Mr. Nims licked his pencil. Receipts had been deducted in error—it was up to him to figure out where. He scanned the spreadsheet, pencil poised, ever ready to ferret out the errant digits.

He sighed testily at the sound of someone entering of the Accounting office. “Yes, yes, what is it? I’m busy!” he cried.

“Nnnngh,” moaned the lone figure standing on the threshold, carrying a briefcase.

Nims shook his head. “From the agency, are you? Well, have a seat at the spare desk,” he said, gesturing toward the empty chair. “But I shall have you know that the last temporary the agency sent got an entire column of deductions wrong and sent everything awry. So you must understand, I have no choice but to insist that you use an adding machine. There’s one on the desk there—aren’t you going to sit down?”

“Nnnngh,” replied the temporary.

“Oh! You prefer the drafting table? Well, I suppose you might as well.” Nims stood up and courteously offered his stool. “I was going to spread out my papers here on the desk, anyway. I’m Mr. Nims, the Chief Accountant, incidentally. And you are…?”

“Braaaains,” moaned the temporary.

“Ah. Pleased to met you, Mr. Brains—”

“Braaaains!”

“Oh! Beg pardon, Mr. Braaaains. What an interesting name. Is it Dutch? Now, your assignment today will be to call out entries from this record of disbursements.”

The temporary rocked back and forth on his stool. “Burse…ments…”

“Correct, disbursements,” agreed the little accountant. “What we’re looking for is any disbursement that doesn’t match these receipts. Just circle any record that doesn’t match, and check off the ones that do.”

The temporary smacked his hand on the drafting table with a wet sound. “Burse…ments…”

Mr. Nims beamed. “By gum, I believe you’ve done this before. Isn’t that right, Mr. Braaaains?”

“Nnnngh,” the temporary replied.

“Well!” Mr. Nims stood with his hands on his hips. “A temporary with accounting experience! What a nice surprise.”

“Nims, look out!”

The little accountant whirled to find Gloria the secretary standing in the doorway, holding her typewriter over her head. She charged forth and smashed the typewriter into the temporary’s head.

Mr. Nims clucked disapprovingly. “Really, Gloria! That’s no way to treat a co-worker!”

Disbelieving, Gloria kicked the temporary. “Nims, you fathead, that was a zombie!”

“He’s not a Zombie, he’s a Dutchman!”

Gloria pressed her fingers to her temples. “I’m sorry, Nims, but do you know what a zombie is?”

The little accountant sighed testily. “I don’t care! He could be from Boola Boola, for all I care! Honestly, Gloria, do you know how hard it is to find a good temporary these days?”

Copyright 2005 Amy Frushour Kelly. All rights reserved.
Reproduction by any means prohibited without prior written consent.