Tick, Tick

Tick, tick. At this point in my life, the clock in my office was the most interesting thing in my world. The ticking sounds it made graced my dreams, filling my nights with bliss. The movements of the hands over the numbers were more captivating than the most attractive person I have ever laid eyes on. The shape was one of perfection- if all of the gods of all the myths were to combine their images into one, the beauty of that single holy being would still be dwarfed by the image of this clock.

Unfortunately, the only reason this clock was so interesting was because it helped to signal my right to go home. Long ago, passion for my job had faded, replaced only by a complete lack of desire to show up. And yet, much like many others in the world, my passions had to play second fiddle to my needs- rent is paid, not with happiness, but with money. So, despite my growing discontent with the world I had engrossed myself with for the last decade or so, I continued to work. 

That is not to say I had not tried to quit. If anything, my attempts were closer to the dozens than to zero. However, there was always something to stop me from doing so. I was met with these various roadblocks again and again, constantly prevented from breaking the chains that held me down. Tick, tick. 

A knock woke me from my trance. Looking up from my desk, I saw a coworker holding a stack of paper, scratching his head in frustration. “Hey, you have a minute? Something about these numbers just isn’t adding up, so I was hoping you’d take a look at them.”

Regardless of my ambivalence toward this career, my years of experience cultivated within me a set of skills that made me invaluable to my coworkers and bosses. As bored as I was doing it, I could crunch numbers with more speed and accuracy than any other employee doing the same job. Of course, this often led to more work being thrust my way, giving me more opportunities to feed my growing apathy. Despite this, I continued to accept this additional work from my peers- I just couldn’t shake that ‘office teamwork’ mindset, I suppose. 

Tick, tick. “Mm, sure. Let me take a look.” My coworker handed me the documents, a smile spreading across his face. I considered returning this expression, but focused instead on the documents that were now in front of me. While the first page or so seemed right, there were basic mistakes sprinkled across the next page or two, with a flood of errors throughout the final pages. The trademark of lazy work- of someone who earnestly tried to make an effort at the beginning, only to feel less and less like they should bother as they went on. It had the feeling of a high school group project where one person realized that their classmates would just finish the work for them. I was, without a doubt, being taken advantage of here.

As I continued to peruse the document, the office clock ticked on and on. Surely, with so many ticks, I had been reading this document for so long that it was time to go home? But, no- a quick glance at the clock told me that only minutes had passed, and there were still hours left in the work day. In fact, my coworker was still waiting by my desk. Did he seriously think that these numbers could be fixed in mere moments? Or, wait- was he waiting for me to dismiss him? A part of me wanted to make him wait there, bored out of his mind while I did his work for him…I realized that would probably end up being pretty frustrating for me, too.

“Looks like some of the numbers are a bit off. You go take a break, and I’ll see if I can fix them up.” As it turned out, my second guess was right- the man was just waiting for me to politely dismiss him, so he could slack off while I did his work. ‘Office teamwork’, indeed. That said, I cared so little that I could not even bring myself to be disappointed. Shrugging, I returned to the work that had been bestowed upon me. Tick, tick.

After a while, the combination of the clock’s ticks and the endless numbers brought me into a daydream. Reality shifted, reapplying calendar pages and returning furniture to older models. Soon, I found myself in the world eight years prior- my third year on the job. To the best of my memory, this was the first time I had tried to quit. 

I was staring at my computer screen. My email account was on display, open to a recent contact from my boss. The contact was in reply to an email I had sent out the previous day, giving my two weeks notice. 

Hello, read the reply. I am sorry to hear that you find your work environment to be unsatisfactory. Before you consider leaving us, I would consider the following: if you are merely quitting in response to a temporary feeling of dissatisfaction, I urge you to reconsider such a hasty action. Many employees have made the mistake of leaving their company on a whim, failing to even set up a new job! Then, they are forced to reapply at their old businesses, only to be forced to take a new role with much lower pay- I would hate for this to be your story, too! Furthermore, if the issue is money, I think we can find a way to solve that! While we would not be able to do anything about it now, I think I can talk to some people and make a small raise work? Come by my office later, and we can discuss this further.

