Gemotions

He stared at the spreadsheet on his laptop, the numbers shimmering in the dim light. He had worked tirelessly, and his efforts had paid off. The sound of rapid typing, the whir of the server, the constant click of the mouse were all the sounds of success. A desperate hammering on the door.

Mr. Jones, eyes bloodshot, began to drone about the perceived "nuisance" of the late-night work. He took a deep breath, deliberately slow, and pushed the door open, blocking out the sound.

"Mr. Jones, I am trying to work. If you could kindly keep the noise down, I would appreciate it." His voice held a hint of amusement. He made sure the man saw the computer, the spreadsheets, the indicator of work. It was all so very important. "I'm sure you understand." Then he turned, leaving the man to stew.