THE REPRIMAND

Stanley laid there with his eyes closed enjoying the feel of the morning sun caressing his face.  Slowly he raised his arms from underneath the bed sheet and stretched his body.  He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling and thought “This is heaven.”  After a minute he turned his head to the side and smiled as a pair of cobalt blue eyes stared back at him.  “Good morning, sleepy head,” She whispered.  Her voice was a ballad of the sweetest music sung by angels.  He smiled in response.  The angel spoke again but he couldn’t make out the words.  He leaned in closer in order to hear her but he still couldn’t make anything out.  He leaned in closer until her lips brushed against his ears.  “Stanley!”  He awoke with a start and found himself in his cubicle, the phone on his desk was ringing incessantly and every line was blinking red.  Confused, he looked around himself and found his supervisor, Mr. Kilpatrick staring down at him, his perpetual frown in place.  It took Stanley several seconds to realize where he was and he righted himself in his chair and reached for the phone.  As soon as his fingers touched the headset the ringing stopped, the blinking red lights blank.  He uttered a curse under his breath and looked up at Mr. Kilpatrick.  His supervisor glared down at him for two minutes before speaking.  “In my office,” he said through clenched teeth then turned on his heel and stormed down the corridor to his office by the water cooler.  Stanley hung his head and took a deep breath.  “Now!” bellowed Mr. Kilpatrick before he could exhale.  He rose from his seat and began to make his way to the office. He ignored the faces that poked out from the other cubicles and concentrated on his feet instead.  It felt as if he was making his way to the electric chair.
He entered the office, shut the door behind him and stood facing his supervisor who sat behind his desk.  He reminded Stanley of a toad waiting to swallow a fly.  He wasn’t invited to take a seat so he stood looking down like a school boy in the principal’s office waiting to be reprimanded.  Mr. Kilpatrick didn’t say anything, just glared as if he were trying to burn a whole through him.  Stanley had had enough.  Who was this jerk to make him feel like a child?  He didn’t look like either one of Stanley’s parents.  Then he looked down to see Mr. Kilpatrick drumming his fingers on his desk.  That did it.  Stanley reached over the desk and grabbed Mr. Kilpatrick’s wrist and pulled him forward forcefully.  He yelled for help while struggling to free himself but Stanley held him in place.  Still gripping the wrist Stanley reached for the stapler with his free hand, pressed the button on the bottom to unhinge it and began to staple Mr. Kilpatrick’s trapped hand until the stapler was empty.  
All of the screaming had attracted the attention of everyone in the office and someone burst into the room.  Stanley let go of the hand and turned to see Jeff standing at the doorway.  Other faces were gathered around trying to see what was going on but Stanley paid them no mind.  Mr. Kilpatrick had thrown himself onto the floor and was curled up into a ball clutching his stapled right hand so all of Stanley’s attention was now focused on Jeff.  He stood frozen at the doorway looking from Mr. Kilpatrick to Stanley, debating on what he should do.  Stanley continued to stare at Jeff, his heart rate accelerating.  He had always disliked Jeff.  It wasn’t because Jeff had gotten the promotion that was supposed to go to Stanley.  The promotion he had gotten by taking the credit on all the projects they had worked on together when it was Stanley who did all the work.  It wasn’t because every time the office got together for drinks he would try to steal any woman that Stanley would talk to.  No, that was all as much Stanley’s fault as it was Jeff’s.  It was because every time that Jeff spoke he spit.  No matter what it was he was saying, a spray of saliva would shower whoever was in close proximity to him.  He had to have noticed it at some point.  These were huge, very visible globs of spit but he just kept right on doing it. Stanley had long ago come to the conclusion that he was doing it intentionally.  What kind of person enjoyed spitting on people?  
Stanley lunged from the desk reaching for Jeff.  Jeff’s eyes widened with terror as he saw Stanley coming for him and he turned to run.  Stanley grabbed Jeff around the waist and slammed him to the ground landing on top of him.  “Hey Jeff,” he said and then spit into his eyes.  “How are ya?” he spit again.  Jeff struggled underneath him but a couple of head butts put a stop to that.  With Jeff dazed and bloodied he continued to talk and spit.  “So Jeff,” spit “what’s the matter?” spit “don’t you like being spit on?’ spit  “I know that you do it on purpose, Jeff” spit “You have to stop spitting when you talk Jeff” spit “It’s disgusting, Jeff” spit.  Jeff was now whimpering underneath him and Stanley hawked deeply preparing to shoot a green monster right into Jeff’s mouth.  “Stanley!”
Stanley looked up abruptly, embarrassed to have been caught daydreaming. Mr. Kilpatrick was still sitting at his desk drumming his fingers sans staples.  “What the hell is wrong with you?” said Mr. Kilpatrick “You’ve been acting funny all day, just staring at your computer, not answering your calls.  Are you sick or something?”  Stanley shrugged his shoulders and said “I’m not sure, sir.”  “Well shake it off and get it together” said Mr. Kilpatrick, “if you’re sick then go home and when you come back in be ready to do what you get paid for.  I don’t like wasting my time with reprimands.”   “Yes sir,” said Stanley “I’m going to go see a doctor, I am feeling a bit out of it today.”  He turned to walk out of the office.  “Oh Stanley,” Mr. Kilpatrick said before he could walk out the door, “make sure you bring in a doctor’s note when you come back in.”