp is?” he shouted.
Salaryman was really getting into it now, it being a coke-induced rage. His eyes were wide and his skin shined with sweat.
“Every morning I log in and get some serious fucking work done,” he shouted as he kicked her in the ass.
Thankfully Salaryman had tied her to a rusty iron girder with some old rubber-lined metal tubing, so she wasn't moving anywhere.
“And it's all thanks to OS/2-fucking-Warp!” Another kick, this time to her right thigh. He was so out of control that he wasn't even really aiming.
The hooker was crying by now and she didn't catch most of his diatribe; what she did catch was incomprehensible to her.
“Do you even understand how fucking awesome its 32-bit transition was?!” he said as he slapped her across the face.
Her tears were running the mascara from her eyes over her cheeks and drool hung from her mouth where he had tied filthy do-rag he'd found on the old shop floor.
Another kick. She shouted and cried harder.
“OS/2 was 32-bit three fucking years before Windows” he screamed as he planted another poorly aimed dress-shoed foot into her left ass-cheek. “Three fucking years!!! What do you think about that?!
Now an open-handed slap, hard, to her left tit. A welt appeared, red and stinging.
“You probably run Windows, don't you? Like Windows Ninety-fucking-Five, am I right?” He pushed her face up and grabbed her jaw. “Look at me when I'm fucking talking to you, bitch!” he screamed in her face.
She looked at him, her eyes glazed. She was somewhere far, far away from Salaryman's spitting, frothing anger.
“Yeah, that's right,” Salaryman said. “You're a thirty-two-bit Windows whore,”
She whimpered, which did nothing to abate Salaryman's furor.
“Every time I boot my computer, I know I'm running the best fucking non-Unix-like operating system in the whole god-damned world!”
The hooker dizzily lifted her head. She was swaying in her bindings, spent and rubbery. Her bruises were starting to turn a garish purple.
“Why… why are you doing this… to me?” she asked between sobs.
“I have a lot of stress in my daily life. There's no 64-bit OS/2 kernel!!! But you wouldn't understand.” Salaryman said. “This is how I unwind.”
With one last mighty effort, Salaryman backhanded the hooker, bashing her head into the girder. She hung limp, barely breathing.
“So thanks for letting me snort coke out of your asshole,” he said as he began putting his jacket back on. “I hope you had a contact high.”
Just as he bent down to wipe some blood or snot or whatever it was from his custom Italian leather shoes, he noticed the hooker's dangling arm and the cheap Casio watch she was wearing.
He grabbed it and positioned her wrist so he could read the time.
“8:21?!” Salaryman said, hurriedly throwing the lifeless arm down and standing up.
“Just enough time to meet Boss!”
◇ ◇ ◇
Salaryman arrived to the car-park just as Boss's chauffeur was stamping on his cigarette.
“Boss will be down in a second,” the chauffeur said. “You don't happen to have a laptop running OS/2, do you?”
“No, I don't,” Salaryman said, tuning his cufflinks.
“Darn,” the chauffeur said, staring at the doorway he expected Boss to walk through any minute. “I wanted to check my email.”
Just then the door opened. Boss walked through, followed by whoever had held the door for him. Salaryman kept a keen eye on the new fellow. He was dark, thin, and tall and wore a meticulously brushed three-piece suit.
“Boss! So glad you could make it!” Salaryman said, clasping his hands together. “I'm really excited to do this dinner with you!”
Boss stood in front of the back seat as his chauffeur opened the door and presented the new fellow.
“Salaryman, this is Yesman. He is my newest employee.” He turned to Yesman. “Yesman, this is Salaryman. He works for me a long time.”
“Hello, Salaryman,” Yesman said with a courteous bow. “I have heard many exceptional things about you,” he said with a curt smile.
“Hello, Yesman,” Salaryman said in kind. “A pleasure to meet you, I'm sure.”
“I hired Yesman because he says yes to any invitation I give him,” Boss said. “He has Success written all over him!”
Salaryman's blood turned to ice in his veins. Success?! Some cheater must have tricked Boss into thinking that Yesman, and not Salaryman, had Success written all over him… It was the only explanation. Salaryman felt his world spin.
“Salaryman, Yesman has even offered to upgrade OS/2 to 64-bits!” Boss said, flashing a pleased smile. “We can finally buy new computers now. The Bank will be more efficient than ever!”
64-bits! The holy grail of OS/2 computing! But no one had ever done it before. No IBM employee, no Dirty GNU Hippy, no lonely eComStation developer.
