Ned scowled, and as a way to release the pressure in his head, he let out all the air from his lungs and breathed slowly in through the nose. It didn’t work. He still felt the ice-cold daggers in his forehead.
“You know,” he said to Anna, sitting next to him putting the finishing touches on the Aschlund Library’s women’s bathroom design, “Wilbert Humpkins can’t draft a blueprint to save his life. Just look at this crap.”
“But he’s been with the firm nearly thirty years,” Anna said. “Everybody loves his work.”
“Well, it’s crap. Didn’t you hear what I said? All crap.”
Anna took a look at the blueprint. “It’s true, I wouldn’t design a lobby this way, but I don’t see any real problem with it.”
“It looks like that stuff they put up in universities back in the ‘70s. Concrete and brown-framed windows. Crap, all crap.”
“Bring it up in the review meeting, Ned.”
“I intend to. It’s about time these old folks yielded to those of us who’re younger and smarter. I mean, for God’s sake ...”
Ned through the blueprint on his desk, face down, scowled again, and headed to the lounge for some coffee. Maybe he’d run across Debra. She had perky brown hair, great posture, and leaned into Ned when they talked. Ned gave himself a better than even chance that she’d sleep with him.
No comments:
Post a Comment