|Not Much Fun
Author: Dr.E. Vance PM
sometimes spending time alone at work isn't as fun as it seems. . . rated T for language.Rated: Fiction T - English - Humor - Words: 787 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 1 - Published: 07-07-05 - Status: Complete - id: 2474192
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I did a dumb thing. I wrote a story at 1:00 am. Need I say more? I hope this is decent, I've only been watching repeats of NYPD Blue on TNT during the day, and I just started, so I'm sticking to one-character things at the moment. . .
I DO NOT OWN anything from the show . . . okay, well; I own the mean man and the swively chair.
It was late afternoon and John was practically alone in the room. Andy was questioning someone and everyone else was off doing something more important. John found this lull to be a proper time to start spinning around in his chair.
During his spinning, the phone rang and, since he was by himself, he felt the need – the need for speed. He sped up his spinning and tried to grab the phone at the same time. He grabbed it indeed but couldn't stop himself from going around and the phone cord got tangled around his neck.
Andy dragged the man he was questioning out of the room just in time to save John from choking to death.
"Mind explaining to me what you were doing with the phone cord around your neck?" Andy asked.
"I was . . . well . . . not really." John looked shamefully at the desk and checked to see if the person who called was still on the other end. Whoever it was hung up a long time ago. Andy softly chuckled and continued dragging the man outside.
John rubbed his neck impatiently. He wouldn't be surprised if his cheeks were the color of cherries. The phone rang again and John quickly picked it up to hear a horribly harsh voice on the other end.
"You idiots always answer the phone that way?" the man yelled.
"No, I was a little tangled up. . ." John winced at his bad attempt at humour.
"I'm sure you were and I don't give a shit. I'm looking for Detective Sipowitz. (did I spell that wrong? I'm sorry if I did!) Put him on the phone!"
"You just missed him. Can I take a . . ." John began.
"Don't give me that crap. I know he's there."
"Well, your mistaken . . . sir." John had no name to call the man by.
"Sir? What . . . how old are you? Sound like a pansy . . ." the man continued, but John hung up on him and shuddered. He hadn't been called that in years and it was one of the less offending things he's heard; yet it still bothered him considerably.
John sighed restlessly as he wondered where everyone was. He got the horrible idea they were playing a prank, but he shook that out of his head, knowing, hoping, his friends wouldn't do that to him. Having nothing else to do, he went to pour himself some coffee so hot it would burn the inside of your mouth to cinders.
He couldn't even believe he was at work today. Nothing was happening! Lost in his thoughts, he forgot about the hot coffee he was holding and dropped it all over himself. John yelped and jumped back, pulling at his spoiled and burning clothes.
He snatched some papertowels and attempted to dab the hot coffee off himself and then proceeded to clean up the rest of the mess he made and search for the many broken pieces of the mug. It was his favorite dark green one too, which really disappointed him.
John shuffled back to his desk and yawned. Then he yawned again. And he yawned again. He thought being alone at work would be fun, but so far it was incredibly boring. John sighed and leaned back in his chair. Slowly, his eyes closed . . .
About half and hour later, Andy returned with Baldwin who was chasing down someone else, apparently unsuccessful. They saw John asleep in his chair and laughed, waking John up.
"Sorry to disturb your nap." Andy smirked at the sleepy eyed man. "I wish I had time alone at work to sleep."
"Yeah, I know." Baldwin agreed.
"Trust me, it's not as luxurious as you think." John disagreed, getting up.
"Really? I'd like to test you on that theory." Andy continued smirking as Baldwin got a call and went running out the door.
"Okay, because I'm actually going home. Have a nice afternoon, detective. I . . . uh . . . like your shirt." John snatched his coat and stumbled out the door. He decided not to tell the detective about the phone call. If the guy were determined, he would call back.
( - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - )
Andy drummed his fingers on his desk to fill the silence. He looked around.
"Maybe John was right."
Please don't flame!