By the end of the day, Dilbert had a headache. He was barely able to avoid his boss as he snuck out of the building, not wishing to be stopped and encouraged (read: forced) to work unpaid overtime.
He had a close call in the parking lot when his car nearly didn't start, and his boss walked out to yell at another engineer for leaving too early, but after half a minute tinkering under the hood, he finally got his little machine puttering again.
Driving home in the high levels of traffic was such a nerve-wracking experience that Dilbert grouchily decided to trick Wally into building a machine that would erase his memories of the experience.
When he finally pulled into the driveway, he ran over some sort of tack, and popped a tire. Swearing loudly, he stubbed his toe getting out of the car, which only served to foul his already bad mood even further.
Throwing the door open, Dilbert stormed into the house, briefcase in hand.
"You will not believe the day I have had!" he announced to his friend, the beagle Dogbert.
Dogbert sighed.
"Let's go over the part where I didn't say that I cared about your miserable life."
This final act of insubordination pushed Dilbert over the edge.
"Now you listen to ME, Dogbert." he shouted, picking up his longtime companion by the collar. "I have taken so much disrespect from you over the decades. So much!"
For the first time in ten years, Dogbert appeared visibly panicked. His ears flew up, and his glasses nearly fell off.
"R-RATBERT?" he shouted. "Can you come over here and help me, please?" The loyal rodent began to go over to assist his friend, but stopped in his tracks when Dilbert's head snapped around.
"You!" he snarled. "You aren't doing a thing. I'm warning you, stay right there. I won't hesitate to sell you back to the lab you escaped from." Ratbert quivered at the thought.
"M-may I ask why the sudden aggressiveness?" Dogbert stuttered, an odd move for him.
"I am tired of the way you treat me day after day, month after month, year after YEAR!"
"What about all those times I've saved your life?" Dogbert said. "That time when you were held hostage by Marketing? The time when you were set to be executed in Elbonia? The time when your company offended that tribe of devil beavers and you were brought in to mediate but ended up set to be sacrificed to Ba'al the Soul Eater?"
"Window drescsing!" Dilbert snarled. "Every day I come home and-"
He was interrupted as the phone rang. Dropping Dogbert, he walked over and picked it up.
"Hello?" he said, perhaps a bit to gruffly.
"Dilbert!" Alice's harsh voice cut through the static. He sounded calm and happy compared to her.
"Hello, Alice."
"Dilbert, we both know the project is stalled now that the Boss has returned."
"Not like there was anything to stall." Dilbert mumbled.
"What was that?"
"Nothing. What's your point?"
"I was thinking the two of us should begin working together outside of work to see this thing past the idea phase."
"Why, exactly?" asked Dilbert, a hint of confusion in his voice.
"You'll see."
Dilbert sighed and decided to change the subject.
"So when do you want to start meeting?"
"I was thinking, tonight...maybe? As long as you don't have any plans, of course."
"I'm an engineer at Path-E-Tech Management, Alice. What idea could possibly possess you to make you think I have any sort of plans?"
"True enough." she replied. "So where do you want to meet?"
Dilbert almost smiled, something he hadn't done in years.
"I think I know an Italian restaurant on the corner of Thirty-Fourth and Main...nice quiet atmosphere, good food. I think it's a favorite coffee hangout of Wally's. Perfect for a work-related evening outing."
Dilbert nearly facepalmed at his linguistic awkwardness. Work-related evening outing? He was better than that.
"I'll see you there in an hour. No, make it two. And make sure to bring a couple of ideas." The phone clicked as Alice hung up. Putting down the handset, Dilbert turned to find Dogbert staring at him. He was smirking.
"So you've got a date." he said.
"It's not a date! Just a...work-related evening outing."
"Trust me. Calling it a date will give the impression that you might have a social life. But go get ready. We'll settle this matter of your...inadequacies with my particular breed of help when you return."
"Is that really such a major issue that it necessitates further discussion after, at minimum, three-and-a-half hours? I was well within my rights to be angry."
