“Stupid fucking piece of shit, I can’t believe I waste fuel on you!” You half-yell towards the hood of your car, which remains stubbornly silent. You only barely stop yourself from having a breakdown because you’re still in the parking lot of your workplace, and you’d hate to get a reputation.

“Need a hand?” Someone says, and you turn to find one of the programmers, who also looks ready to head home after his work day. He’s still wearing his nametag, which reads ‘Dirk’. His expression is impossible to read, and his pointy shades cover what possible emotion you might have been able to get from his eyes. “Uh, yes please. My stupid car won’t start.” You reply, stepping back from the open hood, embarrassed but having no real choice.

Dirk is a tall and frankly abnormally buff man - for a programmer, that is. Look, you’re not trying to be judgemental, but most programmers aren’t exactly known for their love of physical movement. Or, the outdoors. He rolls up his sleeves, showing a lot of scars, and only needs a quick look inside before making his diagnosis. “Battery’s run out.” He mutters in a thick Southern drawl. “You might have left your blinkers on. Happens sometimes." He shrugs, but he also says it in a tone that implies it wouldn't happen to him, he's just trying to be nice. "Want to connect it to my car? Would be faster and cheaper than going to a shop.”