Gemotions

He glared at the blinking "Out of Order" sign as if it were a personal affront. Reginald, meticulously dressed as always, tugged at his perfectly knotted tie. The heat, already oppressive, seemed to intensify with each passing minute. The air conditioning was, predictably, not functioning.

"Three hours," he muttered under his breath, his jaw clenched. Three hours he’d wasted. He had a schedule, a *strict* schedule, and this blasted machine had thrown it into chaos. He began pacing the small space, his expensive shoes tapping a rapid, frustrated rhythm on the floor.

"Well, this is an utter catastrophe," he announced, addressing the oblivious Sarah, who was casually filing her nails. He wanted to scream.

Sarah shrugged. "Happens."

Reginald felt his blood pressure rise. Happens? This wasn't some minor inconvenience. This was a direct assault on his productivity, his very *being*. He checked his watch again, a nervous tick. He had places to be, things to do, and now he was stuck with an elevator, that was also not working.