I am a level 89 Paladin. In my clan, the
Poseidon Punchers, only one gamer holds a higher claim to fame than I do. In
the MMO, Warlords of Warcraft, the leader of my clan (An Ogre Named Sue),
reached level 95. That Ogre’s my best friend.
For 15 years, he and I played Warlords 16
hours a day, 7 days a week. I work from home.
On my cluttered desk, sit two desktops.
On my gaming computer, I explore dungeons, collect magical artifacts, and slay
dragons. On my throwaway desktop, I “work.”
I serve as tech support for a shipping
firm. Whenever one of the idiots from work screws up his computer, he shoots me
an email. I read it, roll my eyes, and email the moron back with an explanation
of how he or she should (obviously!) fix their problem.
Today, the worst tragedy, the most
unforgivable injustice in the history of the human race occurred. Right as Sir
Spell-Caster and I Love Boobs (my clan’s senior wizards) joined me to storm a
rival clan’s castle, the Internet crashed.
I won’t lie. My reaction proved less than
graceful. I knocked all 15 pencil-holders, 9 wireless keyboards, 2 broken Zip
drives, and a month’s worth of emptied Mountain Dew cans from my desk.
Through my piles of broken cell phones, I
located the one that actually worked. I called my worthless Internet provider,
who told me they couldn’t rectify the issue until Thursday night. My Monday
afternoon felt disastrous.
Still in my hand, my cell phone rang (the
theme song from Naruto). My boss called to discover why I hadn’t responded to
any of my coworkers’ emails.
I explained my emergency. To my horror,
my boss insisted that I work at the office, in
person, until the Internet got its shit together. I explained that I hated
people, didn’t want to interact with them, but my butt-head boss wouldn’t
recognize reason.
Tuesday morning, I arrived at work. Other
than the day of my job interview, I’ve never set foot in this building. My boss
met me, shook my hand, nonchalantly tried to wipe away the sweat that had
soaked from my meaty hand onto his.
My company employed a second tech support
professional. She preferred to work onsite. She called herself Brightman,
possessed long, ginger hair, freckles, and wore paperclips for earrings. When
she shook my hand, her wedding ring felt cold.
I wondered when a girl last touched me.
Elementary school? A girl had danced with me—to win a bet. She had been cute,
though (for a non-anime chick).
Brightman and I went to work. We trekked
the maze of cubicles, fixed coworkers’ screwed up computers, listened to all
their lame excuses (“I don’t know how
this porn found its way onto my hard drive”).
The job didn’t seem as horrible as I had expected.
That afternoon, I parked my car outside
my apartment. My home sat underground, beneath the first floor.
As I neared the stairway, I noticed a 6-year-old
girl beneath a thick tree. She cried with such misery that, despite my best
efforts, I couldn’t ignore her.
“Why the hell are you sniveling?” I asked
her.
She pointed into the tree, where a kitten
clung to a branch. It mewed with alarm.
The girl tugged my arm. “Please, Mister.
Get Thunder Cat down from the tree.”
Great. How could I accomplish that? I
searched for something that would knock the tiny beast from its branch. A fire hose
or a flamethrower would have done the trick.
I didn’t spot a hose or flamethrower.
With a groan, I realized that I would have to climb up there and fetch the
furry shit stain.
The climb presented a challenge. I’m too
chunky for this sort of activity. As if by a miracle, I recovered Thunder Cat
and passed him to the little girl, who cheerfully thanked me before she skipped
away, kitten in hand.
Inside my apartment, I selected a TV
dinner from one of my refrigerators, nuked it inside one of my microwaves, and
sat in the dark. Surrounded by my sea of knickknacks, I chewed.
Wednesday arrived. Brightman and I
performed our rounds. We hadn’t much misfortune to correct. One dipstick tried
to create a functional spreadsheet on PowerPoint. Beyond that, the peasants
hadn’t created too much disaster.
Brightman and I shared our lunch break.
She reported which video games she nursed as a child. I proudly told her that
my father had designed games for major labels.
My father traveled a lot. I rarely saw
him. I guess that’s why Mom disappeared.
That afternoon, when I arrived in front
of my apartment building, a small group of men awaited me. The little girl
whose cat I rescued? Her father stood within the group. He introduced himself
as Teddy. He had named his daughter Courier for some reason.
Teddy and his buddies wanted to meet the
man who rescued Thunder Cat. They thought I had just moved into the
neighborhood. I explained that I had lived in the same apartment for the last 10
years.
Teddy invited me to join his friends for
their weekly poker night. I wasn’t interested . . . until I recalled that I
hadn’t any Internet, and thus nothing to do.
Poker proved fun, in a simple-minded way.
Once I understood the rules, I could calculate all the probabilities. I
conquered the game. The other guys didn’t seem angry. They commended me via playful
slaps on the back.
Thursday. The Internet would return
tonight.
Several of my coworkers had corrupted their
hard drives. While Brightman and I performed damage control, I made
conversation with my coworkers. One used to serve in the Navy. Another trained
for the Olympics before she shattered her ankle.
At the end of the day, Brightman dropped
a bomb. Over a year ago, her husband signed their divorce papers. She still
wore her wedding ring to keep the guys at work from bothering her.
How could someone live a fantasy like
that? Pretend to exist as someone she’s not, just to avoid people? Sure, she
probably dodged a couple ass-hats, but she probably marched right past some
really nice people and opportunities.
She wanted to meet me for a beer that
night.
I said I would think about it, but . . . the
Internet ought to resurface tonight. My clan needed to know what had happened to me.
As I drove home, my boss text messaged me.
He wondered if I would consider working onsite more often. I didn’t respond.
Not yet.
When I arrived at my apartment, Thunder
Cat awaited me. I took him over to Teddy’s apartment, but no one answered the
door. I taped a note to Teddy’s door. Afterwards, I brought Thunder Cat inside
my home.
I filled a small bowl with water. Then, I
nuked a Salisbury steak, TV dinner. I moved to place both items on the floor,
so Thunder Cat would have something to eat and drink, but I realized I had no
available floor space. Knickknacks smothered my floor.
I grabbed a trash bag, collected some of
the junk I didn’t need anymore. Made room for the bowl and TV dinner. A knock
at my door interrupted me.
Courier stood outside. She clutched my
note.
I invited her inside while I fetched
Thunder Cat. She asked me where I collected so much stuff. I changed the
subject.
How could I explain that my mother
disappeared when I was Courier’s age? That every so often, Mom returned with
gifts. Knickknacks. New appliances. Stuff for my computers. I couldn’t just
discard—
I still held, I realized, a trash bag stuffed
with several of Mom’s gifts.
After Courier left with Thundercat, I
turned on my computer. Internet! Sweet, sweet
Internet. I logged onto Warlords of Warcraft, located my clan, and explained my
absence.
Inside the usual text box, I “spoke” with
An Ogre named Sue. For the first time, the Ogre mentioned that she was a
67-year-old woman. I felt flabbergasted, sick.
I logged off. Sat in the dark.
I grabbed my jacket. When I opened the
door, I spotted Teddy. He wanted to know if I would join him and “the guys” for
cards next week.
I nodded as I headed towards my car. I
needed to see about a girl. I might even see her at work tomorrow.
