(Fade to HENRY at his desk, looking like death warmed over, tapping away at his keyboard in a lackluster fashion. His phone rings, and with bleary eyes he picks it up and grumbles into it.)
(there is a beat as he listens to the person on the phone. He answers with perfect reason and flawless knowledge of the policy, but incredibly deadpan and awfully disinterested.)
HENRY: No, sir, for that incidence you would want the 2546-E form, not a 2546-B. It’s a common mistake. The 2546-E is more suited to your situation, and should answer any and all further questions, but if you have anything else that you are curious about we would be more than happy to help you. Thank you for calling Driscoll Insurance, “the biggest coverage for the smallest folk at a…”
(He heaves a massive yawn.)
HENRY: “competitive price.”
(He hangs up with a lackluster sigh. Between last night’s libations, the morning’s confrontation, and a thoroughly boring job, all with the spectre of meeting with Cecelia later that night and apologizing. With a groan, he lets his forehead land with a THUNK on the desk. A beetle pokes his head around the cubicle, his face warped with confusion.)
BEETLE: Crimony, Walters. You all right?
(HENRY leans his head slightly to the left, letting one bloodshot eye poke out into the beetle’s vision. The co-worker recoils in shock.)
BEETLE: You look like garbage, man! What on earth happened to you?
(It’s safe to say that HENRY doesn’t usually lead the wild life. He leans his head back, dangling over the pitifully undersized backrest of his office chair and relates the short version.)
HENRY: Oh, nothing much, Frank. Went out to the pub, had a few, confessed to the woman of my dreams that I’ve been planning a storybook life with her for five years, suffered a head injury, got into a fight, spent an hour in jail, and tonight I’ll have to go an apologize to said woman of my dreams for my idiotic behavior, all on five hours of sleep and a bit of a hangover.
(there is a pause while the beetle’s jaw drops to the floor. With a shake of his head, he ducks back into the safety of his own cubicle.)
BEETLE: Cripes. Sorry I asked.
(HENRY’S head thunks onto the desk once more, but this time onto the keyboard. There’s a fade to show that a little time has passed, with HENRY unmoving, until the ant janitor comes by to empty the rubbish bin. With a tiny smile, the ant bangs the bin around noisily in the larger bin, causing HENRY to jolt awake with a snort and a tiny little bit of drool.)
JANITOR: Look sharpish, sweetie. Boss man’s comin.
(HENRY immediately begins to spastically re-arrange his desk area, trying to show that something has been happening. With dismay, he looks up at his computer screen to see seventeen pages of Y’s.)
JANITOR: Best get rid of your little novel there, too. Don’t know if anyone wants to read that!
(HENRY starts to mash the delete key, his face crunched into a scowl. From the other cubicle, the beetle from earlier calls out jokingly.)
BEETLE: You should have him write you the story he was tellin’ me, Millie. That’d be a bestseller, no sweat!
(a light goes on in HENRY’s head. As the two begin to chatter about his embarrassing story, HENRY highlights the block of Y’s and delets them, and immediately begins typing voraciously. MR. DRISCOLL trundles by and barks at the other two.)
DRISCOLL: Oi, you two! Stop with the chitchat, I’m running a business here!
(he gestures vaguely to HENRY, who is suddenly energetic and typing eagerly, almost maniacally.)
DRISCOLL: Good-for-nothings! Why can’t you be more like, er… you know…what’s his face there. (they peek around the cubicle to see HENRY working like a madman. They smile.)
DRISCOLL: Look at him, diligently typing away…
(DRISCOLL’s voice fades out as the camera zooms in on the computer screens, where words are appearing feverishly under the title line of “WONDERFUL WORLD.”)