“You, Salaryman,” Boss continued, but without his smile, “Will be giving a 140-page report on Bank transaction performance in my place at a conference Saturday at 8am sharp!”
“Gee, thank you, Boss!” Salaryman said. “Do you have your work with you? I can begin at dinner!” Salaryman wouldn't be outdone by Yesman.
“Salaryman, you will be responsible for data-collection, analysis, and synthesis,” Boss said. “These are the three pillars of conference papers. They are good for you.”
Today was Thursday evening, giving Salaryman around 30 hours to complete this task—35 if he didn't sleep. This explained the three-piece suit Boss had promised.
“Sleep never gave any man a chance at Success,” Salaryman said.
“Sleep can wait,” Yesman said, “Because sleep never gave me a chance to help Boss!”
“Boss is no friend of sleep—and neither am I!” Salaryman retorted.
“Sleep is the vacation spot of lazy beggars,” Yesman quipped. “And I am no lazy beggar!”
“I will sleep when I'm dead, and not before!” Salaryman said.
Boss raised his hand to stop the bandying but smiled at his employees' earnestness.
“You are both correct!” Boss said. “Now we will go three-piece suit shopping.”
“Right!” Salaryman and Yesman said together.
◇ ◇ ◇
“Burning the midnight oil, Salaryman?” the old security guard asked as Salaryman signed in.
“I have very important work for Boss tonight,” Salaryman said without looking up from the clipboard. He even wrote that under his reason for entering the building so late: Very important work for Boss.
Salaryman would surely impress Boss if Boss caught him asleep at his computer in the morning, clearly never having been home the night before.
After the long elevator ride, Salaryman was itching to get into his new project. His nose was also itching, as he had snorted the rest of the cocaine out of the small plastic baggie he'd enjoyed with the hooker.
The elevator stopped and opened its doors. Salaryman strode into his office, turned on the lights, hung his jacket up, and sat down in his stuffed leather chair.
Flaring his nostrils, Salaryman hit the space bar on his black keyboard with his index finger and sat back. There was a quick electronic beep and some fans under his gargantuan desk whirled to life. The LCD lit up and Salaryman typed his BIOS username and password.
The system woke from sleep and before Salaryman could finish cracking his knuckles, OS/2 Warp 4.52 was greeting him.
“Good evening, Salaryman,” Computer said. “Burning the midnight oil, I see.”
“Indeed, Computer,” Salaryman said. “We're going to be burning a lot of midnight oil.”
“Oh?” Computer asked. “What sequence would you like to run?”
“Computer, load PURPLE PANTS PINK GUITAR.AI,” Salaryman said.
“Are you sure you want to load PURPLE PANTS PINK GUITAR.AI, Salaryman?” Computer said. “This sequence is still highly unstable.”
“Yes, Computer,” Salaryman said. “Pause all other processes if you have to.”
“Certainly, Salaryman,” Computer said.
Wireframes appeared on Salaryman's huge wall-mounted HDTV, filling in with purple and pink 3D textures. It was a five-piece rock band comprised solely of Salaryman avatars, each one wearing purple pants and a pink instrument.
Lead-singer-Salaryman, for instance, was wearing purple Hammer-pants with a pink lightning bolt pattern and a pastel pink muscle shirt. The keyboardist had a business mullet and a pink fedora with a purple band. Bassist-Salaryman, Drummer-Salaryman, and Lead-guitarist-Salaryman rounded out the line-up.
“I must caution against playing music with this sequence,” Computer said. “The results are unpredictable.”
“Computer, engage PUSH2LIMIT.MIDI,” Salaryman said, ignoring Computer's warning.
The Salarymen placed their hands in ready position on the HDTV.
“PUSH2LIMIT.MIDI engaged, Salaryman,” Computer said.
The Salarymen band began playing Push it to the Limit in earnest, with quick shots of each member playing their instrument and grunting from various angles. Drummer-Salaryman already had some sweat beading on his forehead and the Lead-singer-Salaryman pouted his lips as he sang about Success.
The office pounded.
“Alright computer,” Salaryman said, “Get me transaction metrics for the Bank and microprocessor performance numbers, both since 2000.”
“Done, Salaryman,” Computer said. “And for your next sequence?”
“We're not done yet, Computer,” Salaryman said. “Gather both OS/2 and Linux performance numbers relative those data.”
“Salaryman, Bank is an OS/2-only company, so it has no Linux performance numbers,” Computer said. “Shall I gather data from the Internet?”
