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>> ERROR PRINTER JAM

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To: jkroger@IT.rhodes.com
From: cdavis@sales.rhodes.com
Subj: Urgent Printer Issue

 

Dear Jeff,

I’ve been trying to print my weekly report all day but every time I try to my computer reads >>ERROR PRINTER JAM. Mr. Boisey has been bugging me to get this report in so I’d really appreciate it if you could check the issue out soon. He says I can’t leave for the day until they’re in his mailbox.

Thanks,

Chris Davis

Sales Operative

Rhodes Electronics

To: cdavis@sales.rhodes.com
From: jkroger@IT.rhodes.com
Subj: Re: Urgent Printer Issue

 

Hey Chris,

That’s a no-can-do unfortunately. Anwesha already asked me to check out the printer this morning. Turns out, somebody left a hand in there! Can you believe it, a whole ass hand in the paper tray! There’s irresponsible and then there’s just damn reckless. Anyways that makes this an HR issue, so I’d take it up with Linda.

You wanna grab a drink after work?

Jeff

 

To: lherring@HR.rhodes.com
From: cdavis@sales.rhodes.com
Subj: Fw: Re: Urgent Printer Issue

 

Dear Linda,

Per my correspondence with Jeff, I’m searching for a solution to this printer issue. Can’t you just take the hand out of the paper tray?

Thank you,

Chris Davis

Sales Operative

Rhodes Electronics

To: cdavis@sales.rhodes.com
From: lherring@HR.rhodes.com
Subj: Re: Fw: Re: Urgent Printer Issue

 

Hello Christopher!

This is coming directly from corporate: only the owner of the hand is allowed to unjam the printer.  The employee handbook clearly states “employees should not remove the personal property of other employees from the break room.”

A couple people have come in to claim the hand so far.  Anwesha from accounting did the best job.  She kept her left hand in her back pocket the whole time so I couldn’t tell if she was really missing a hand or not.  I offered her a double high five though and she fell for it.

If you can prove the hand is yours then I’ll let you remove it, but until the real owner steps forward I can’t move it in good conscience.

Best,

Linda Herring

To: hboisey@management.rhodes.com
From: cdavis@sales.rhodes.com
Subj: Fw: Re: Fw: Re: Urgent Printer Issue

 

Dear Mr. Boisey,

As you can see from this email chain, the printer has been nonfunctional all day. Is it alright if I print my weekly report on Monday instead? As I told you last week, today is my daughter’s birthday and I’d like to be home before she goes to bed.

Thank you,

Chris Davis

Sales Operative

Rhodes Electronics

To: cdavis@sales.rhodes.com
From: hboisey@management.rhodes.com
Subj: Re: Fw: Re: Fw: Re: Urgent Printer Issue

 

Chris,

It’s not my fault if the printer isn’t working. You should have anticipated this issue and printed the report yesterday. I don’t want to see you leave your desk unless it’s to put your report in my mailbox. You can celebrate your daughter’s birthday next week.

Get to work,

Harold Boisey

Regional Manager

Rhodes Electronics

“A chain is only as strong as its weakest link” – Harold Boisey

 

To:asabri@accounting.rhodes.com
From: cdavis@sales.rhodes.com
Subj: Paper Cutter

 

Dear Anwesha,

I haven’t been down to accounting in awhile, do you still keep that big paper cutter on your desk?

Thanks,

Chris Davis

Sales Operative

Rhodes Electronics

To: cdavis@sales.rhodes.com
From:asabri@accounting.rhodes.com
Subj: Re: Paper Cutter

 

Hey Chris,

Yeah I still have it! You can come by and use it if you need to.

See you then,

 

Anwesha

 

To: lherring@HR.rhodes.com
From: cdavis@sales.rhodes.com
Subj: Fw: Re: Fw: Re: Fw: Re: Urgent Printer Issue

 

Linda,

Please pardon any mistkes in my spellng. I’d like to collect the hand that was in t paper tray earlier today. I can prove that it is mine as i am cllearly missing my right hand.

Chris Davis

Sales Operative

Rhodes Electronics

To: cdavis@sales.rhodes.com
From: lherring@HR.rhodes.com
Subj: Re: Fw: Re: Fw: Re: Fw: Re: Urgent Printer Issue

 

Hi Christopher,

Nice try but the hand in the printer is a left not a right.

