The 9am

8:52am

His knuckles turn white as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “For fuck’s sake.” It’s bumper to bumper and he hasn’t moved in three minutes. Reaching for the file on the passenger seat, he goes over the details again. This could be a huge account for him. A huge commission.

A horn blasts from behind. “Shit!” He jumps, flicking the file aside and launches up the ramp a further five metres or so. The top level is now in view, but it’s not looking promising. He taps a rhythm onto his thighs and stretches his neck to see if the cars ahead are moving. “What the fuck is going on today?”

8:53am

She slams her hand on the horn. “I’ll tell you what, Cindy, if that fucker creeps his way back into your life again, I will literally show up to your house and drag him out myself!” She aggressively munches her gum and wipes yesterday’s mascara from under her eyes. The voice on the line sighs, “I know you’re right. But it’s just… we just have so much history.” Her eyes roll so far back into her head her vision is fuzzy for a moment. “Fuck history,” she growls. “You can’t keep going back to the same thing and expect things to change.” Pulling her phone down from her ear, she checks the time. Fuck. “And yes, I am always right, Cindy. And I am also fucking late.” She slams her hand down on the horn again.

8:54am

“Jesus Christ!” He shoots daggers at the faded red car in the rearview mirror before craning his neck again, looking past the car ahead.

Motionless.

Regret washes over him from deciding to risk checking the rooftop. It’s his last chance to close the deal for the year. They’re a prickly bunch. He’s worked for months to get them warm enough for today’s negotiation. Every second that goes by is a potential dollar being deducted from his bonus. He inhales as deeply as possible. He can’t be late. Releasing his breath, he focuses on the faded red car in his rearview again. Revving the engine a few times, a loud cracking sound escapes from the exhaust.

8:55am

“Pfft. Okayyyyy, big shot.” Her ride might be rough around the edges to look at but it still can still bark. Shifting the gearstick to neutral, she slams her foot down. The sound is deafening, the straight piped exhaust works its magic. Her phone buzzes and the smug feeling quickly fades. A text from her boss reminds her she’s on thin ice, “If you’re not early, you’re late.” If this jam doesn’t get moving, it’s going to be her third day “late” this week. “Asshole.” She mutters.

Cars start crawling again. “Yes!” She follows suit. Inching closer to the Audi she’s been stuck behind for the last twelve minutes. She notices everyone seems to be going right, where the entry is. Amateurs. She knows better. They don’t work here. She swings her Nissan and boosts it left.

8:56am

The screech of tyres pierce his ears and a flash of red catches in his peripheral vision. The obnoxiously loud car behind him has ditched the line and is heading towards the back end of the car park. He’s smug for a moment. “Another one bites the dust.” His dashboard lights up with a text, “You close? Just outside the shop now.” How the hell did his colleague get through this gridlock chaos? Now he looks even worse. Fuck it. He pulls out and chases down the red car. They must know where they’re going.

Rows and rows of parked cars pass by as he heads away from the entrance. Rain begins to splatter across the windscreen. He’s checking left and right and sees no spots. “Shit!” But just when he’s regretting going rogue, he spots it.

8:57am

She was right. “I am always right.” Right in the back row, on the top floor, on the edge of a six-floor parking nightmare, is her saving grace. She may not be fired after all. It’s only 100 metres and a left turn away. But there’s a shadow. He’s right on her tail. The slick black Audi revs right behind her and her stomach drops. She needs this park. “Not today, hot shot.”

But he pulls out and now they’re taking up the entire aisle. Her aisle. The only clearway on site because it leads to the furthest point possible. It’s the most inconvenient spot one could want. But it’s available…

She looks to her opponent. A man. A suit. An overrated car for men who can’t drive. She floors it.

8:58am

“Bitch!” His hands feel slippery on the wheel as he races to follow her. She’s roaring down, almost at the open space. He's right on her bumper when she slams on her breaks. And it’s too sudden. “Shit!” They collide with a wicked crunch.

But he’s won. The Nissan has overshot the park. He’s got seconds to lose. He whips it into reverse and swings it straight in. He grabs the file. He checks his watch. I can still make it.

8:59am

“Fuckwit!” She sees him make a run for it. The rain is pouring harder now. She feels as beat up as the 350z she’s idling in. Shaking her head, she shifts into reverse, “Not today.” Backing up until the Audi is at her passenger window, she cuts the engine. She’s got runners on, hair pulled back, and nothing more to lose. She makes a break for it.

Rows and rows of parked cars pass by as she bursts through the steady downpour. She’s gaining on him, but he’s almost at the entrance. His tie flies out behind him as he holds the file over his head. Pathetic.

9:00am

He’s inside the mall, but so is she. Is she really chasing me? He sees his colleague. They’re pacing around the storefront, with a suit that’s dry. His shoes squeak on the cold tiles as he slows to a walk, he needs to gather himself. He runs a hand through his hair as he approaches. It’s show time.

9:01am

“Excuse me!” She flies past him, slapping the soggy file onto the ground as she barrels ahead. I’ve made it!

But her boss steps out. Arms folded, and sharing a disapproving look with a suited man out front. Behind her, she hears the squelching come to a still.

Wet shoes. Damp suit. Ruined file.

They both freeze.

Her boss looks between them, “You’re late,” they say flatly.

A beat of silence.

Then, breathless, drenched, and in perfect unison: “I can explain.”