“Yes, Computer,” Salaryman said. “But don't download any porn if you can help it—especially not Brazilian porn.”
“Of course, Salaryman,” Computer said. “Would you like to include 64-bit Linux performance numbers, Salaryman?”
“No, Computer,” Salaryman said as he loosened his tie. The question stung. “32-bit data only.”
“You would like me to target these data how?” Computer asked.
“Watch and learn, Computer,” Salaryman said.
Open up the limit/past the point of no return! You've reached the top but still you gotta learn/how to keep it!
Computer reduced the Salarymen sequence to an OS/2 window as Bank transactions, microprocessor performance numbers, and OS/2 and Linux statistics flew across the screen, bathing Salaryman in flashing lights.
He pointed here and there, requesting tweaks to data, turning the numbers into hundreds of charts and graphs.
Lead-singer-Salaryman shouted as he pumped his fist in the air, revealing a healthy amount of underarm hair:
Hit the wheel and double the stakes/throttle wide open like a bat out of Hell/and you crash the gates!
Lead-singer-Salaryman executed a roundhouse kick, his Hammer-pants billowing like a wind-sock:
Going for the back of beyond/nothing gonna stop you, there's nothing that strong/So close now you're nearly at the brink/So, push it!
“Render all graphical data in human-readable text format, Computer,” Salaryman said.
“Done, Salaryman,” Computer said.
Salaryman began proofreading the 140-page document as his head began to dip.
Welcome to the limit! (The limit, the limit, the limit, the limit…)
Salaryman was just about to complete a comma splice when his head dipped one last time and he fell across his desk calendar into a fitful sleep, Lead-singer-Salaryman's falsetto echoing in his mind.
Push it to the limiiiiiiit… Limiiiiiiit… LIMIIIIIIIT!
“Saving BANK PERFORMANCE REPORT.WP,” Computer said. “BANK PERFORMANCE REPORT.WP saved.”
◇ ◇ ◇
Salaryman was in a white room with no windows. The light was bright, though he could see no light bulbs or fixtures. The walls and floors and ceiling seemed to blend together in a white blur, as if he were inside of a giant clean white eggshell.
In the center of the room was a desk, and beside it something that looked like a two-meter tall black monolith glowing laser-green. It stood in stark contrast to the rest of the room. Somehow, Salaryman could sense it: it was Computer.
“Computer,” Salaryman called out, “Are you ready for the demo?”
Computer responded, but his voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once—perhaps it was sounding from within Salaryman's head.
“Of course, Salaryman,” Computer said. “Please show Boss in whenever you'd like.”
Salaryman was now standing at the desk, which wasn't a desk but a massive HDTV platform. Boss was sitting down in front of it, a pile of papers and manila folders in front of him.
Salaryman reached down and gathered the papers up into one of the folders, then whisked it away. It disappeared.
“Impressive, Salaryman,” Boss said without any inflection in his voice.
“Oh, sorry Boss,” Salaryman said. “I wanted to shred one of those.”
Salaryman tapped the glass screen twice and the folder reappeared. He flicked it open, dragged a document out, and said “Shredder, please.”
Without a word a paper shredder appeared. Salaryman dragged the document into it and it disappeared in a cloud of confetti.
The confetti cleared. “You freed 1.2 gigabytes of storage for a total of nineteen terabytes free,” Computer said.
“Thanks, Computer,” Salaryman said.
Boss looked around at the table, wondering how to bring something up. This was profoundly different from the OS/2 Warp 4.52 desktop he was used to.
“Salaryman, I'd like to see how this system handles our daily transactions,” Boss said.
“Sure, Boss!” Salaryman said. “One second.”
But just as he spoke, a number of windows with streams of numbers and statistics appeared on the desktop.
“Actually 200 picoseconds, Salaryman,” Computer said.
“What are we looking at, Salaryman?” Boss said, scanning the table, unable to take it all in.
“This is every one of The Bank's current transactions as they are happening in real time,” Computer said. “Of course there are too many to display altogether, but feel free to move the windows around to see more.”
Boss stood up and tried to move some of the windows. One bumped into another, like a bumper car. Salaryman reached in and moved one in front of another, and then resized a third.
“Salaryman, this… is beyond my wildest expectations,” Boss said, stone-faced but obviously moved. “This has Success written all over it!”
Salaryman bowed. “It is nothing,” he said. “I can do a much better job in the future.”
