Page 4 of Pucking Only

As much as I can’t stand him, though, he gets props for wearing aThe Last of Usshirt with a comfy red and black flannel opened in the front.

I do my best to ignore the fact that I’m basically wearing the same thing, except my shirt has an image of Lady Dimitrescu fromResident Evil Villageon it…and my flannel is blue and gray. Tucking strands of my dirty blonde hair that have fallen out of my ponytail behind my ears, I scowl up at Samuel.

He taps a finger against my monitor screen. “What is this?”

I furrow my brow and push my glasses up my nose. “What do you mean? I’m working on characters for the newMonster Racegame…”

“Are you kidding me?” he snaps. “That character was scrapped!”

I blink up at him. “What are you talking about? I was sent instructions for this one just this morning…”

“By who?” he demands to know, his voice squeaking with a nasally rasp that makes him sound like a pompous jerk and only reinforces my rodent-like vision of him.

“James,” I answer, trying my best to hide my growing exasperation.

Samuel rolls his eyes and speaks in an all-too-familiar condescending tone. “Are you serious? You know James isn’t the lead onMonster Race. Why would you listen to his instructions?”

Because he’s Daniel’s dev-partner and if I didn’t listen to him, I’d be getting yelled at by an entirely different asshole.

“Why are you getting on my case about this?” I snap. “You’re not even working on this game!”

Samuel just scoffs in reply. “I’m the assistant department head. It’s my responsibility to make sure all the games are progressing as expected and staying on schedule.”

He’s a micromanaging asswipe. I don’t bother pointing out that ‘assistant department head’ is not actually a position. It’s like Dwight Schrute declaring himself assistant to the regional manager…it’s not a thing.

Samuel’s ego is so freaking fragile that any question of his imagined authority will only turn into a headache for me. He’s just another programmer like me, but because he has about four years seniority, he likes to lord it over me every chance he gets.

“I’ll talk to Daniel,” I tell him. “If he doesn’t want me working on this character, then that’s his call.”

Samuel narrows his eyes. “Are you trying to undermine me?”

“Would you just relax?” I mumble. “Daniel is in charge of the project…”

“If you don’t do what you’re told, you might as well pack up your stuff and go.”

He doesn’t have the power to fire me, but I know if he goes to our boss and makes a complaint, his word is valued way more than mine is.

Working for Code Kickers as a videogame developer was my dream. This company has a reputation for being innovative and putting out some of the most award winning games in the industry. When I was hired as an entry level programmer after graduating from college, I was certain my career was off to the best possible start. I moved to California, leaving behind my best friend and everyone close to me for this opportunity. I thought it would be more than worth it.

So far…it hasn’t been.

This is a male-dominated industry, but I underestimated how hard it would really be to prove myself and gain respect. Samuel is the worst but my boss, Mr. Ferguson, isn’t much better. He’s not as outwardly nasty as Samuel, but he constantly overlooks me for projects. He leaves me with busy work that I could do in my sleep. He’s never yelled at me or openly criticized my work. He just kind of acts like I’m not there, like I’m invisible. He hardly acknowledges me unless he has to. It’s infuriating. What makes it even worse is that I was hired on by a recruiter, so I’ve never felt like he’s actually wanted me here. Regardless, I do my best to keep my head down and focus on my job. I know that if I do good work and pay my dues, I’ll eventually get where I want to be in the company.

“Look, Samuel…” I begin.

“Skyler. Samuel.” A deep voice suddenly booms through the room. I push to my feet so I can peek out over the top of my cubicle. Mr. Ferguson stands in the doorway of his office. Nearly forty, he doesn’t appear like what someone would think the president of an indy gaming company might look like. He’s dressed in khaki pants and a white button-up shirt. His thick-rimmed glasses magnify his dark brown eyes. He’s got a noticeable bald spot on top of his head in the middle ofhis chestnut colored hair. “I want to see you both right now,” he says.

I frown, confused, and steal a glance up at Samuel. He looks baffled as well. His jaw visibly clenches and he shoots me a glare before hurrying to Mr. Ferguson’s office.

Oh, crap. What’s going on? Why does Mr. Ferguson want to see us both? Whatever the reason, I don’t think it’s going to be good for me.

It never is.

Reluctantly, I leave my desk and wind through the maze of cubicles to get to Mr. Ferguson’s office. Samuel follows close behind me. When I step inside, I find our boss sitting behind his desk and Samuel shoves past me to go and sit in one of the two smaller chairs in front of it.

“Close the door, Skyler,” Mr. Ferguson says, as I enter. “Take a seat.”

I obey and hesitantly sink down into the other chair in front of his desk. Mr. Ferguson’s office is impeccably organized, reflecting his no-nonsense personality. He has framed posters of some of our top-selling games hung on his walls, as well as the various awards we’ve received for them on display via floating shelves. A large metal and glass desk sits in the center, free of clutter. The only items on it are his laptop, his multi-monitor desktop, a stylish desk lamp, and a small potted plant that adds a touch of greenery to the otherwise minimalist decor.

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