Somewhat Henderson
Chapter 3: Office Politics
I looked around the office. I saw a pen of animals typing away at their computers. There was a pirate, too. And a lady wearing a tight bunny suit. It's crazy what they allow in here.
Behind me was a coffee bar. There was a carved pumpkin sitting on top. It was carved into the head of the SlopFeed pig, with that distinct grin. They even made a makeshift snout for it, gluing a round piece from a pumpkin and carving two parallel circles into it. It had a lit candle inside, the flame dancing inside the head in a sinister manner.
There was a water cooler, a perfectly square abstract painting, a white wallpaper, an AC unit— by all accounts, they had turned this ancient bunker into a comfortable office space. With one difference — rather than relying on natural sunlight shining through the windows that occupied the walls, this room was illuminated by the fluorescent lightbulbs up above. I suppose if you get used to it — you stop noticing the difference.
Around the corner where the Wicks twins disappeared into. On one side, were restrooms; the M/F split. What's beyond that — I had no idea.
I was looking for a note posted on the walls. Sometimes, offices have the corporate WiFi password credentials posted on the wall in plain language. But I haven't found any passwords. All I saw were QR codes with the note, "Scan to log into the WiFI network." My radio device did not have a camera.
I turned my attention to Henderson's desk. I checked the computer for any files named "wifi" "internet" or "password", but no luck.
I checked the desk. The post-it note on the monitor said, "IMPORTANT: Q3 DUE FRIDAY". Hell, I'd be so lucky to make it to Friday. Whatever that deadline is — it didn't concern me. That was Henderson's problem. He still has time though; he'll be fine.
The desktop itself had nothing on it but a keyboard, a mouse, and an empty mug. The mug was black. It had no other features. A handle. Henderson was a minimalistic man. I also checked the drawers on his desk. There were three. The bottom drawer was completely empty. The middle one had some technical accessories: backup mice, cables, that sort of thing. The top drawer had a thick green notebook with a black pen attached to the cover.
I flipped through the green book. It was a journal. It held a monthly entry on each page, each complete with a date, his summary of his experiences at the office, and promises to his currently-infant daughter. Promises of doing everything in his power to ensure she has a rich and carefree life. Each page also had a photo glued to it — his family: Mr. Henderson, Mrs. Henderson, and little Henderson. I watched the kid get bigger with every flip of the page.
In the photo where the baby first appeared, Henderson was wearing military camo. Interesting — a military man.
On top of that, Mr. Henderson had features strikingly similar to mine. Similar nose, similar cheeks. But our eyes and hair were completely different. Still, through layers of grime, frostbite, and apathy, I could see how someone could mistake us. That's how I became Somewhat Henderson.
That was endearing. But I was not going to find the WiFi password in there. I slid the journal back into the drawer.
I looked below the desk, but found nothing but the humming computer. I could unplug the internet cord and plug it into my radio. But then I would have to sit here and report my findings out loud, surrounded by people. Doing that in broad lamplight out loud could have gotten me apprehended on the spot.
I got up from the chair. It was time to look around. My legs felt like concrete. By the time I had entered the office space, the mud on my boots had fully dried. I had to make slow, deliberate steps to make sure the carpet didn't scrape the mud off — I really didn't need Paul catching me ruining his floors. Each step was going to feel like a puzzle I had to solve.
I trudged my way down that hall I'd been eyeing for a while. The bathroom was calling for me like a siren. I desperately wanted to freshen up, but I couldn't risk losing my grime. It was the only cover I had.
I walked past the bathroom. On the opposite side of its wall was a room behind a sliding glass door. There were three men in there, all looking at a projector, which was playing a video of a woman on a beach in bikini, smiling and talking. The way the mouth was moving was uncanny, almost robotic. She was also freezing and speeding up randomly. Two of the men were looking intently at the projector and saying something, while one man was behind a laptop.
Then text flashed on screen. "Top 10 Vacation Destinations this Winter to Escape the Cold". That's when it clicked. The woman was normal, and they were just editing footage.
I continued down the corridor. Ahead, I spotted an info desk. Finally. If there was any place capable of handing me the WiFi password — this was going to be it.
