The Fob

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Lynette Fibonacci was frustrated, after rebooting three times she still couldn’t get on the net. Maybe she would relent and let her boyfriend install his precious Linux – but then she was on and the thought faded from mind. Normally she loved her laptop, it had been a gift from Mom & Dad at the beginning of her Senior year at Boston University and although, at 4 years old it was at the trailing edge of technology, she treasured the connection that it gave her to friends and family. But today she just wanted to smash it, only the fact that she could not afford to replace it right now staid her hand.

This morning Lynn had awoke to a typically rainy sky. It was April and still pretty cold but there was a sense that warmer days were coming and she was uncharacteristicly cheerful. Maybe life didn’t suck so hard after all.

. . .

It had been a long winter, after Schrodinger’s Beans had closed she had only been able to find a job at a Starbucks across town and they never gave her the same hours two weeks in a row. But today she was starting a new job and she was looking forward to finally beginning her career in genetic research.

But first she wanted to get on The Gaslamp Bazaar  forum and see the response to the thoughts that she had posted late last night. She had been involved in an ongoing and wide ranging discussion of politics and religion that had devolved into the simple argument as to whether power corrupts, or more precisely whether when given great power, moral corruption of the individual was the inevitable result. Surprisingly, and counter to her reputation as an oft times cynical and snarky commentator on the human condition, she had taken the position that there were intrinsically good people in the world that could not be corrupted no matter what power was proffered.

Her opponent in the discussion was a fellow that went by the moniker "Jeeves" and took the classic position that "absolute power corrupts absolutely." Jeeves was interesting. His postings were always erudite, to the point, and grammatically perfect. She suspected that Jeeves was an older gentleman, very likely British as he spelled "color" and "honor" with a "u", and that he meticulously proof read every word before clicking "post". The one time they had IM’d his messages had been equally exact. However, he had also included perfect usage of the standard TXT contractions, and his typing speed had been phenominal.

There was no response yet.

"Pooh." she said softly. Although in public she often used much stronger language, when with only herself it was "pooh" or "crimminy."