Short Story – excerpt
You are mashing your naked, chapped lips together while standing in front of the elevators at your god-forsaken job, fingering the lipstick in your pocket that you wished you had put on in the car, and now have to wait until you get to the ladies lounge. The carpal tunnel in your left hand is already starting to throb at the thought of pounding the keyboard for yet another day of coding for the-man-upstairs. The doctor told you to wear your wrist brace, avoid salt and caffeine, and please try to de-stress. De-stress hell.
You’re
late because you can’t get going because you can’t drink your coffee
because of the stupid ulcer because of the god-forsaken job and now you
have a headache and you ran out of Zantac yesterday and you pretty much
feel like no one gives a shit so why should you. You smooth the now
blonde hair you spent all last night dyeing and think about how long it
will take to get split ends as you look at yourself in the mirrored
elevator door.
You rub your nose and wipe your hand across
your dry lips without thinking, trying to let your mind go blank. Maybe
it’s possible to achieve some sort of Zen meditative state, where you
can sleepwalk through work and come alive when they hand you the
paycheck on your way out the door Friday night; to consciously live your
nights and unconsciously dredge for the money during the day. You feel
your stomach twinge and your spirit drop as you think about your
nights, lonely and boring as they are, and consider that your life is
pretty much a slightly overweight black-and-white photograph of no
consequence, no color except for your golden retriever, Boris, that your
hair now matches. People always look like their dogs. Maybe this is
the first step?
“It Could Be Worse,” Great Writers, Great Stories: Great Writers from MD, VA, and DC, Anthology
Edited by Edward A. Faine
ISBN 0-9654651-6-0