Another Day in the Office

Click-click-clack. Clack-clack-click. Clickety-clack-click. Neville, a squat portly man with a squashed, bulldog face typed away at the keyboard on his cheap, pasteboard desk with crushing strokes from plump, sausage fingers.

He went on, and on, and on without rest or pause for as long as he could manage. A thick sheen of sweat glossed his bulbous forehead. When the muscles in his hands and wrists where red-hot with ache and cramped with exertion, he finally stopped.

"Hello, carpel tunnel." Neville told himself as he stretched each digit with gentle, pulsing movements.

He reached up with his right arm and used the fabric of his blazer to wipe the thick sweat from his face. His eyes travelled across his bare, spartan desk until they came to rest on the only item decorating its surface, a small, hand-made picture frame.

The body of the frame was formed from cracked, splintered popsicle sticks coated in a heavy layer of glue and glitter. A riot of colorful bits of plastic and stickers of hearts and unicorns decorated the frames surface in a sporadic tumble.

Beaming up at Neville from a glossy photo placed inside the picture frame was his daughter, Patricia. She wore a neon-pink princess outfit. A plastic crown sat lopsided in a heap of thick brown curls, and a scepter pointed at the camera from a pudgy hand. Her face was aglow with a wonderful, innocent smile that dimpled her rosy-red cheeks.

Neville's arm dropped from his forehead and he reached out to run the length of the photo with a loving finger. A warm smile brightened his face.

Almost finished. Neville told himself. Just a few more reports and I'll be there darling.

With a final, parting glance at the frame, Neville dove back to his keyboard. He typed with a frantic, energetic, fury. His hands skittered among the keys like enormous spiders fleeing from the crushing stomp of a worn, leather work boot.

Neville's assault continued for another hour. His hands screamed with the continuous strain, but he paid them no mind.

Almost there. Neville thought, willing his fingers to continue their work.

A throat cleared behind him and Neville paused mid keystroke, like a deer caught in the high beams of an oncoming semi-truck.

What in the-. His though began.

"Yo, Neville." A booming voice laden with the arrogant confidence of a frat bro came from behind.

The greeting had been so loud, so forceful, that Neville had nearly leapt from his seat.

Oh God no. Neville thought. Please not him.

He pushed himself out from under his desk and rotated in his office chair. His eyes drifted along the plaster-white barriers of his cramped, 5 by 5 cubicle until they came to rest on the Research and Development manager, Ted, standing behind the back wall. Neville stopped.

What does this pompous clown want? He thought.

Ted peered at Neville over the lip of the cubicle wall, only his upper-half was visible. His inflated, muscular arms were crossed over his chest, their bulk barely contained within the lush fabric of his 3000-dollar, hand-made Italian suit.

"Can I help you sir?" Neville asked.

Ted's faced cracked into an enormous, sparkling white-toothed, ready for Hollywood grin. It was far too excessive to be sincere. His bright, cold blue eyes sparkled in the office's florescent lights as he reached up with his right hand, pinky extended, and drilled into his ear.

"Come on Neville." Ted said as he pulled his pinky out of his ear, examined the yellow-brown glob of earwax hanging from the nail, and wiped in on Neville's side of the wall. "If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. Call me Ted. No need to be so formal."

Neville stiffened in his chair and fought to keep his chair neutral.

I'd like to call you a limp-dicked, son of a whore. Neville thought.

"Sorry Ted." Was what Neville said. "It slipped my mind."

Ted placed his left hand over his heart and let it glade away in a sweeping motion.

"Don't sweat it big guy." Ted said. "You've been hard at work all day. Got a lot on your plate. Easy to forget"

Neville bit back a mirthless laugh.

I've only got to work so hard because your cheap ass "downsized" three wonderful people from the department and dumped their work on me without so much as a thank you. Neville thought.

"I do my best." He said.

"I know you do." Ted said, cooing. "I've got my eyes on you for this month's bonus."

Neville took in a quick, sharp breath and forced a false grin.

"Great." Neville said.

Of course, it won't actually go to me. He thought. It'll go to the big-titted secretary that you ogle at for 90 percent of the week. She got it last month, and every single time before that.

Ted cleared his throat in a series of thick, meaty hacks. Mouth closed, he gestured at the waste basket under Neville's desk and pointed to himself. Neville grabbed it and handed it to Ted. Instead of taking it, Ted leaned over the cubicle barrier and hacked an enormous dark-green loogie into the can. He glanced back up at Neville.

"Thanks." Ted said, waving the bin away. "You can put it back. I'm done."

I should jam it back down your gob. Neville thought, disgusted. He hesitated a moment before stowing the trash can back under the desk.

When Neville looked back up Ted was flashing his movie star grin.

"I saw you had scheduled off early today." Ted said. "Any exciting plans?"

The hair on the back of Neville's neck bristled and his palms started to sweat. The question seemed innocent enough, but something about Ted's tone was off-putting.

"Yeah. Really exciting." Neville said in a low voice. "My little girl's Christmas play is tonight. She got a main role as Mrs. Clause, and has been bursting at the seems with excitement. We've been practicing her lines for a month."

