I was talking to the bird on my shoulder.

"Y'know, what we really need to shape this office up and get it ready for the next millennium," I said, knowing that the little bird liked hearing the word 'millennium.' Millennium is a very hip word these days, but truthfully (and I'd never tell the little bird this) it's at least a year dead by now by 'with it' standards. "What we need to do is put at least 32 more megs of RAM--if not 64--in these puppies, soup them up with the latest OS system and hook the entire setup to the Internet." Internet, while quite a passé word, does get some importance because it starts with a big I.

The little bird, not always wanting to hear my incessant rambling about what the company 'needs,' blithely smiled and said, "Well, it's not really my department. You see, before I was in management, I used to design fonts--back when no one knew what fonts were. That was what my degree was in--fontography."

I wasn't sure what this had to do with the lack of memory on my computer, but I nodded my head and shrugged my shoulder politely anyway.

"Well, who should I talk to about this?" I asked the little bird, who seemed like he was in the mood to flit over to someone--anyone--else's shoulder very soon.

"The techies, they know what's going on. Call them." And the little bird was gone. Luckily, in my office, there are lots of little birds to pester about 'what this company needs.' I just had to wait until another one lit on my shoulder.

What actually happened was this--I became a little bird.

"I've been trying to tell everyone the same thing," the shoulder I was perched on said after listening to my story. "And what everyone keeps telling me back is that it is their fault," the shoulder motioned to the hallway--the hallway that connected our office to another, bigger, office which we shared our computer server system with. "They don't want to spend the money yet, and we can't do anything until they decide to do it."

"That's stupid," I said, fluttering my wings a bit to disguise the disgust in my voice from prying ears. "Can't anyone do anything on their own around here? Do we always have to get someone else's permission to do anything?"

The shoulder shrugged. "Well you know, and I know, but no one else seems to care."

I expressed my disappointment with our situation and then flew back to my coop. Once ensconced in front of my monitor once again, my wings disappeared and my shoulder was soon accompanied by another little bird.

"So have you gotten the 411 on the #348-982-87654 forms we need for Friday?" another little bird asked. This little bird was at least 40 years old--I had no idea why he was using '411' as a phrase--maybe he was finally starting to listen to what his kids were saying. But then again, 411 had been a popular part of the lexicon for almost a decade and it could have just finally filtered down to the little birds.

"Nope, every time I try to get started on it all, the computer freezes. It needs more memory. I called the techies, but they're not sure if this is something they are authorized to do. The techie was going to check with his little bird--I mean--boss."

"Just as long as we have it by Friday. I'd really like to get a few weeks ahead on the #348-982-87654's if we can. All this scrambling around every week for one little form, it's just not necessary." This little bird was wearing a green and blue cowboy vest--which was strange for his complexion. He picked a few flecks of dirt out of his wings and continued.

"So, y'know I never asked--well, maybe I did, but I don't remember--what or if you've even got a degree."

"English. My degree is in English."

"That's good. Everyone should have a degree. Mine was in communications. Never really did anything with it, though. Got this job a few years out of college, and I've been here ever since."

I shrugged, being the shoulder I was. The little bird took this as a reason to take flight and I turned back to my keyboard. I have a degree in English and I don't even type in actual words anymore--just commands. Shift-option-apple-B. Shift-option-click. Option-bracket. Mouse swirl to flourish.

I looked around, but all the shoulders were full of birds. No reason to take flight now. I'd just have to wait until my shoulder was once again full of inane chirping.

Sometimes the birds listen, but mostly they just chirp.

Matt Worley has a sore shoulder.