There are people I've e-mailed but never met
At 08:54 on Tuesday the 12th of October 2005, Herbert Griffin arrived at work. He arrived at his desk to find a conspicuous gap where his computer had been.
"Where's my computer?" he asked his secretary. She looked up at him from beneath eyelids weighed down with mascara.
"Being replaced," she said, "IT said they'll be round with a new one by lunchtime."
"What happened to the old one?"
"Thrown out, I s'pose."
"But my whole life was on that computer."
She blinked slowly, shrugged and returned to her magazine. He felt faint. He shut the door to his office and sat down. Address book, phone numbers, bank details, customer reference numbers, calendar - all gone, locked in that machine's dead brain. These numbers, these abstract strings of digits were what defined him, and they were lost; for all intents and purposes he might as well not exist.
At 09:12 on Tuesday the 12th of October 2005, Herbert Griffin recognised the lump in his jacket pocket. His mobile phone! Of course, he thought, everything would be saved in there. He congratulated himself for having had the forethought to spend the extra money on a state-of-the-art multi-functional model. He dipped his hand into his pocket and thumbed the "ON" button.
Nothing.
Surely he hadn't forgotten to charge it? He pressed the button again, but the only thing that flickered on the small dark screen was the reflection of his own eye. A cold sensation ran through him, as though icy water was being poured down the inside of his body. He felt nauseous. His limbs felt weak, as though they had no bones in them. He slumped down in his chair, his breathing ragged, barely able to raise his voice to call his secretary.
"Amy," he called, "I'm...I'm not feeling at all well. Please cancel all my appointments for today."
She didn't look up from her magazine.
The room swam before him. Sweat trickled down his face and collected in milky pools in the folds around his eyes. He felt a disquieting numbness in his arms. He looked down. The leather of the chair was quite visible through them.
That morning friends and colleagues' e-mails went unanswered and their phone calls simply received a flat, dead tone. Meetings were unattended, appointments not kept. "Funny," e-mails said to each other as they flew through mazes of circuit boards, "he seems to have just vanished."
When the IT department arrived with a new computer, his office was empty. At 11:21 on Tuesday the 12th of October 2005, Herbert Griffin had disappeared.
"Where's my computer?" he asked his secretary. She looked up at him from beneath eyelids weighed down with mascara.
"Being replaced," she said, "IT said they'll be round with a new one by lunchtime."
"What happened to the old one?"
"Thrown out, I s'pose."
"But my whole life was on that computer."
She blinked slowly, shrugged and returned to her magazine. He felt faint. He shut the door to his office and sat down. Address book, phone numbers, bank details, customer reference numbers, calendar - all gone, locked in that machine's dead brain. These numbers, these abstract strings of digits were what defined him, and they were lost; for all intents and purposes he might as well not exist.
At 09:12 on Tuesday the 12th of October 2005, Herbert Griffin recognised the lump in his jacket pocket. His mobile phone! Of course, he thought, everything would be saved in there. He congratulated himself for having had the forethought to spend the extra money on a state-of-the-art multi-functional model. He dipped his hand into his pocket and thumbed the "ON" button.
Nothing.
Surely he hadn't forgotten to charge it? He pressed the button again, but the only thing that flickered on the small dark screen was the reflection of his own eye. A cold sensation ran through him, as though icy water was being poured down the inside of his body. He felt nauseous. His limbs felt weak, as though they had no bones in them. He slumped down in his chair, his breathing ragged, barely able to raise his voice to call his secretary.
"Amy," he called, "I'm...I'm not feeling at all well. Please cancel all my appointments for today."
She didn't look up from her magazine.
The room swam before him. Sweat trickled down his face and collected in milky pools in the folds around his eyes. He felt a disquieting numbness in his arms. He looked down. The leather of the chair was quite visible through them.
That morning friends and colleagues' e-mails went unanswered and their phone calls simply received a flat, dead tone. Meetings were unattended, appointments not kept. "Funny," e-mails said to each other as they flew through mazes of circuit boards, "he seems to have just vanished."
When the IT department arrived with a new computer, his office was empty. At 11:21 on Tuesday the 12th of October 2005, Herbert Griffin had disappeared.
posted by Ecks Ridgehead at
9/23/2005 07:49:00 am
<< Home