I approached the person sitting behind the info desk. It was a middle-aged woman with purple-dyed hair, munching on donuts. She was wearing a red and yellow carnival mask, the kind that only covered the eyes and the bridge of the nose. That was the laziest costume I'd seen so far. Her eyes peered at me from beneath the mask with dead detachment. She didn't say a word. I figured that was my cue to ask for information.
"Excuse me, miss," I rasped out. My voice was at least a little warmed up from my previous encounters with the Wicks twins, so I already left some bewilderment behind. "I need the password to the WiFi."
The woman's stare did not falter. She kept munching. She pointed her finger at the pillar with a note with the QR code printed on it. The notes I'd seen already. She's done that gesture thousands of times, I could tell. She didn't even need to look.
"Could you just tell me, please?"
The woman finally swallowed her donut. "Scan the QR code to turn on WiFi."
"I can't scan the QR code. My uhh… phone camera broke. Could you just tell me please?"
The woman sighed. "Scan the QR code to turn on WiFi." Her cadence didn't change. She shoved another donut into her mouth.
I wasn't getting through so I tried again. "Listen, my camera broke. I cannot. Scan. The. QR code. Cannot scan! Comprehende?"
The woman stopped chewing suddenly, as if I'd unlocked something in her. She put the donut down briefly and said, "make helpdesk request on WeekEnd dashboard."
Finally, a different useless response this time! "You can't just tell me the password?" But she didn't hear me anymore. She picked her donut back up and averted her gaze below the desk. I peeked. She was scrolling on her phone.
It was only on my walk back to Henderson's desk that it dawned on me. The repeated, almost rehearsed phrases? We weren't speaking the same language. Literally. She had a different accent from mine, too. I couldn't really pin it down. But it did beg the question: who hires an info-desk person who doesn't even speak your language?
I turned around and started walking. But after a couple of steps, I heard a man's voice say "that's Hewt."
I froze. This was the end of the line for me. I knew I wouldn't last long in enemy territory. With a budget like theirs, surely they had a detailed profile on me, and everyone else involved in my operation.
I turned around slowly with my hands frozen in place. A man in his late 20s, holding a mug in one hand, with his hand in his pocket. He was wearing a soldier's uniform. His label said J. Fource, Security.
"W-what did you say?"
"I said that's a hute hostume you got there, Henderson. Hlassy." He took a sip from his mug, rocking a shit-eating smirk.
Cute costume. Classy.
Motherfucker had a speech impediment and used it to give me a heart attack.
If you're reading this, J. Fource, fuck you. Your costume fucking sucks.
I made it back to Henderson's desk. The carnival lady told me to refer to the WeekEnd dashboard to contact the helpdesk.
I opened the browser back up and clicked on a bookmark labeled just that. I saw a dashboard with a bunch of sub-menus: time sheets, PTO, sick leave, and others. Interestingly, the sick leave had a counter next to it, indicating 0. As in, 0 sick days remaining. Explains why Henderson asked Courier through email directly. He had all the right to turn him down. But still, the manner in which he did it was rather harsh. I wondered if he could sue for workplace harassment.
A bell sound dinged, and a popup appeared in the top right corner. It was just a simple reminder to fill out the employee satisfaction form, due Friday. Curious whether those were anonymous or not. Surely they'd be unreliable if they weren't anonymous, right?
Well, I clicked it. It brought me to the survey page. Your private information, such as your name, employee ID, email address, phone number, and home address, are included in your response for record keeping and will have no impact on your survey.
Figured. I closed the page. I thought I'd leave the pleasure to Mr. Henderson.
I clicked on the helpdesk tab. It opened a request form. I selected the desk belonging to S. Henderson and typed, "I would like to request the WiFi password because my phone camera broke and I need to," then I scratched my head. What would an office worker with a cracked phone require from the internet? I thought the content didn't matter as much, but the believability would greatly benefit if I mentioned a coworker by name. "I need to coordinate with Stacy Wicks about the noon push." Sent. The office is buried in the Himalayan valleys; I doubt they have cellular connection here.
I hit submit.
Your request has been assigned Ticket #488212. Average response time: 3-5 business days.
Shit. I don't have 3-5 business days, I thought. I am never getting out of here. This is some cruel, bureaucratic gauntlet designed by demons. I'm gonna die here, lost and forgotten.
