More than 4 minutes had passed and the bar on his screen wasn’t even half filled with color.
He kept on waiting, though. What else could he do? It’s just a laptop, he thought, of course it couldn’t care less about my deadlines. Screaming at it won’t change anything.
He thought about putting on some Bach to help him calm down, but then he remembered that in order to open Spotify he needed his computer to collaborate.
Now the bar was almost full, and on the right it displayed an unnerving “0 minutes remaining” sign.
As he unknowingly pressed his jaws against each other and hovered the keyboard with his impatient claw-like fingers, his mind was restless. While his gaze continuously jumped from the bar on the screen to the watch on his wrist, numerous ideas crossed his head like a movie.
First, he pictured himself punching that hideous machine out the window. That should bring him a good dose of satisfaction, he thought. But then he would obviously regret it. No, what he needed was a scapegoat.
A few months ago his wife had spilled some coffee on his laptop. Of course there had been a tiny amount of coffee and a lot of time since — and so far there hadn’t been any problems — but for sure she had some fault in this. I’m going to call her complaining and show her how sad I am, and then I’ll mention how right I was when I said the spill was a good reason for a repair. I hope she feels guilty. A smile started forming on his contracted face.
He stoop up for the call. He couldn’t bare staring at that bar anymore, and he needed to move.
His wife didn’t pick up. He was all alone, and he needed to explode. He felt like the world was inside his head. I hate you! he shouted at no one in particular and at everyone he had ever met. He simultaneously pressed all the keys on his keyboard. No visible results. He sat down again, then stood up.
He walked to the bathroom. Outside, a car honked. He took his clothes off, went under the shower, switched on the cold water and screamed.