My dreary day was turning into a dreary night in the lab. I was hired as a researcher for a company attempting to develop a "smart" pill. The idea being that if one can introduce appropriate chemical receptors between neurons, one can boost the signals and hence the intelligence. Nice theory, but lousy practical grind for the lowly researcher who had to go step-by-step through thousands of combinations of molecules.
So, there I was after midnight toiling over my partner's samples that she "just didn't get to" under my cheap desk lamp from Hell that gave me a jolt every time I touched the base instead of the switch. Too tired, too bugged out, whatever it was, I did not keep my elbows in as I turned and I knocked a vial of powdered samples out of the container onto the desk in front of me. Turning back at the sound, I inhaled a snout-full of untested neural receptors. It burned, it really burned. "Aw shit," I cursed to the gods of chaos that ruled my life and brought my hand down right onto the base of my lamp, which gave me a jolt that flung me back into my chair and then apparently face down on my desk..
I awoke sometime later with a crushing headache. Muttering curses under my breath I reached for the container to read the label. It was sample H3C2L21, whatever that meant. I cleaned up the mess, resolved to gripe thoroughly to my boss and demand a new, stupid $10 lamp, left a note for my lazy partner about the destruction of her sample, and made my way out of the building. As I approached the front desk, I swore I could sense Tom's presence before I turned the corner and saw him at the security desk. We exchanged minor pleasantries and I left a note for my boss telling him I was sleeping in and I would be back by noon. My headache still pounding through every damn bone in my head, I hurried home and toppled into bed, clothes and all.
Mid morning found me in bed with a metallic taste on my tongue, a stuffed nose, and a feeling that my head just wasn't right. I still had plenty of time for a shower, a cup of coffee, and a bit of toast, which seemed to put me aright. I had been a little worried when I awoke, untested chemicals, electric jolts and all.
My head turned toward the front door of the apartment. I knew someone was there before I heard the bell ring. Puzzling over my sense of intuition, the buzzer went off and I opened the door to a pretty brunette with a terrific figure, shoulder-length hair and a very serious face. "Mr. Donahue?" she said. I nodded as I tried to surreptitiously gaze at her jutting breasts, "the rental agency sent me over, you are late paying your rent . . . again." I apologized and offered to write a check on the spot. She agreed and I invited her in while I went to the bedroom and retrieved my checkbook.