The doom spiral continued. And with it came a sudden rush of pain and tightness in my chest. I grasped my heart and hunched over. Not in agony exactly. It felt more like there was a growth in my heart growing rapidly, taking up space, constricting my breath, and suggesting an imminent explosion from within. I began wheezing slowly and deeply, desperate for oxygen.
This is it. I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to die. The kind of doom spiral you can read all the medical theory about — but nothing prepares you for the real thing.
And then, within seconds, the feeling subsided. It's like the system flushed itself of a blockage, and a feeling of relief washed all over my body.
Then, a familiar voice called out to me from my left. "You okay, Henderson?" It was followed by the unmistakable gargle of a plastic straw sipping on melted ice.
"Stacy… I need the WiFi password. Immediately!"
"Just scan the QR code that's plastered on the walls every—"
"I don't have TIME for this SHIT!" I snapped at her. The whole office looked at us — again. She recoiled slightly.
She looked around the room quickly, then in a calming tone hushed, "okay, okay. You're really that desperate, huh? It's one through eight, A through H, alternating capitalization, starting with a capital A. Got it?" She stared at me, waiting for an OK sign. While still clutching my chest with my right hand, I gave her a thumbs up with my left. Then she walked away quietly. She didn't even sip.
Well, I got what I needed. But I may have also just made a big scene and blown my cover.
I dusted off the panic and took my radio out. *1 through 8, A through G, alternating capitalization, first A is capital. That only gives me a few options. I put in a random password from the possible combinations and it worked on the first try. I was finally online. All I had to do was retreat back into the broom closet, check on my improvised bandages, and report to HQ.
But the office wouldn't let me rest.
Suddenly, a notification popped up in the bottom right corner on the screen. It was a direct message addressed to me on SlackOff. The sender was P. Courier. My hairs stood up.
The first message contained nothing but a link to a meeting room. He was inviting me to an impromptu online meeting. The second message just said "NOW" with no punctuation.
I'd gotten so far. I couldn't risk blowing my cover by dodging this meeting. So I clicked on the link.
I joined the meeting room. The web camera clipped to the top of Henderson's monitor automatically turned on, revealing my face, tucked away in a little corner on the bottom left. Stretched out the screen was Courier's face. Well, not his face, exactly. He was already in the room when I joined, and his camera was off. All I could see was the default avatar, a blank corporate slate in the shape of a dark blue half-oval with a circle on top of the same color, emanating its presence against a lighter blue background.
I couldn't see him. But I could hear his microphone. Though he did not talk. All I could hear was his heavy, effortful breathing, each inhale slightly wet, the kind that suggested the lungs were doing twice the work for half the air.
Then the thuds came. The sound of his fingers slamming on the keyboard keys. Thud thud thud thud thud thud. THUD.
"REPORT", he messaged.
THUD. THUD.
"?"
I glanced quickly at the post-it note. "IMPORTANT: Q3 DUE FRIDAY" so I wasn't sure what the urgency was about. Still, something about that breathing made me move fast. I quickly began searching Henderson's files for any hints of a file called "report" or something similar. I opened the Documents folder, and found a few spreadsheets named after quarters of each past year. They sat there, neatly arranged: FINANCIAL-REPORT-2034-Q2.xlsx, FINANCIAL-REPORT-2034-Q1.xlsx, and so on. I opened the one labeled Q3—
Shit. Right on the top: due date: October 27th. It was due last Friday, not this upcoming Friday. Why would Henderson do this to me? It was clearly unfinished as it had some empty fields.
I attached the file and sent it. It was better than nothing, but I only had seconds to come up with a good excuse. The lump in my throat prevented me from saying this out loud, so I just typed in the chat window, "I am still waiting on the accounting department to finalize their transactions."
Whatever I just said, I prayed that it sounded plausible enough to get Courier off my case, even for a few hours.
The breathing briefly stopped, followed by a deep, exhausted sigh. Then the call suddenly ended, and I was left alone, staring at a dark "CALL ENDED" screen, my own thousand-yard-stare reflection staring back at me.
He didn't say a word. Didn't give me a thumbs up. Nor did he voice disappointment or anger. So frankly, I didn't know how to feel. But at least I felt relieved at not having to deal with him for some time.
Something pulled me back to that report though. Something about it seemed important. I opened it back up.
And there it was.