This is part five. Read part four.
The wind blew cold against John’s face, irritating his chapped lips and painfully reminding him of the swollen mosquito bite on the back of his neck. It always felt much colder here than it did at his apartment. He assumed it was because his employer was inherently evil. This gave him a much-needed chuckle. He drew in a long breath, and walked towards the door to the building.
With each step, his mind raced with excuses he could use to not walk through those doors. He had been going through this process since his alarm had gone off this morning. He wasn’t sure when he had begun hating his job so much, but he did know that the most ridiculous excuses seemed plausible at this point. Sick grandmother? Sure. Dog ate the rat poison? Definitely. Car won’t start? His boss had seen his car, so he knew he could pull that one off.
He applauded himself for actually being in front of the building. Of course, he was still at street level. He stopped walking and stared up towards the sky.
The building he worked in was immense. From ground level, you could not see the top. It cast a large, looming shadow over the street, giving everything below a gray pallor.
He looked at his watch. Four minutes until he had to be at his desk. It takes nearly that long just to get up to the… his thought trailed off. He realized didn’t remember which floor he worked on. His finger knew exactly which button to push in the elevator to get him to that floor, but off the top of his head, he couldn’t recall the actual floor.
“This is stupid.” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Several people walking by turned to look at him momentarily, then continued on. In his mind, he lived out his entire day at work. Every mind-numbing motion, every meaningless phone call, every minute spent waiting at the copier. When he put it into this perspective, it all seemed so clear what he should do.
He should quit his job.
It was destroying him, and he knew it. The tedium of it all was getting to him. It was making him regret decisions he knew weren’t bad. It was boring him so completely that he was seeking excitement in any possible way. And that was going to get him into trouble. He knew what he had to do. It was time to grow some balls and take care of this problem once and for all.
He stood up straight. He looked around, and a smile came across his face. He straightened out his shirt, and tightened the knot on his tie. He lifted his chin up, and he started walking. Not walking — striding. He strode confidently towards the doors, and pushed through them as the president of his company must push through them. He made his way across the lobby and slid between the closing doors of an elevator. They immediately opened back up and allowed him in. Of course they did. He was a new man now. Doors opened for him. As he rode up towards the floor he couldn’t remember the number of, he singled out each door and promised that it would be treated fairly under his new regime. The doors remained silent, but he knew they understood. They are true professionals.
The elevator ground to a halt, and the doors opened. He looked up at the display, and noted he was on the fifty-second floor. Wow. Fifty two stories above the ground. He rocked back slightly. Where he had come from, buildings tended to cut off around the sixth or seventh floor, and those were only the newer high-rises. He wondered what would happen if he got trapped in this elevator one day. His fear of heights got the better of him. He shook it off, and realized he needed to get off the elevator and continue his march to vindication. He took a step towards the elevator doors.
They closed.
The doors betrayed him.
And why wouldn’t they? Here he was, on his grand mission to retake his life, and he was afraid of how high up he was. Pathetic. If he can’t even hold it together in an elevator, how is he going to do something like quit his job? And if he quit his job, what would he do for money? How did he expect to afford taking Tiffany out to dinner? How did he expect to afford anything? New York is a big city, but jobs are still hard to come by, unless you like waiting tables. This entire concept was flawed from the start, he thought.
The elevator stopped on the twenty-third floor to let someone on. John looked at his watch, and realized he was now two minutes late. He reached up and pressed the button for his floor. As the doors closed, John prayed that nobody would notice his tardiness.
Read part six.
Tags: Narratives
Self says: 