The Secret of Being Hunted by Office Items

After joining the new company, I was targeted. Not by people, but by everything in the office.
The fingerprint scanner only ever failed for me, forcing me to request a manual clock-in every single day. When I asked HR to replace it, the administrator shot back with a sarcastic, It works for everyone else. Why are you always the problem?
The air vent above my desk blasted freezing air directly at me, leaving my hands and feet numb with cold. When I begged my boss for a different desk, he just rolled his eyes. "No one else had a problem with this spot. Why does the AC suddenly act up the moment you sit there?"
One bizarre incident after another made my life at the company impossible.
I'd go home and complain to my boyfriend, telling him I wanted to quit.
"Are you kidding?" he'd say. "You're making twenty-eight grand a month before taxes, with weekends and paid vacation. Where are you going to find another job that good?"
I thought about it, and he was right.
So I decided to stick it out. And then, the elevator malfunctioned, and I plunged thirty-three floors to my death.
As I died, one question echoed in my mind: why did every single piece of equipment in that office seem to have it out for me, and only me? All the equipment was brand new. I had only just met my colleagues. I had no enemies. It made no sense for someone to be sabotaging me.
Then, I opened my eyes. I was back. It was my first day at the new company.
1
"Serena Foster, welcome to the team."
"Your fingerprints are in the system now, so don't forget to clock in and out!"
The HR administrator, Janet, smiled as she handed me my ID badge.
For a moment, I was lost in a daze. Memories of the endless torment from my past life flooded my mind. This was the day the nightmare began.
From my very first day, everything in the office was against me, and only me. The fingerprint scanner would flash an error every time I touched it, forcing me to constantly bother my colleagues for a manual sign-in. When I finally worked up the nerve to ask HR for a new machine, they just sneered at me. "It works for everyone else. Why do you have to be so difficult?"
The air vent above my desk became a personal tormentor, blasting me with frigid air in the dead of winter until my fingers and toes were perpetually frozen. When I pleaded with my boss to move, he just scoffed. "No one else ever complained about this desk. Why is it only a problem now that you're here?"
The constant stream of bizarre problems made my work life a living hell. My boss thought I was a whiny hypochondriac, and my colleagues thought I was a drama queen. My only outlet was my boyfriend, Mark. But when I told him I wanted to quit, he just dismissed my fears. "That's ridiculous. It's not like the office is haunted. You're just stressed out and overthinking things. Besides," he'd always add, "you're making twenty-eight grand a month before taxes, with weekends and paid vacation. You're not going to find a better deal than that!"
So I gritted my teeth and decided to tough it out. The very next day, the elevator cable snapped, and I plummeted thirty-three floors to my death.
I died with my eyes wide open, the question of why screaming in my silent throat.
But now, I was back. And this time, I was going to find out what the hell was going on.
Shaking off the memory, I handed the ID badge back to Janet. "Janet, my fingerprints are a little faint. Could you do me a favor and scan all ten of my fingers? Just in case, so I don't have to bother you if one of them doesn't work."
Janet blinked, surprised, but then she smiled and took the badge, reopening the enrollment system.
I took a deep breath and pressed my right index finger firmly onto the screen, ensuring it covered the entire sensor. A soft beep confirmed a successful scan. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
I carefully scanned all ten fingers, adjusting the pressure and angle for a perfect read each time. This time, I thought, it has to work.
Janet chuckled. "You're the first person to ever scan all ten fingers. But don't you worry, Serena. This equipment is top-of-the-line, imported. It never makes mistakes."
I managed a weak smile, thanked her, and walked straight to the time clock by the entrance. I wiped my hands on my pants, then placed my index finger on the scanner.
[FINGERPRINT NOT RECOGNIZED. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.]
A chill ran down my spine. The hairs on my arms stood on end.
"How is this still happening?"
I refused to give up. I tried every single finger.
[FINGERPRINT NOT RECOGNIZED. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.]
