Norman's Day

The alarm rang, 7:32am, bleating in a new day. Norman reached over to slap out the noise, knocking the clock and the stale glass of water over at the same time.

He sighed, “Again.”

Struggling to lift the sleep from his eyelids, he pulled off the covers, sat up and placed both feet on the floor. Realising he had only one sock on, having lost the other in the sheets at some point the night before, and said socked foot was now in the water puddle, Norman sighed again. The clock, not in the puddle or sensing Normans frustration, mocked him by glaring 7:37am. After cleaning up the mess, Norman moved to the bathroom and showered without thinking. Having dried himself off, he stared at his tousled thinning hair in the mirror and brushed his teeth, taking extra care not to knock the tooth in the back that had given him that lasting dull ache a week ago.

Once dressed in his excitingly mute brown suit, and straightening his matching tie, he ventured to his small kitchen realising he hadn’t a clean bowl in sight. Norman sighed again, and filled a semi clean mug with corn flakes and milk, messily slurping down every bite before his watch accosted him with another loud bleat informing him it was now 8:03am. Norman inhaled the rest of his mug of cereal while collecting his briefcase and keys. Not stopping for a last glance, he walked out his front door and was half way down the crooked stairs before it occurred to him he may not have locked the door. Norman, after checking his incessant watch at 8:08am, realised he did not have the time to go back. Norman fumbled with his keys to unlock his beaten down car with its missing side mirror and battle wounds from runaway trolleys. He reversed out of his designated spot, nearly clipping Mrs Crux on the way out. Norman sheepishly waved an apology while she held one hand to her heart and the other, formed into an obscene gesture, pointed directly at him. Mrs Crux’s shopping bags had spilled their contents of cat food, adult diapers, and fresh beats onto the concrete floor. Norman stifled a laugh and headed into the morning traffic. He twisted the old knob tuning the radio to a station actually playing music, bopping his head along to the lyrics and humming tunelessly.

“8:15am, and what a glorious morn –” read the newscaster, before Norman turned the knob again and abruptly ended his drivel.

As he drove, stopping and starting behind an endless sea of red tail lights, Norman’s mind started to wander. He day dreamt about a day, where nothing was knocked over, where the time was forgotten and wasn’t cared for, and where Norman felt anything except mundanity.

“Late again, Mr Baxter,” his over stuffed boss, Mr Celius Grae called as Norman rushed into his very open plan office, “Third time this month. Come with me please.”

Glancing at the clock on the beige wall, a looming sense of dread overtaking him at having read 9:06am, Norman begrudgingly followed Mr Grae into his cramped and far too overheated office. Sitting opposite each other at the totally-not-fake-mahogany desk, Mr Grae started his tirade:

“Norman, you’ve been with Papers & Co for six months now – “

“Five years.” mumbled Norman.

The vein in Mr Graes head started to throb as he turned a wonderful shade of purple.

Stumbling to regain his composure, Mr Grae began again, “Yes, yes, my mistake, five years, time sure does fly,” He chuckled, trying to lighten his embarrassment before his face darkened once more, “This, however, does not excuse lateness. You will be written up, docked a full hour, and you are expected to be in on time with a clean shirt in future, understand?” He eyed Normans shirt, which unbeknownst to him, had the remaining dregs of this mornings mug of cereal.

“Yes sir.” Norman nodded in Mr Graes direction, eyes directed at the floor and defeat in his voice, the only way Mr Grae appreciated employees taking a verbal beating.

“Alright, well that’s sorted, off with you then.” Mr Grae said, waving a dismissive hand and turning his chair to face the spectacular view of the red bricks pilled outside his window.

Norman rolled his eyes, and returned to his desk.

At 10:33am, while inputting some more mind bending data for countless orders of paper clips and staples, Mark ventured Normans way. As Norman tried to look busy, so as to avoid the standard Monday chit-chat, he accidentally caught Marks attention by looking straight at him.

“My man! Norman, Norman, Norman, how was your weekend? Any dates? Oh man, I met this one smoking hot bird Saturday at…” Mark rattled off without waiting for Norman to respond.

So Norman did what he did every time Mark invaded his space; he kept his eyes on his computer, inputting the data, while grunting every now and then to show Mark that he had Normans full attention. Mark ran out of steam at 11:01am, ending the riveting chat and cascading away to try and shamelessly flirt with Brenda in payroll. Brenda gave Mark her signature withering look which made Mark scurry back to his desk, disheartened. Norman stifled a snort of laughter, continuing with his typing of unnecessary numbers, while his mind wandered to the mountain peak he had heroically just climbed. Standing atop the peak, crisp wind blowing against his face, watching the sunset; oranges, reds, pinks, blending into the blue as he breathed deeply never knowing peace like – the watch harassed Norman off the mountain top to inform him that it was 12:30pm, and that he should probably eat.

