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It was Thursday morning (8:10 AM to be exact) and just like every Thursday before, I was sitting at my breakfast nook reading the morning paper. Karen, my wife, was at the sink busily scrubbing the dried oatmeal from breakfast out, of the pot specifically designated for oat-based breakfast food. Casually flipping through the paper, creasing each page corner, my mental alarm clock rang. Folding the newspaper exactly twice, I tucked it underneath my arm and leaned over to give Karen a peck on the cheek.
I tucked in my chair and headed towards the garage, when something strange happened. Karen spoke.
"Oh, before I forget dear, you shouldn't take the route 104 to work today. It was on the news, it was. A large train wreck there early this morning. They said the train was carrying toxic chemicals, they did, and the entire area will be crawling with sanitation workers."
"Thank you, dear", I nodded and smiled before turning around. Not take the 104? Utter absurdity. I'd taken that route everyday for the past 12 years, and it was going to take a lot more than some deadly chemicals and Haz-mat suit wearing "workers" to get to do otherwise. Besides a detour would’ve meant straying from the schedule. The idea was almost laughable, but laughing was reserved light conversation with Karen, and moments of humor. So I did not.
Hopping into the brown sedan, I spent no more than five minutes adjusting the various knobs and dials across the dash board, to my liking. Air conditioner: Off, Radio: Soft-listening, Window: Cracked just an inch, Volume: 43 Decibels. Perfect.
The traffic lights went accordingly as well, Red, Green, Green, Green, Yellow, Red, Green. I crossed onto 104th. I still don't know what Karen was talking about, the driving conditions were perfect, there were no other drivers on the road, or any people for that matter just rolling green fog, and woodland creatures- lying perfectly still.
Rolling up my window, I continued my heading, until arriving. Within ten seconds of my estimated time. Shoddy. Pulling into the company parking lot, I turned left at the 2nd row of cars from the right, and gently applied pressure to the brake pedal, slowly rolling into my-what!
If it'd not been for my expert driving, proper driving posture and hands positioned precisely 10 and 2 'o' clock. Then the front bumper of my vehicle might have made collision with the rear bumper of whatever thoughtless misanthrope was occupying my parking spot! This would not stand. I ended up having to park in the spot directly next to it. Eugh.
I strode furiously through the main doors of the building. The building antiseptic white interior, fluorescent lightning and rows of employees quietly waiting single file to punch their time cards, was usually a joyous sight to behold. (I have a photo of it on my night stand next to my wedding photo) But I couldn't even enjoy it briefly today. Instead of standing in my usual line, I had to stand in the customer information line.
Truly it was an awful experience, not only was it a detour. But the line was far more unruly than the usual subdued employees to which I'd grown accustomed to associated with. Light chatter, fingernail cleaning, cell-phone conversing. Will this madness ever end? After getting to the front of the line (and using 2 minutes in the proccess) I explained my problem to the lady at the desk, Dolores.
I don't think I'd ever seen her before, strange. She also behaved oddly, she seemed to be almost hesitant, she was contsantly staring at me, scanning me over.After another minute of sheer uncomfortablity, she handed me a form 217F Form for Requisition of Parking Space Return. No usually I derive no more pleasure from any activity than the filling out and filing of a organized form.
But she lacked a proper blue or black pen to be used. Strange enough instead of having me fill out form 446G Requisition for Pen Request. she directed me to the door at the end of corridor C, telling me to pick up additional paperwork there.
Perhaps it was the enticing allure of paperwork, or my fury of the events prior clouding my judgment. But I went along with it, knowing full well what it would do to my schedule. I opened the door to look inside, but there was neither paperwork nor pen. Just an empty closet. However there was a sign handing on the wall adjacent, written in such a way it was unreadable outside the room. Inside, I could make out the lettering, "Close the door". Not one to disobey a sign, I complied.
Perhaps I shouldn't have.
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Needs a part two
Posted Jul 6, 2008
Do people like this still exist in our world? The absurdity of this story is its great strength and is used quite well throughout the entire story.
Cliffhangers are horrible. No body likes them. On top of that, making people wait for it is only going to build up their expectatio... (
read more)
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