Dunes ((Scömìche Short Story))

08

There's no sand when Scott wakes up this time, perhaps because whoever is pulling this practical joke realized that his office isn't equipped with a vacuum cleaner.

Vacuum or no vacuum, he's relieved that he doesn't have to sneak out of work with some ill-conceived excuse in order to dash home and grab a change of clothes. Scott looks down and – actually, he'll probably need new clothes anyway, judging by the sheer volume of sweat soaking his button-up. With a sigh, he dabs repeatedly at his face with his already-soaked handkerchief and switches on the fan in his room in an attempt to bring the temperature down. The pile of papers on his desk instantly blows up into the air and lands scattered across the office. Distressed, Scott reaches for his coffee. He takes a sip but chokes and nearly spews it everywhere when he realizes it's gone cold.

Nope. Scott can't deal with this right now.

He grabs his handkerchief and opens the door to his office, peering left and right to check that the hallway is clear. Then he dashes down the hall to the bathroom, where he locks the door and leans against the sink, heaving deep breaths against the oppressive heat. He stares at his disheveled appearance in the mirror and sighs at the prospect of figuring out how to look presentable again. Splashing water on his face cools him down a little, and he takes off his shirt and waves it around to dry it out and cool off more. After, he wrings out his handkerchief under cold water and slings it around his neck. Scott can't help the satisfied sigh he lets out as more of the oppressive heat leaves his body.

Unfortunately, Scott's moment of peace is promptly ended by a knock on the bathroom door.

"You alright in there?" a gruff voice demands. "I really hope so, because I need to piss."

Scott's eyes widen and he frantically adjusts his hair. Of course the person on the other side of the door had to be Frank. He shoots one last glance at his reflection – still obviously sweaty – before opening the door and strolling past his boss, head held high. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Frank glance into the bathroom, then towards the sweat-drenched Scott, then back and forth again. Scott's sure he's in the clear when his boss asks, "Hoying, are you okay?" in a tone that implies he's not asking about physical health.

Scott turns around, back stiff, and flashes an uncomfortable grin. "Um, yeah. I just haven't been feeling the best lately."

Frank raises an iron-grey eyebrow and turns his head very, very slowly in the direction of the bathroom. "Well, feel better," he advises, before shutting the door and moving down the hall to find the other bathroom.

Scott can only imagine his boss's speculations when he emerged from the bathroom, flushed and sweaty.

He could punch himself, he really could.