Norman ventured over to the local café, the hard faced Italian owner smiling brightly at him and ushering him inside while simultaneously barking at Norman to hurry up and pick something to eat, he’s a busy man. Norman panicked, chose a turkey sandwich and a soy milk latte. Italian Owner promptly looked offended at Normans coffee order, but took his money without hesitation. Norman ventured to the park right next to the factory, with its one bare tree, and plonked himself down on the only remaining bench that hadn’t been destroyed by graffiti and gum. He liked the bench. He could still make out the carving he wrote the first day he sat there, ‘maybe tomorrow’. As he took a chunk out of his dry sandwich and swallowed the mediocre coffee, Norman reflected on his earlier day dream. He didn’t even like mountains, not that Norman had been to one, nor did he like the cold wind nipping at his face. His watch once again bleated and so he ingested the rest of the lukewarm sandwich before dragging his feet back through the office doors, just in time for 1:24pm to be illuminated on the watch’s judgemental face.

The meeting at 3pm was once again pushed to 4pm, beginning again at 4:13pm. In the beige boardroom with the blinds drawn, fluorescent lights blinding, Mr Grae began his droning presentation on this month’s numbers and how they were not up to par with the last quarter. Norman gazed out of the crooked blinds, envisioning himself strolling along the beach, toes deep in the sand, the salty brisk air whipping his remaining hair while a sense of calmness enveloped him. As Mr Grae made a quip about paper clips and the rest of the room cackled unenthusiastically, Norman rolled up the pants of his drab suit to dip his toes in the refreshing cool of the oceans lapping waters –

“And what are YOUR thoughts Mr Baxter?” came a thunderous voice, snapping Norman away from the shore.

“Hmm?” Norman replied unhelpfully, still lost in the calming salty breeze.

“Pay attention Mr Baxter, this is highly important.” Mr Grae snapped, the vein threatening to once again burst.

“Sorry sir.” Norman replied, doing his best to focus on the presentation and not the nagging sensation that there had to be more than paperclips and staples.

The meeting concluded at exactly 5:19pm with half of the members grumbling about the meeting running over time, and the other half congratulating Mr Grae on another successful and titillating discussion on the best way to improve the company’s income; Mark being the loudest, having been seen vigorously shaking Mr Grae’s hand while loudly proclaiming how incredible of a boss he truly is. Norman stumbled to his desk to collect his belongings before venturing to his car to begin the journey home. As he drove he wondered, as he did every day, if there was a faster route home and making a mental note to check when he got home. He promptly forgot as he unlocked his front door, breathing a sigh of relief that he had in fact locked it that morning.

Norman prepared himself his exquisite dinner of microwavable Mac And Cheese at 6:32pm, before cracking a cheap beer and plonking himself into his one recliner in front of the television set. As he sipped his beer, Norman flicked through the channels coming across nothing of value before realising he left his dinner on the bench. Norman sighed, downed his beer, turned the inane box off and sat at the bench eating his blistering hot and yet still undercooked dinner, thinking of nothing.

He checked his aggressive watch at 7:54pm, feeling that it was a bit too late for another beer and headed to his bedroom to get ready for bed. Norman clambered under the covers, feeling the several socks he had lost during the nights in the past week, and making another mental note to put them in the washing the next day. He flicked on the lamp and picked up the book on the nightstand which detailed, in the most seemingly boring way, the plight of journalists in the second World War. It had been a gift from his mother for Christmas. Norman had been ignoring her every other day call as he hadn’t quite finished the book. His mother’s favourite pastime was to grill him on his favourite parts of gifted books while telling him he was wrong and it was another small part that was more important to note.

While reading the haunting book, Norman’s mind wandered to battlefields and bloodshed and, while he was but an ordinary reporter, he managed to heroically save the entire battalion through fearless acts of bravery. Just as his mind was awarding him the highest honour, his watch bleated its evening cry of 9:37pm. Norman replaced the book on his nightstand, switched off the lamp, rolled over in the darkness to gaze at the moon beams that were creeping through the uneven shutters, his mind wandering to distant luscious green fields full of warm sun light and thought:

“Maybe tomorrow.”