CompuServe Messages

I staggered back from the attractive yellow-pages ad salesperson, trying to avoid the cloud of disgusting cigarette smoke that escaped her sensual lips. Not noticing the Lino RIP 1 behind me, I backed into it, flipped over, and ended up on the floor, one arm in a tray of Rapid Access film developer, and my head in a wastebasket full of banded halftones and stale french fries. She smiled maliciously and, gesturing at the developer with her cigarette, asked, "Is that stuff flammable?" "No," I squeaked, struggling to get my head from from a sticky piece of film. The developer was etching my arm. "A shame," she said, putting out the cigarette in the diskette slot of our Jasmine MegaFloppy drive. She walked to the door, pulled it open, turned back and said, "I hope you'll reconsider, the next time you think about taking on the DTP Women!" The door slammed, and I could hear her heels clicking on the old linoleum floor of the hall, echoing out of my life. It was more than I could bear. Jumping up, I pulled the french fries out of my nose and ear, frantically wiped the developer fluid off my arm, and stumbled across the frayed carpet to the door. Throwing it open, I shouted after her, "…