Scavaging the couch cushions for the fourth time, I start to think maybe not. Never had to play hide and seek with a landline! And no matter how many times I yell "olly olly oxen free," my cell won't come out of hiding. 

My eyes flash toward the clock on the wall. Why did I think I could tell time without numbers?! The sleek, minimalist design looked so modern in the store. Call me old fashion, but clocks should have numbers. 

Landlines. Analog clocks. Stress-free childhood. Gosh, I miss the nineties. Granted, I had braces...

My brain drifts back to that awkward stage of life. Well, more like the beginning of an era. One that refuses to end. Has life ever been not awkward? 

Once. Three months ago. A miracle, honestly. Nailed my interview. Arrived on time. Looked like a proper, functioning adult. Boy, did I fool them! And I just have to keep fooling them... until I retire. Which is why I need to be on time for work. And why I'm staring at this clock.

Big hand, little hand, multiply by five... 8:35ish?

I don't need my phone. 

Even though I have a twenty-minute commute, it only feels like a couple of years. Apparently, every grandma in the city is making their way to bingo this morning. Barely reaching the steering wheel, peering over their glasses as they creep down the road in their Volkswagon. I swallow back the urge to lay on my horn. I don't want to be that person. An old lady honker. There's a pretty definitive scale for the worst people ever: Hitler, Serial Killers, People Who Honk At The Elderly. 

Eventually, Granny and I part ways and I race to the office. As I swerve into the parking garage, the digital (and easily decipherable) clock on my dashboard glows 09:03. Seven minutes earlier than yesterday. Practically on time. Maybe they won't notice I'm late? If I just act nonchalant enough, maybe I can play it off like I was making coffee in the breakroom. 

I try to James Bond my way to the cubicle: sneaking around corners, dodging coworkers. Nothing to see here! Just a grown adult with her life together. I wonder how hard it would be to change all the clocks in the building? Make them run on my time. No one would know... unless they checked the time on their phone. 

Working out the kinks in my master plan, I finally arrive at my department. Good ol' Smarketing. Because "The Sales and Marketing Department" was too much of a mouthful, some higher power decided to take this little piggy to smarket.  

This little piggy is just glad she's not on the sales team. I couldn't get a fish in the desert to buy water, let alone another company to use software that I don't even understand (I might have exaggerated my coding skills a smidge).   

But I am a graphic designer. So I can make, like, a really nice pamphlet for the sales team to show the fish... if it can read... or is still alive...

How did the fish get there, anyway?

"Sables! My office. Now."