Back then, the money had been an enticing offer. Of course, my boss never did end up getting me the raise- that was just a ploy to get me to stick around a bit longer, so they could train a replacement in case I did end up jumping ship. But really, the more important issue was the very first one my boss had brought up- I didn’t have any other jobs lined up. Even if this was just a shot in the dark my boss made that just happened to work out, it was true- before I even considered leaving, I needed to have another option available. 

Once more, the world around me changed. This time, I was sitting in another time; another place. I found myself in someone’s office- the nameplate was a blur to me, but the owner’s face was even less clear. What I could remember, though, were the words this person spoke to me.

“Well, your resume certainly seems great…” I could hear the ‘but’ before they said it. The same old story- overqualified. They thought my services would be wasted with them; check back later to see if something else opened. They would be happy to keep me in mind for the future. I wanted to scream at them, to shout that I needed out now, before it was too late. But instead, I thanked them- actually thanked them!-  for rejecting my parole. For sentencing me to what I was starting to imagine as a life sentence.

As I stood up, I found myself in an apartment. The walls were bare, lacking any signs that a human lived there. The place was relatively clean- not as if someone actually cleaned it regularly, but in a way that signaled most objects had not been moved in quite some time. There were no dirty dishes piled in the sink, but a quick look at the trash can would show dozens of take-out containers-  clearly, the owner of this apartment spent very little time here. That was, of course, because I was usually at work.

A voice spoke into my ear- I realized that this was coming from my cell phone. Not all of the words were coming through clearly, but I caught enough. Appointment. As soon as possible. Operation may be needed. Expensive procedure. There would be no time to hunt for jobs for the time being, and there was no way I could afford to leave my current one- not if it meant losing my health insurance. I bit back tears, agreeing to an appointment time.

I awoke from my daydream. Longing to extend my escape, I closed my eyes and tried to will myself into another fantasy, this time a happier one. Perhaps one displaying a future where I had the ability to escape? One where I could march into my boss’s office and announce that I would quit! One where I would no longer hear this clock day and night, in my ears or in my head- where I could be free to live my life and be happy. Where I was no longer held hostage by guilt, expectations, lies, fear…! But nothing came to me.

I opened my eyes. My coworker’s documents still sat in front of me. I wondered if, perhaps, this was it- my last chance to quit. I could actually march into my boss’s office! I could actually throw the documents on the desk and say, “I’ve had it with being overworked and underappreciated! And no, there is nothing you can do to make me stay!” A smile stretched across my face- surely, anyone passing by my desk must have thought I had gone mad- and who was to say they would be wrong? But if they thought my madness was something new, something brief…they were terribly mistaken. This madness was brought upon by those years and years of trying and failing to be allowed to value myself and my happiness. It was gifted to me by my bosses, my coworkers, and the world itself! It was something that could have been avoided, if only…!

The years flash before my eyes, as if I were on my deathbed. In a manner of speaking, perhaps I was- only, instead of the death of my body and mind, my soul was standing before the hangman’s noose. A death that, although it lacked the permanence of the mind and body, was poignant in its own way. 

I thought back to my first years on the job. To the times when I thought I could be happy, only to find myself more and more miserable by the day. To the first time I tried to quit, followed by the second, third, fourth…eventually, I lost count. To the first time I noticed the clock’s ticks, to when I started carrying them with me wherever I went. The years caught up to me, until I found myself sitting in front of a different person’s documents, deciding whether to throw them away and quit for good, or to pick up my pen and renew my lease with the devil.

The faulty equations stared up at me, daring me to walk away from them. I considered listening to them- for half a second, I took my last shot at quitting. And I truly almost had the strength to walk away for good…if I had only taken that first step. Instead, I picked up my pen- I marked the equations where they were wrong, and replaced incorrect numbers with the ones that rightfully belonged. The ticking of the clock filled my ears once more.

Tick, tick.