At work, here I decay, another victim of the endless wave of regularity. One can only stare at the ceiling or screen, watching these goddamn numbers pop up in seemingly infinite combinations. The phones we control constantly taunt the other end of the line; our business is annoyance and persuasion. All day long, hundreds, maybe even thousands of numbers are dialed. Complete strangers end their day frothing at our constant, troublesome rings.
Today, I’ve been assigned next to the extremely old, black couple. They both have to be well into their eighties, maybe even their nineties. Truthfully, I don’t even see how they can walk, and they smell as if they’ve already been embalmed. By the few words we’ve exchanged in the past, both seem to be pretty nice people, at least compared to many of the pieces of shit I’ve been assigned to sit next to day after day.
However nice they might be, I haven’t spoken much with them; in all seriousness, what the hell could we really talk about?
Nothing left to do but dial and daydream. Closing my eyes, I wait for the unlucky faceless recipient that should be answering on the other end of the line; inhaling deeply, I faintly smell popcorn wafting in from the break-room, accompanied by a tad whiff of someone’s aftershave, creating a sort of nostril-throbbing interbreeding. Eventually, after six rings, an answering machine finally breaks the buzzing of the line, and so I hang up, accompanying the muffled click with a sigh.
Spinning a quick gaze around the office (or “The Floor” as I always have referred to it) proves to be no more entertaining than dialing phone numbers. People’s heads poke up and duck back down from the boundaries of their cubicles every now and then, nosy about every little sound, in the process reminding me of those classic “Wack-A-Mole” games they had in the arcades when I was younger.
Christ, my stomach hurts. It feels like I ate something not particularly beneficial to myself, like spoiled milk or undercooked hamburger. That would suck balls. I can’t fall ill again; I’ve already taken too much time off of work these past few months. Now the time will finally come, the inevitable. Time to reap what I’ve sown.
I turn my attention back to my cubicle’s center, trying vainly not to notice the plastic bag next to the computer monitor. The odor, the memory of the taste of food on my tongue; it all rushes at me at once in a wave of contempt; I can do nothing but grit my teeth and turn my head. That disgusting aroma haunts me; makes me want to hurl my way into a guilt-ridden (wasteful) burst of vomit. I turn my head from the plastic bag, which mercifully obstructs the suddenly distasteful contents, and I attempt to inhale clean, fresh air, all the while begging my stomach to not rise and tickle the back of my throat. Swallowing hard doesn’t help; I feel my stomach angrily thrashing about, bubbling in fury at my determination to not release the irritating contents of my belly.
Movement to the right caught my eye, and then my mind rushes away from my stomach, no longer focusing on the nausea, but choosing to zoom in on the lush figure of Victoria Edwards, easily the sexiest girl employed here at ISA, at least in my opinion, and I’m sure all the guys here agree. With long, shiny black hair, medium breasts with just enough perk, a captivating smile hinted with rosy cheeks on her light skin, brilliant green eyes, and the sexiest laugh my ears have ever been exposed to, no one could protest, for we all knew she was fucking amazing. It seemed to be the only way to describe her. Since I first saw her, I’ve gazed upon her as my goddess. No one knows of my affection, not even her (but of course not!)…however, it is the thought and the warmth that I feel encircle me that counts, however little it might be. I’ve never really gotten it from any other source or direction.
Fuck! Don’t think about bad shit! It gets you nowhere Brian, and you damn well know it.
She just walked past me, no sign of my existence in her eyes, completely oblivious to her future (hopeful) love, and until she turned the corner, I keep my eyes strapped to her ass, which sways hypnotically until the wall finally comes between the two of us. A small grin, somewhat sad, spreads across my face, and with nothing else exciting to observe, I reluctantly turn my gaze to the ceiling. An intricate, but very beaten pattern of white background traced over with black lines (veins) immerses my vision, and I find myself lost in its simple harmony.
It’s amusing how rapidly time can pass when your mind is completely tranquil, enabling your body to ignore any pain or discomfort or even pleasure. I can almost feel my mentality twirl into my personal space, into my own time; seconds turn into minutes, and minutes become hours.
All bliss ends.
Feeling something urgently touching (poking, prodding) my neck, I flick open my eyelids, noticing instantly that blood is rushing to my head, and now the world comes into focus. Squinted eyes and pursed lips meet my upside-down gaze. Guilty as charged. Take me away…please. I lift my head from the back of the chair, rub the back of my neck, then crack it, and finally force myself to sit up, stealing a swift, final glance at the peaceful black veins that are above me.
Kearston, the supervisor (infamous cunt) of ISA, stares silently, just boring her eyes into me, a grim expression planted upon her face, her arms folded across her chest in an attempt to seem intimidating. She points to the clock on the wall to my right, still not letting a single noise escape from her, not even a slight breath of air. I turn my head in the direction of her outstretched arm and instantly stare down at the carpet, wishing I could bury myself inside its thickness, feeling the impact of realization hit me. An hour and twenty-seven minutes had sped by…all without a single dial by myself. Fuck! Sheepishly, I look up at Kearston, preparing myself to be fired or at least reamed a new asshole. Surprisingly, Kearston is no longer in the spot she was conquering only seconds ago…she’d wandered off! I scratch my head, feeling relief electrify my flesh. Glancing at the clock, I realize I only have about thirty total minutes left until the conclusion of my shift. Then, I’ll be upon my way home, away from this crowded, cube-loving place, where everyone’s scent (exquisite or putrid) lingers around continuously, where everyone shoves their faces come lunchtime like a squad of wriggling, gluttonous swine while I watch, my mind full of disdain, and my mouth full of stomach acid.
Sighing again, I face the chair completely in the center of my cubicle, ready to finish my day’s list of numbers and lift the ever-increasing burden of productivity off of my backbone.
Numbers…row after row of numbers are hypnotic…after awhile, you can’t look away…almost don’t want to look away…they hold your attention and refuse to let it wander. If you look hard enough…you can find beauty in anything. I’m entranced.
I didn’t hear any screams until it was right on top of me, flickering noisily while melting the black veins that had been above me…my comfort zone. Shrill shrieks of horror finally make themselves known to my ears, and so I take a glance. I don’t really care; don’t even turn my chair all the way around to see. A brief glance is all I require, and I turn my neck back around. I don’t really care how it began, or if it’s going to turn this place into the world’s largest ashtray. I sit here thinking, with falling embers splashing sparks all around me, my eyes once again being permeated by the screen’s enticing numbers…I honestly see no point in some futile attempt to run, to be left alive in a world that will eventually be destroyed by our own whiny beliefs, our own materialistic fetishes, and our blatant greed. Persistence accompanied by ignorance is the greatest assassin.
Eventually, I’m going to put this notebook somewhere safe…not sure where yet. Whoever reads this: know that I want it to be this way. Call it one of life’s rare simplicities, a bone thrown to me, probably out of sympathy.
But now, staring at the numbers, listening to brief snaps as the walls crumbled from the scorching heat, I turn my head to the right, and then to the left, looking just outside my cubicle boundaries, and I begin to laugh, loud and genuine, because at that moment, I realize something far grander than anything my life has ever came into contact with…I’m alone! Completely and utterly alone!
Solitude is gorgeous…I love it.
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Submission Name: Realizing What's Grand
