beasts

He had seven pin-mounted cubicle clips on his wall. Each one was blue. Twenty-one green, purple, and red pin-mounted cubicle clips could be seen in the waste bin carefully placed near his feet.

One could not tell from casual observation that underneath each item on his desk was a precise outline, in blue laboratory tape, of the item's footprint; nor was it apparent to the ill-informed that every pen, post-it notepad, and stamp bore a unique identifying number analogous to the lovingly stenciled numbers present on the blue-taped footprint. Of paramount importance was the orientation of the steel buffalo. It was named "Rutherford".

Rutherford, standing an impressive two and a half inches tall by four inches wide, was an excellent indicator of the cubicle occupant's demeanor. Those who had worked with him long enough knew how to decipher the code.

The steely gaze of Rutherford greeted all who entered his domain.

 

socks

Fourteen. Eighty-five point zero. Thirty-seven. Twelve ought seventy-three. Nineteen. Five. Three point seven. Twenty-three point six. Eighteen thirty-two. Ninety-one. Seven, again. Sixty-three. Forty-one. Twenty-two. Seventy-one. Fifty-four point eight. Fourteen, again.

His fingers flashed against the off-white keyboard with fury. Every tap on the number-pad brought with it an adrenaline-like surge of satisfaction.

He smiled at Rutherford.

Rutherford winked back.

quantities

Bearing documents requiring a signature, Sarah, a corporate employee of one-eighth of a year, cautiously approached Rutherford's lair. Every step closer to his cubicle brought on a wave of dizziness. She was lightheaded. Her coworkers' advice flashed through her head, quickly followed by images of her life-story.

She crossed the threshold.

There he was, his back to the entrance, typing rhythmically. Sarah stood tremulous, temporarily stricken dumb, and transfixed by the almost trance-inducing marathon of numbers appearing in successive Excel spreadsheet fields. He, also, appeared to be in a trance-like state.

Rutherford was facing away.

Wisely, Sarah recovered her bearings, turned around, and slowly skulked back to her own desk.

but why?

He had a secret. A deep, dark secret.

His keyboard was mapped in German. Little did his coworkers know, but his Z key and Y key were transposed.

He giggled a bit thinking about his guilty excesses. Oh what hilarity it would amount to if they knew. If only they knew. If only they knew that the Y key and the Z key were transposed. And God forbid they find out that he sometimes uses commas instead of periods for his decimal marker!

A shooting pain shot through his head. This minor break from his work was not productive. Not effective. Not efficient.

Back to the number cascade. Two point four. Seven point three. Eighteen dot thirty-three. Zero point zero one. Twelve.

Warmth washed over his body and into his soul. The numbers. Happiness.

Rutherford nodded agreeably, turning to face him finally.