"And I will be well within my rights to potentially sue you for animal abuse. Now shoo, and go get ready for your date."
SHODDY SMITHY'S BAR,
#2 34th Avenue ,
Right next to the Corner of Thirty-fourth and Main.
1 Hour Later
"Hello, Sir." James said nervously. His boss scowled. "May I lead you to our seats?" The boss' frown hardened.
"I hope it's a booth!" he said harshly, both startling and confusing James. "I always liked booths," he continued, his tone softening. "Oh, when I was a child, my father would meet his friends at a bar, and he would take me along, and we would sit in a both and play the most wonderful game!"
"Oh," James said. "What sort of game?" The boss frowned, as if he was trying to remember something.
"I just can't seem to remember the darned thing fully," he muttered, hardly even taking to James anymore. "I know it involved cards… and they said that word 'Poker' a lot."
"Was it called 'Poker', sir?" James supplied.
"Yes, that was it." the Boss said.
"I'll go secure us a booth." James said.
"Ah good old Plonker." the boss continued, unaware that both James had moved away, and he had already forgotten the name of the card game again. "I always loved that Pinker." Shortly thereafter, James reappeared, and led the Boss to a secluded four-person booth in the corner.
"So, sir." James said once their drinks had arrived. "Tell me, what do you think of the new project."
"Oh, you know." the Boss said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It's a project. If it looks like it might work, we'll have Marketing over-promote it to the point people actually want it, before an executive accidentally releases details that make people want to buy from our competitors." James frowned.
"Then how do we make any money."
"Oh, you know, tricking our dumb customers in prepaying for alleged upgrades to products they don't even own."
"Okay." James said, for lack of anything else to say. He reached for the bottle of cheap wine and poured more in the Boss' glass. "Have another drink."
"Don't..mind if I do." the boss said, already reaching for his glass.
CHIPPY'S 24-HOUR ESPRESSO BAR
#2 Main Street.
Right next to the Corner of Thirty-fourth and Main.
UWally slid into his seat at the counter.
"Gimmie my usual, Alejandro." he said gruffly to the clerk.
"One caramel espresso with a shot of vodka comin' up, hermano."
Wally relaxed. It was after six. He was at his favorite coffee bar. James was away from the cubicle. The boss was nowhere near him. Everything was going to be fine.
1 MORE HOUR LATEER,
Gli ingegneri Ristorante,
Corner of 34th and Main
Dilbert nervously sat down at his seat. It wasn't a nervousness like his usual date anxiety, rather he was afraid of what Alice might do to him if something went wrong.
Her infamous "Fists of Death" weren't called such for naught.
A waiter approached him, pouring water. When pressed to order, Dilbert replied that there was someone else coming, and sent the waiter away with instructions to return once Alice arrived.
He sipped his water nervously. His hand shook, and the water nearly spilled. He set the glass down. His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out. It was from Alice.
im almost there.
Dilbert sighed nervously again.
"So…" the boss said, slightly drunk, "why did yoush drag me here and pay for me drinksh, James? Not kindnessh, I take it? I'm shmarter than I let on at work, you know."
By which you mean you actually know how to pick lint out of your belly button. James thought. But he was smart enough to keep his sentiments to himself. His first beer was still half-full, while the Pointy-Haired Boss was two-thirds of the way through his fourth.
"I have my reasons."
"Keeping it close to the chest, are we?" James smiled insincerely.
"I have a proposition to make."
"Oh?"
James gritted his teeth. He had to play it slow, and time it just right. If he waited too long, the boss would be too drunk to remember how to authorize personnel transfers. If he started too soon, the boss would be suspicious at a low-level employee giving him ideas.
The boss finished slurping his wine, and the glass dropped out of his hands, rolling across the table. James smiled. Perfect. Time to launch.
"Sir, I think we should transfer Wally to our research facility in Siberia."
Another chapter done. I'm really surprised with the response this story is getting.
On a side note, I like the idea of Wally spiking his coffee with alcohol.