Cubicles - Chapter One

Chapter One

My brain is completely numb, I can’t think straight, I haven’t had my daily cup of coffee and my body is craving it. Usually there are two words to describe a person such as myself, workaholic and boring. This is true. I’m not going to give you crap like ‘I’m a great guy’ or that I’m ‘shy at first but once you get to know me I can be a party animal’. Because that would just be lies, and adding more lies to those that I told will only make the night that I die more miserable. Raising my head from the computer screen, which I was typing a letter of apology to an unsatisfied customer (apparently her lamp burst into flames and her living room was charred and being doused with water from firemen when she came home – though there was a label on the box clearly stating not to leave the lamp on for more than eight hours). My head hurts. I’m too lazy to stand up and get an aspirin, because that would mean walking, and right now it’s eight in the morning and I just want sleep.

I allow my gaze to wander off of the screen, that alone makes my migraine lessen somewhat. Looking at a worker in the cubicle next over, I realize he seems as bored as I am. The boss is nowhere to be seen, he grins at me. “The fatty must’ve left to go get a burger, all that guy does is eat – eat and complain, twenty four seven.” I nod, though don’t smile, because I find his words more true than funny.

“When’s lunch?” Asks the voice of another male, we both glance in his direction, realizing our boss wasn’t the only one who always thought about his stomach.

“We can’t blame him, really.” I murmur, the man looks back at me, surprised – I hardly talk so this is a bit surprising. Everyone’s always surprised when they hear my monotone voice, they act like I’ve grown another head or something. “I mean, don’t humans need to eat to survive?”

The first male who spoke with me blinks, and slowly nods. He looks back to his computer, apparently I’ve ruined his fun. I try to mimic his actions, but when I look back to my own computer I blink, my headache returning stronger than before.

It reminds me of my friend from first grade, I can’t remember his name that well, it started with the letter P. I think it might’ve been Phil. Or maybe Paul… Anyways, the kid always stared at the sun, he suffered from horrible headaches and momentary blindness. But he just kept staring, day after day. All I remember is calling his house one morning and hearing his mother sobbing, she said Paul couldn’t play, that he was in the hospital. Apparently his eyes had been terribly damaged, and now he was blind. Now I’m wondering if a computer screen is capable of doing this. Alright, I made every bit of that up. But you understand what I mean, right?

Perhaps my boss isn’t one of those nice overweight men, maybe he’s like those cruel ones. Like in the movie the Godfather. Maybe he’s trying to make me go blind.

The guy next to me is trying to start up a conversation, I glare at him. This is work, and this guy’s being ridiculous. He’s acting like a teenage boy who doesn’t want to pay attention to his lessons. Then again, I’m not doing my work either…

“Hey,” I whisper. “Shut up.”

He blinks, and looks at me, waves his hand with a roll of his eyes, and then turns back to the guy he’s talking to. So, this is work. This is life. Bullies and annoying brats come and go, and apparently this guy hasn’t broken out of his habit of throwing spitballs at the teacher - or in this case, our overweight boss.

Then we hear elevator doors open, the secretary – Laura – approaches me. She’s holding a note in her hand, but my eyes are on the computer once more. She holds it in my face and waves it around, irritated. I take it from her hand with a sigh.

Meet the boss in his office at eight forty.

I look back to Laura, she’s walking away, and I pout. Yeah, the girl’s really cruel, but I can’t help but like her a little. I have a feeling that the redhead must have a soft side to her, but I know becoming her friend would be a difficult task. I space out, daydreaming about anything and everything. Then I look at the clock, and it’s eight thirty eight.

So, I hurry towards the elevator and after a few minutes of listening to that painfully cheerful song I’m walking through the open doors and staring at my boss.

“I need to speak with you.” He says slowly, almost uncertainly.

I take a seat across from him, and stare at him anxiously. “Yes?”

He takes a deep breath, and chills run down my spine. I love this job, I love my boss (well, not really actually, I’ve never been a fan of him), my co-workers are alright. Please, don’t let him fire me, I just desperately hope he isn’t going to fire me.

“You’re fired.”