He'd been working in the office for years. Quiet and painfully shy, he'd become anonymous, if not invisible to his co-workers. He did all the menial jobs which people took for granted and he generally went by unnoticed on a daily basis by everyone. He silently accepted the abuse he suffered at the hands and feet of the girls at work no longer acknowledged his presence.
He began the day by stocking up the supplies of paper on the shelves below the printer in one of the typing pools. As he knelt down, he steadied himself by placing one hand on the floor. One of the secretaries walked over to the printer to retrieve a document she'd just typed and as she did, her left foot trod hard on his fingers. He winced as he watched her black open-toed mule press down steadily as she waited for the document to appear, unaware of the pain she was causing him. After 30 seconds or so of torment, she scooped up her work and turned twisting her foot on his throbbing fingers before she walked away. Wearily he rubbed his fingers to get the feeling back as he got to his feet.
He then went to fetch the morning post from reception. As he grabbed at the pile, a few slithered from his grip by the receptionist's feet, who was busy dealing with the morning rush of calls. When he bent down to get them, she shifted her position slightly, pinning a few letters under the 3 inch heel of her black leather boot. He carefully tried to pull them free, not wanting to interrupt her, but to no avail. He gently cupped her boot in his hand to lift it slightly but she moved again, freeing the letters but instead pinning the palm of his hand under her thick heel. He bit his lip as it dug deep into his skin. With his free hand, he placed the fallen letters on the counter with the rest of them from his half curled position on the floor. Just then, another secretary came in. 'Mail hasn't shown up yet' she breezed to the receptionist, who glanced round, saw the letters on the counter and pointed at them idly. The secretary walked round to collect them, not seeing his prone body on the carpet. Reception was always a bit cluttered so it wasn't strange to her to have to clamber over some crap lying around. He looked up at her, his hand still pinned, but she didn't even glance down as her right foot stepped on his upper arm. She placed her left foot on his shoulder as she picked up the mail and he could see the worn suede on the toe of her blue pump inches from his face before she climbed back down.
Later that morning he had to try to unclog one of the photocopiers that had jammed. He got most of the twisted paper out fairly easily but one piece was stuck tight low and at the back of the machine. He reached in, stretching his fingers but couldn't quite get it. He could stretch a little more if he laid down, which left his back and legs exposed in the corridor. Although no one really saw him, it was as if they could sense something was there so instead of tripping over him, the girls would just walk over him as if he was part of the floor. While he unjammed the copier he was stepped on three times. First he felt a flat sandal press down on his lower back as one girl walked past. Then a low heeled pump trod hard on the back of his thigh. The third and the worst was the thin stiletto of probably the most attractive girl in the office. She actually had come to use the photocopier and stood huffing as she jabbed as the unresponsive controls, her feet placed side by side on his shoulder blades, her heels like daggers. He turned his face to the side to stare up at her as her right foot moved forward slightly. He could see the dusty worn sole of her shoe as came to rest on his cheek, before pressing down as she pushed and shook the machine. Her foot lifted and she aimed a frustrated kick at the machine and as she did, her slender heel dragged along his cheek, drawing blood. Giving up she petulantly stamped her foot on his cheekbone before storming off.
Bruised and battered he got to his feet. It was only Monday morning...
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