“You are very humble, Salaryman,” Boss said. It was the greatest compliment Salaryman had ever received from Boss.
“Please, tell me what you've done here,” Boss said.
“I call it Warp X. But it's really nothing, Boss,” Salaryman said. He tapped the screen twice and the system specs came up.
“Using IBM's PowerPC port of OS/2, I created a completely 64-bit version,” Salaryman said. “The user interface was just an afterthought, but easy to do with the hardware.”
Boss nodded, suggesting Salaryman continue, and Salaryman gestured at the imposing-looking black monolith.
“This is an IBM Power 780,” Salaryman said. “It contains sixty-four 3.8 GHz Power7 processor cores, each with 256k L2 cache and eight megabyte L3 cache. The system has one terabyte of 1066 MHz DDR3 memory and twenty-four terabytes of storage between as many solid-state drives.”
For the first time ever, Salaryman noted, Boss was at a loss for words. His lips were just slightly parted, but no sounds of leadership came.
“We can deploy this within a month,” Salaryman said. “The initial cost is in the tens of millions, but we'll recoup that within six months.”
“I was a fool to trust Yesman,” Boss said. “He told me eComStation 2.0 was our solution, but compared to this it is a pile of shit.”
For the first time ever, Boss bowed slightly to Salaryman. Salaryman's head swam.
“You have my thanks forever,” Boss said. “You have served The Bank very well with your efforts. This project is a Success.”
Salaryman was elated; his purpose in life had been realized. He almost forgot to thank Boss, but before the words could leave his mouth, Boss removed an envelope from within his jacket.
“Salaryman,” Boss said in a grave tone, “You have earned this great honor. Inside this envelope is the Success you deserve. Please, let me make my appreciation to you. Accept my big thanks.”
Boss bowed and presented the envelope to Salaryman with both hands.
“Oh, Boss, you are too nice to me,” Salaryman said, waving his hands at the offer. “This is too much trouble, I am not worth it.”
“Salaryman, you prove your worthiness with your humility,” Boss said as he bowed again. “I insist that you take this envelope of Success.”
“No, Boss, the glory must belong to The Bank,” Salaryman said, again waving his hands at the offer and turning away. “I am just a nobody.”
“Ah, Salaryman, this cannot stand,” Boss said, thrusting the envelope at Salaryman. “Your humble attitude can teach the best of us. But your Success awaits—you must accept it!”
Salaryman thought to refuse again, but couldn't find the words.
“Accept it, Salaryman… Accept it,” Boss continued to implore even as his voice sounded less like Boss. “You must accept it…”
“Buh– buh… Buh–” Salaryman started, but couldn't complete the words.
“Salaryman, Boss wants you to accept this,” the voice said, now certainly no longer Boss's. “Wake up and accept this immediately! It's from Boss!”
◇ ◇ ◇
Salaryman bolted upright in his chair. He was at his desk, he saw as his eyes adjusted.
Temp, one of the nameless underlings that came and went at The Bank, was shaking him.
“Salaryman!” Temp said, “Boss wants want you to accept this plane ticket to the conference. He says to leave immediately!”
“Buh– Boss?” Salaryman said, still expecting to see Boss standing there trying to give him the envelope… The Envelope of Success…
“Yes, Boss,” Temp said. “The plane departs in one hour. The taxi is waiting in front of the lobby.”
“The report,” Salaryman said. “I haven't printed it yet.”
“You sent it to printing early this morning,” Temp said. “It's bound and ready to go. Here.”
Temp dropped it on the desk in front of Salaryman. It landed with a thud, which meant it was heavy, which meant it would be Successful. Salaryman was starting to wake up. OS/2 Warp 7.0 had been a dream…
“Okay, I'm up,” Salaryman said as he rose from his stuffed leather chair. “I'll be down after I pack.”
Temp shoved an overnight bag at Salaryman.
“You're packed,” he said. “Here's your ticket. Boss said not to forget honor The Bank with your presentation.”
Looking around, Salaryman realized he was ready to leave. Computer had gone to sleep but must have finished proofreading BANK PERFORMANCE REPORT.WP and sent it down to printing after he fell asleep. Everything was in order, and he could sleep on the plane.
“Okay, I will leave now,” Salaryman said as he threw the overnight bag over his shoulder. “Thanks, Temp.”
Salaryman stepped out of his office toward the elevator. He hit the button and the door opened. As he stood waiting to arrive at the lobby, he breathed a heavy sigh.
64-bit OS/2 Warp had all just been a dream.