“Subject entering the dining hall.”

The tired man in the construction hat rolled his eyes.“Do you really have to tell us that Rince? We can see.”

“Following protocol, boss.”

“Well stop.” The boss looked at the schematics before him. “About time for a trip, I suppose.” He pulled a lever with a kind of weary practice.

Tom Oliver tripped, spilling his tray of food and chocolate milk on the floor. Sometimes, and he knew this to be stupid, sometimes he’d nearly swear (but one does not swear because that is bad), that there were little people inside his head, sabotaging his life.

“I think he’s on to us boss.”

“Rince, if you speak again, I’m sending you to the gastro-intestinal division. He’s been ‘on to us’ for most of his life. He’ll never really believe it.” The boss sighed. “When’s our relief coming?”

“I’m ready to quit right now,” said Flubby, an overlarge worker in a comic book shirt and an unbuttoned flannel. “They were supposed to be here a half-hour ago.  We’ve worked for so long! We made him forget his tie, we flunked his test, we got him yelling in a hall-way and got a telling-off by the dean. We tripped him. We’ve done our part.” He peeled a banana, and dropped the peel on the ground.

“We cannot stop,” said Rince. “A saboteur is on duty all times, twenty-four seven. We do not stop, help or quit.” Flubby punched Rince in the back. The boss somehow missed it.

“If relief doesn’t get here in five minutes we can leave,” the boss said. Rince made to protest, but Flubby stepped on his toe.

Tom Oliver ate by himself. His shirt was wet. Part of his broccoli a-la-crème was truly crème now. Chocolate crème. Chocolate milk anyway. The day could not get much worse. Not even if…no. No, no no.

“No, no no.” Said Flubby. “She can’t come over here. We’ll get into a whole new intervention. We’ll have to mess up the conversation, we can’t be relieved till it’s done, we…”

“She’s not coming over,” the boss said. “We’ve made sure of that. Tom Oliver isn’t the sort she talks to.”

“Come, over, come over!” begged Rince, dodging away from Flubs’ angry swings.

She was coming in his direction. Kaleigh VanHass. Even her name was cool. Maybe someday, when he put on all that muscle and become impossibly cool the time he didn’t have, she would notice him. But now…it would be best if she didn’t. Had she? No. She was walking on.

“Problem avoided,” said the boss. “No relief here. I’m going to lunch.”

“Boss,” said Flubby,“you are a man of sagacity and wisdom, a true prince of leaders, a sage of…”

“Shut it and grab your lunch box,” said the boss. “Rince? Let’s go.”

“But boss! Okay, okay, Gastro-Intestinal division. I know. I know.”

Kaleigh wasn’t walking on. She was coming toward his table! What had he done to deserve this? His luck was the worst. Why was he hated so?

“Boss! She’s coming towards him!” The boss was already down the hall. Rince ran back in. “Mayday, mayday! Something…good is about to happen!” He began hitting buttons and pulling levers.

Tom Oliver was sweating. His brain seemed to fazzle. She couldn’t be coming toward him, he’d, he’d better move. Tom stood up suddenly, arms spazzing slightly. Smack. Right into Kaleigh. And then…oh the horror, like it was happening in slow motion, her milk glass spilled. All. Over. Her.

“Ha!” Said Rince, a satisfied grin on his face.

“I am so sorry,” said Tom Oliver. I didn’t mean to”…

But what was this? She was laughing? Kaleigh, was laughing?

“Boss!” yelled Rince. “BOSS!” In his haste Rince jumped up, and…tripped on a banana peel. He banged his head on the wall.

And the rest? Well, I am glad to report that just yesterday, I attended the wedding of Tom and Kaleigh Oliver.

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