Ted's smile faded. His face twisted in bewilderment. He eyed Neville from head to toe.

"Really?" Ted said. "You've got a kid? I'll be damned."

Neville's nostrils flared and blood flushed his cheeks.

You've bee in charge of Research and Development for a whole year. Neville thought. And you never bothered to learn a thing about me, or listen to a single word I've said.

Ted's tilted, lips pursed, and he reached up with his right hand to scratch behind his right ear.

"A real shame Neville." Ted said. "A damn shame. Your gong to have to cancel."

Neville gripped the ends of his armrests with such force his knuckles turned white. He was glued to his seat, his body as rigid as stone.

"Excuse me?" Neville asked.

Ted dropped his hand from his ear, folded it over his left hand on the cubicle wall, and dropped his head to rest on his knuckles.

"Frank called off sick today." Ted said. "Nasty flu. He was supposed to finish up the Raycor Project today. Large, expensive contract with the military. Needs to be done by the end of the night. Obviously, Frank won't be finishing it, so you're going to have to. Sorry bud."

Neville's eyes fluttered rapidly.

You couldn't do it? He thought. Of course, you couldn't get off your posh, lazy ass for a day and actually do some work. Instead, you decide to screw me.

"There's got to be someone else." Neville said, fighting to keep the anger from bubbling over into his voice. "I've had this night planned for weeks."

"No one I can think of." Ted said, clucking his tongue. "Not on such short notice. I'd have done it myself, but I've been absolutely swamped prepping for the big-wig corporate meeting tonight. Important stuff. You've got to do it Neville"

Meeting? Important? Neville fumed to himself. You're raking me over the brambles so you can go and yuck it up with Daddy and all the other execs in your oh-so-fancy holiday bash tonight.

Neville's feet stamped the ground in a rapid staccato.

"I could type it out first thing tomorrow morning." Neville said, the words coming out in a rush. "Come in at 3AM or 4AM and finish up. No one would know the difference."

Ted's eyes drifted upward and he stroked his chin for a few moments as if contemplating Neville's offer. Neville's spirits lifted. Maybe he had found a workaround.

"Nope." Ted said, his lips smacking with the word as he peered back at Neville. "The top man upstairs wants it done tonight. Non-negotiable."

Neville felt his heart plummet into the soles of his s

hoes.

"I could do the work from home." Neville said, practically pleading. "Have it done and sent in before midnight."

Ted's curled into a cold, condescending smile.

"Now, now Neville." Ted said. "We can't have that. The Raycor Project is a mint. Top secret. We can't have it leaving the building. It has got to be done here."

Neville's whole body trembled. His face had turned crimson red, and a fat vein wormed across his forehead.

"Bummer you'll have to miss your kid's little play." Ted said. "But she'll get over it."

Neville exploded up out of his seat. His hands were clenched into fists, gelatinous gut shaking with the force of his ascent. He rose and stood eye to eye with Ted.

Ted took a hopping step back.

"What's gotten into you?" Ted said. A smirk twisted his lips.

What's gotten into me?! Neville screamed inwardly. His body quivered with rage. You have, you ungrateful, psychotic bastard. Ever since your Daddy plucked you out of your failing business major at propped you up as the head of R and D, you've made my life a living hell.

Neville's hands shot out and clenched the lip of the cubicle wall.

While you enjoy a 7-figure salary, and a plush corner office, I waste away in my starch-white prison, and work myself to death for a pittance.

His jaw clenched and Neville's teeth ground together.

I ought to step out of this box, walk right up to your smug, overblown ass, and deliver a swift kick to your sorry excuse for a sack. Hit you so hard you sing a high soprano.

The idea played across the movie screen of Neville's mind and he almost cracked a smile. But then his thoughts shifted. Patricia materialized in his inner eye. The clothes she had to wear. The doctor visits. The food she needed to survive.

Neville's gaze dropped from Ted's. His shoulders slumped, and his hands collapsed to his sides.

You deserve an earful. He thought. But I won't say a thing.

"Nothing sir." Neville said in a whisper. "I'm fine."

Ted's face stretched back into his all-star smile, but his eyes remained cold.

"Good man, Neville." Ted said, slapping Neville on the shoulder. "I knew you'd play ball."

Ted turned to walk away, but Neville stopped him mid-stride.

"Yes?" Ted asked, looking over his shoulder.

"Can I take a break? Neville said in a quavering voice. "Call my little one. Tell her I won't be there tonight."

Ted's faced twisted into a half-frown.

"Sure." Ted said. "Just make it snappy."

Ted walked away. The heels of his leather shoes clicked on the tile of the office floor as he faded down the hall and disappeared.

Neville slumped into his office chair, dropping like a sack of bricks. He swiveled back to face his desk, and grasped the wired telephone sitting next to his computer monitor, raising it to his ear.

His eyes drifted to the picture frame on his desk, and met the fixed stare of Patricia. Tears streamed down his cheeks as his cold, nerveless fingers dialed home.