It was a very good day for the Moron. His instructor had told him to "keep busy," and then she let him work at his own pace while she shuffled through some papers and made phone calls.
The Moron figured that this was because he was so professional. Why waste your time molding someone who is already a perfect fit for the job? He reached under his desk and extracted an oatmeal cookie from a really rustly plastic bag.
He had half of the cookie stuffed in one cheek when the complicated-looking phone on his desk rang.
Instinctively, he flung his hands up to protect his head, sending the other half of his cookie thudding into a ceiling tile, where it stuck by a corner.
"Holy duckwash! A green light!"
Yes, this was the Moron's only true weakness. He was absolutely petrified by green lights. Once, when he was small, a green light beat him up at school, and ever since then he could not bear the sight of them.
But this time, he had a Job to perform. People were counting on him, not the least of whom might be on the other side of that horrible, pulsing green light. The Moron took that little wad of thought, fondled it and then put it in his pocket. There was a person on the other side of the light who needed his help!
With a war cry, the Moron leapt out from under his desk and charged toward the phone. He shut his eyes tightly and engaged in a brief slap fight with the handset before wrestling it up to the side of his head. He swallowed the rest of his delicious cookie and mashed the keypad with his palm.
The fact that the phone was still ringing was a startling discovery indeed.
The Moron flung the handset away as though it were red hot and drew back against the far wall of his cubicle.
The office went dead silent.
Other staff members peered cautiously from cubicle entrances.
"Sales call," explained a sweaty Moron, edging along the wall, toward his cubicle's doorway. "I, uh, I need to get a Snickers. Another one. A better one."
He made a quick dash to the bathroom.
Once inside, with the door locked between him and the green light, The Moron relaxed a little. He looked into the mirror, but saw nothing. He scanned the rest of the bathroom too, but came up with a similar lack of visual input.
"Curse you, green blinky! You've stolen my sight! I shall seek revenge 'til the end of my days!"
A knock on the bathroom door roused the Moron from the position he'd taken up on the floor, so as to cry more effectively.
"Anyone in there?" asked a voice.
"Just us blind folks. Could you call my dad? He's going to need to help me brush my cats, now that I can't see any more," sniffed the Moron.
"It was the green light what done it!" wailed the Moron, releasing a freshet of tears.
The bathroom door opened, spilling light into the darkened room.
The Moron gasped. He could see! Providence had seen fit to grant him his sight again so that he might carry on! He hugged the confused-looking man and pranced back to his cubicle. There was a red light blinking on his phone now, next to a button cryptically labeled "Msg".
The Moron knew what MSG was, so he gave the button a wary glance and made a mental note to stay away. Part of his mind suggested that the button might not be for releasing a flavor enhancer after all, but a much more benign function. Massage, for example, seemed possible. But the Moron hadn't gotten where he was today by being foolish and rash. He sat back down in his chair and set to work ignoring the Msg button.
"I will not be rash," he told Vista sternly. "I will not get a rash, either," he said with less certainty, and scratched himself.
You know how these things are, don't you? How long do you think our hero was able to ignore the invitingly blinking red light? Red lights, as you may have guessed by now, invoked happy thoughts in the Moron's mind. Happy thoughts of a land made of sugar and doughnut holes and populated with singing chocolate penguins and dancing socket wrenches.
Or perhaps you didn't make that leap of logic. Oh well. You are not the Moron, after all, and logic leaping may not be your forte. The point is that about 20 seconds passed before the Moron reached out and poked the Msg button and was greeted with a beep from his phone.
"It's a beep button!" he said happily. No sooner were those words out of his mouth, however, when a stilted female voice asked him to input his voicemail passcode.
The Moron leaned back in his chair and eyed his supervisor's cubicle. She was the only female within earshot, and he suspected her like hell. This could be that office camaraderie he'd heard about or seen on TV or something. Harmless jokes and what is known as "banter" in some circles.
"Ha ha!" he said loudly.
"That is an invalid passcode. Please try again," said the female voice.
The Moron rounded on his phone.
"Aha! It was you all along!" he said, pointing. "Think you can get my voicemail passcode do you, phone? Well, flatulent hippopotamusses couldn't drag that information out of me! I'm company loyal to the end!" He said that last part loud enough for the entire building to hear, because he figured that they would want to hear it.
"Invalid passcode," said the phone. It beeped again and fell silent.
The Moron became very smug. Half an oatmeal cookie fell from above and exploded on his desk in a festival of crumbs.
"I'm being rewarded by God!" he said, and would have gone on expanding on how great he was, when the phone rang again. This time, however, the light next to one of the buttons was red. Red he could handle. He pressed the button, and the ringing stopped.
"Takes care of that," the Moron said to himself, notching his smug up a bit.
"Hello?" said a male voice from the phone.
"You're not getting my passcode, so don't even bother asking."
"Sorry. Switching your gender and acting confused isn't going to fool me."
"Is this The Company?" asked the voice. It dawned on the Moron then that this could be one of those People Who Needed His Help. The light he lit up was a harmless and pleasant red, after all! He picked up the handset and said in a conspiratorial whisper:
"Yes it is. Are you in trouble? Shall I deploy the rescue badgers? What are your coordinates?"
"Um, I'm actually looking for George Watson. Is he in today?"
The Moron perked up. A question he could answer! If they were all this easy, he'd be on Easy Street, naturally.
"He is! Indeed! Certainly! Of course!"
About 5 seconds of silence ticked away.
"Well, thanks for calling The Company!" the Moron chirped, and hung up the phone.
Yes, the phone menace was definitely defeated. The Moron ate his crumbs with relish, aglow with residual sweat and the knowledge of a job well done.