Best,

Linda

To: lherring@HR.rhodes.com
From: cdavis@sales.rhodes.com
Subj: Re: Re: Fw: Re: Fw: Re: Fw: Re: Urgent Printer Issue

 

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Calen MacDonald

 

Laurels

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Hercules’ first feat was to slay the Nemean Lion. To lure warriors into its cave, it took the form of a woman in distress. As a warrior would approach to aid the woman, it would transform back into a lion and attempt to devour him.

 

I.

 

The callus of his foot grazes the crest

of stalagmite, knobbles of mottled sandstone

jutting from oblivion. Knuckles bleached

with dread encircle the wooden bludgeon,

each tread punctuated by the palpitation

 

of shrieks. The faint outline of tawny tresses

materializes from the pitch, a shattered torso

draped across the nape of a boulder. Irises

doused in indigo entreat him to approach,

the spigot of her pleas caulked by curling lips.

 

By the next flit of her lash, ripples of feral

muscle protrude from the arch of her vertebra,

rust-tinged mane swelling with a Nemean lust for flesh.

An ink-dipped tassel sways between her hind limbs.

 

Shards of bones taper into sickles of iron,

forepaws slinging toward the flesh of his neck.

He stiffens into an upright cadaver,

conscience awash in a deluge of panic.

 

II.

 

Arching the basin of his wrist,

the bludgeon thrashes towards her

in a visceral retort, splintering

across the crest of her matted brow.

 

Spasms of the blow puncture her

skull. The beast submerges in a state

of rabid stupor, rivulets of blood

pooling near the calluses of his feet.

 

A laurel is wreathed across his brow,

leaves crested like the ellipses of dragonfly

wings, embossed in tints of lustrous gold.

 

Amidst the furor of the crowd,

a sensation of reward remains

as palpable as the panting of the beast.

 

Grace Xu

Write for Me

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Will you write for me?

If I say your words can save me

if I say your art can heal me

will you try?

Will you draw for me?

If I pull my arm apart for you

trim my fingernails, hand a brush to you

should I try?

Where’s your masterpiece?

Empty canvas, left my chest open to you

plunged a needle inside, drained my blood for you

is it dry?

Where’s the life in me?

Did you paint a couple hearts in red

or was it pink? Perhaps the colors bled

did I die?

Niharika Shah

Curtained

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Annie, down the street Annie, just had the most beautiful pair of twins – equally caked in fat, equally full of bubbling giggles, equally innocent in this world of promises always broken and wishes never granted. 

It’s a shame Annie is such a terrible mother. 

Anyone could see it, even if they hadn’t spent the last three years and seven months reading every parenting book, going to every fertility doctor, and spending every possible free second fucking and praying that with every rhythmic thrust that this might be the time. 

But it never was. And, meanwhile, of course, sixteen-year-old, down the street Annie, drunkenly, casually fucked a boy whose name she can no longer remember, and ended up with not one, but two baby angels. 

When Annie gets home from school, she pushes them around the cul-de-sac and I watch her from behind my curtains. It’s cold outside because it’s always cold here and Annie never wrapped her angels in a blanket to keep them warm. She pushes the stroller with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth like it’s a quiet plea for the poisonous smoke to kill her babies. Even from a distance, I can see the cold wave of regret in her eyes as she trudges down the street, youth robbed from her teenage breasts, a certain glow absent from her wrinkleless face. 

How easy it would be for me to just take one off her hands. Perhaps then, some joy might return to her cheeks. The fraternal twins would never know they shared blood – Annie and I could keep such a quaint, little secret to ourselves. And maybe when the children were two and still too young to remember, Annie would see how great mine was turning out because I was raising a child as one should: with deep, profound love instead of spite. That child would mark the beginning of my life, not the end. Maybe once I had proven myself, Annie would simply give me the other one. 

I wouldn’t protest. This brief little moment of her pushing two perfect babies down a cracked sidewalk would be blip, a faded memory, and Annie could go back to fucking strangers (who would wear condoms from now on) and I could finally, finally, stop fucking according to a color-coded schedule. Maybe then we’d both be happy. 

But Annie keeps pushing the stroller and Harry closes the curtain. 

Cameron Katz