Dagny sat at her desk, phone in hand, waiting for the man on the other end to return. He'd excused himself and set the phone down moments after answering it. Her free hand twirled a pen, and her eyes stared at the computer's clock. Two older monitors occupied a central position on her desk. One displayed a spreadsheet of various part numbers, quantities, and locations of said quantities. The other screen had a number of open email windows. The top one was from a frantic maintenance supervisor in Cedar Falls. He had used his last tire to replace one that the potholes had eaten, but he still needed two more. Without them, the two trucks currently stuck there full of everything from cereal and toilet paper to cases of JoJa Cola cans were going nowhere. And she didn't need to be reminded yet again of how it made the company look bad when store shelves went empty.
"Sorry about that, Dagny, it's just been one of those days," the stores manager in Pinkerton said with what Dagny thought of as a rich cowboy accent. One of those days indeed.
"No problem, I just need a couple 5076-D4 tires sent to Cedar Falls and I see you have a bunch there."
"Well, I wouldn't say a bunch…" He chuckled a little. "And we go through a lot of 'em this time of year."
Her eyes narrowed. He had ten, and he only used an average of six each month. He could do without two of them until next week's shipment.
"Yes, I know, and we got two trucks stuck in Cedar Falls right now that need them too," Dagny explained. "And you're the closest location that has any."
"Yeah, but if I don't keep up to my allocation I'll end up on the shortage report. What?" The last word was muffled.
"Alright, I'll be right there," Dagny heard as if from down the hall.
"Hey, sorry but I got to go." His voice was back to normal now. "I'm sure you can find 'em somewhere else." He hung up. Dagny felt the urge to reach through the phone and punch him.
"Hey Dagny, how's it going?" said a more ominous voice behind her as soon as she had put the phone back. She rotated her chair around to face Bob, her boss.
"What's up?"
"How's it coming with that quarterly inventory report?"
"It's in progress. Right now I'm trying to get some tires up to Cedar Falls because we've got two trucks stuck there."
"It looks like you got four extra ones nearby in Granite Hills, just send those."
"Those are -D2s, the trucks will never make it through snowy mountains with those. I don't know why Granite Hills even has them."
"I think it'll be fine. It hasn't snowed that much."
Dagny glanced out the windows across the room. Snow was falling that very moment. The phone in Bob's office began to ring.
"Finish the quarterly by the end of the week, alright? I need to get it to the auditors," he said before rushing back to his office. It was currently late Thursday afternoon, and that report would take the better part of a day even if she ignored everything else that needed doing. Thank the Gods his phone rang.
Dagny spent the next ten minutes pouring and stressing over stock levels, allocations, and material requisitions. She had hatched a brilliant plan to get the two 5076-D4 tires delivered to Cedar Falls and get the new alternator and wipers that Northville needed up to them on top of it. She whirled around to write it on her cube's small whiteboard before she forgot it all. But one thing was missing. Her dry erase marker was gone. Someone must have snatched it while she had been down getting lunch earlier. It was far from the first time that such things had disappeared. She unlocked and opened her desk's little filing cabinet. There were a few more markers in there somewhere, even if it meant using a weird color. Sitting on top in the upper drawer was the permaculture magazine she'd bought at the airport bookstore that time they'd sent her to New Irontown to do an inventory count. That trip she'd gotten up at 3am, after working the day before, to get to the airport and didn't get back to her tiny apartment until 2am that Saturday morning. In between had been ten-hour days followed by dinner out with people she had absolutely nothing in common with, and who kept trying to get her to drink when she didn't want to. At least it was free dinner. Lots of people didn't even get that. Beneath the magazine was a big old brown envelope. She remembered that it had something to do with Grandpa's old farm. She gently opened it and looked at a couple of the photos inside. One was of Grandpa standing next to another man and holding a salmon nearly a meter long. Another was of him standing next to a display of produce with a ribbon pinned to his shirt. On the ground at his feet was a pumpkin that was bigger than a truck tire. It almost didn't seem real. How could anyone actually get a pumpkin that big?
The sound of footfalls on thin office carpet came down the aisle. Dagny quickly stuffed the photos back inside and tossed the envelope on top of the magazine on her desk. She tried to look busy on her computer.
Marilyn stopped right outside Dagny's cube. The mug of coffee in her hand must have been at least her fourth one of the day. But no matter how much caffeine she drank, Marilyn always looked haggard.
"Hi Dagny," Marilyn said slowly. "Were you able to get those orders closed? The vendor keeps asking for payment."
"Oh, those GPS units in Jenxton? Yes, handled this morning."
"Thank you, Dagny."
As Marilyn shuffled away, a terrifying thought occurred to Dagny. That could be her in thirty or so years, still working in a drab office, jumping through corporate hoops just to stay alive from one dreary year to the next. Marilyn ought to be spending her golden years knitting, petting a cat, and watching TV, not toiling away serving the Joja empire. Her chronic illness required medication that she would never be able to get without the company medical plan, so she had no choice but to keep working. What if Dagny ended up the next Marilyn? She wasn't exactly the type that people were eager to give opportunities to — a medium height, slightly chubby introvert with short blonde hair, dark-rimmed glasses, and no connections at all beyond her father and the woman running the corner store who sometimes talked to her.
The green of the tree on the cover of the magazine caught Dagny's eye. A woman with dark braids and dirty denim overalls stood smiling under the tree. That pulled Dagny's thoughts to Grandpa's farm. She sighed. She didn't know anything about running a farm or growing crops. There was way more to it than just digging and watering. But could she learn? She glanced at the magazine again. Others had. Dagny pulled the paperwork out of the envelope.
"…title of Folkvangr Farm in the county of Stardew Valley is hereby transferred to Dagny Gröngård on this Fourteenth Day of Spring…" A wave of frission flashed through her body as she sat there holding the old papers. This could be it — her way out. She might never get another. Dagny didn't have a great deal of savings, but it out to be enough to last for a short time. Things should be less expensive far from the city. It was a farm after all, so she could grow some of her own food. And clearly there were places around to fish. Suddenly her cube and the whole office seemed a little less real. She didn't belong there. Home was calling.
"Oh Dagny?" She was startled by the sudden sound of the boss's voice behind her. No one usually got close to her without her knowing.
"Let me know your availability this weekend. We have a lot of orders to get processed by year-end. Is that a magazine on your desk during work hours?" Dagny's fists clenched. Another weekend of putting in extra hours for which she'd get no overtime? No. She stood up and turned to face him.
"You know what, Bob? I quit. You can do some work yourself for a change." She stuffed the envelope and magazine into her purple backpack, grabbed her worn brown jacket, and stormed out.
"Hey! Wait a minute!" Bob yelled after her. "I'm not done talking to you!"
"Well I'm done with you," Dagny said quietly as she stepped into the elevator.