[FINGERPRINT NOT RECOGNIZED. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.]
Ten fingers. Ten failures. The same cold, robotic voice of rejection.
I stared at the machine, the glaring red error message on the screen like a malevolent eye staring back at me, the synthesized voice a mocking laugh. My fists clenched. It was a cocktail of frustration and fear. Everything had worked perfectly in HR just moments ago. How could it fail now? Was I doomed to repeat the same nightmare?
As I stood there, frozen, colleagues began to gather, some of them kindly asking if I needed help. An idea began to form in my mind.
"I'm Serena, the new hire," I said, my voice deliberately timid. "I'm so sorry to bother you all, but my fingerprint won't scan."
A young man stepped forward. "Here, let me try mine." He placed his finger on the scanner, and it beeped with immediate success. They all assumed I was just holding my finger at the wrong angle and encouraged me to try again.
I nodded and, in front of everyone, tried all ten of my fingers again. Still, nothing but errors.
"I just had Janet in HR scan all ten of my fingers," I said, raising my voice just enough for everyone to hear. "But it's still not working. Do you think this machine might be broken?"
In my past life, I had always tried to deal with these problems quietly, which only made everyone think I was making things up. This time, I would have witnesses.
Just then, Janet came over to see what the commotion was about. I demonstrated the problem for her one more time. She frowned at the error message. "It must be faulty. I'll put in a request for a replacement. Don't worry about clocking in for now."
I thought that a new machine would surely solve the problem.
With the time clock issue temporarily resolved, I went to my desk. The moment I sat down, a familiar chill prickled the back of my neck. I snapped my head up to look at the air vent. A blast of cold air hit me, and I sneezed three times in a row.
My deskmate, Wendy, turned around, just like she had in my past life. "You should wear a sweater, honey," she said kindly. "It might be warm in the office, but you can still catch a chill on your commute."
"Wendy," I said, my teeth chattering, "does the AC feel a little cold to you?"
She held her hand up to the vent above her own desk. "No, it's warm. Same as always. It's central air, so all the vents should be the same."
I immediately stood up. "Wendy, could you do me a huge favor? Just for a minute, could you sit in my chair and see what you feel?"
Wendy looked confused but agreed. Last time, I had just reached over to feel the air at her desk and confirmed it was warm. This time, I needed her to feel the arctic blast for herself. It was the only way I could justify requesting a new desk.
But her next words hit me like a ton of bricks.
"It's fine, Serena. It's warm."
"What? That's impossible! It was freezing a second ago!" I shot my hand up to feel the air. It was warm.
I was stunned.
Refusing to believe it, I sat back down in my own chair. Instantly, the familiar cold returned, making me flinch.
Wendy looked at me with concern. "Serena, are you okay? Maybe you're just not sleeping well, a little run down?"
I didn't believe it. I went to other colleagues' desks, comparing the vents. All of them were blowing warm air. But the moment I sat down at my own desk, it turned cold. The sheer strangeness of it made my skin crawl. I stared up at the vent in despair. "Why is it only cold for me?" I shouted. "This is insane!"
My strange behavior drew stares. I could hear the whispers.
"She looks so young, but she's acting like a total psycho."
"This is an office, not a mental institution. How did she even get hired?"
"She's just trying to cause trouble. First the time clock, now the AC. She's disrupting the whole office."
The commotion eventually reached my boss. He strode over, his brow furrowed. "Serena Foster, what is going on? It's your first day and you're already causing a scene instead of working?"
"Sir," I pleaded, pointing at the vent, "it's blowing cold air on my desk. Only on my desk, only when I'm sitting here. I swear."
My boss walked over and held his hand under the vent. He frowned. "There's no cold air. It's perfectly warm. No one else has ever had a problem with this desk. What is wrong with you? If you cause any more trouble, don't bother coming in tomorrow."
Defeated, I had no choice but to endure the freezing draft all morning, shivering uncontrollably at my desk.

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