Cubicle Land

Cubicle Land

*click, click, click*

It caught, the third time, always the third damn time. I let the smoke fill my lungs, I exhale slowly, leaning up against the wall. Its raining, always raining, always raining in this hellhole called a city. I feel like an animal, I’m close, I’m a smoker. I’m surprised there isn’t a smoker hunting season these days.

My hair is wet; the water is dripping into my eyes. I’ve had enough of this I throw the cigarette on the ground, I head back inside, passing by other smokers, huddled together desperately trying to get one last puff in before they can’t stand it anymore. I push through the revolving door; I take my jacket off and put it on my arm, off to my cubicle.

“Hey Michael!” I hear a voice, a familiar voice; I hope I know it from somewhere else, I turn around. Damn.

“Hello Ray” I sigh, just the sight of the man disgusts me, the tacky Hawaiian shirt, the “best dad ever” hat, the light up tie. It makes me want to puke.

“Did you hear the news??” he says excitedly, almost jumping up and down, almost. He doesn’t look like he’s been able jumped since the 3rd grade.

“What news” I ask sighing again, already knowing what the answer is. I try not to look at his horrible toupee or huge rimless glasses.

“Layoffs! We’re all screwed!” he practically screamed in my ear.

What a surprise, “Well that’s very interesting Ray, but I’ve got some work to do, so I’ll talk to you later” I say, desperate to get out of the conversation, I move away too fast for him to stop me. As I step into the elevator, I can still hear him ranting.

I press the button, floor 12, the doors close in front of me. The elevator dips slightly and starts going up; my brain starts to register the music on the elevator speakers. I feel like ripping my ears off, I contemplate smashing the speakers with my bare hands, then there is a ding and the doors open, I walk out wondering why there have been so few elevator suicides.

I shuffle over to my cubicle head low, still dripping wet. I follow the same path as every other day, 20 steps forward, 30 steps left, 10 steps forward, 3 steps right and I’m there. I look out across the rest of the cubicle land; it must be nearing 5:00. Almost nobody is still working, heads out over their cubicles, they look like gophers. The thought makes me laugh, luckily nobody notices. I ease myself into my office chair and tap the keyboard to make the screensaver go away. I check the clock, 4:45. I look over some spread sheets, I check my e-mail. 1 message, from Aida, I hope its good news; I should learn not to hope. She just broke up with me, not surprising really; we’ve barely talked at all in the last couple weeks. I check the clock again, its 5:00. Thank god.

I shut down all my open windows, and then shut down my computer. I grab my coat and head out, back to the elevator, it’s full now. As I reach the lobby I hide in a group of people desperate to escape Ray. I push through the revolving doors back out onto the sidewalk, its raining, always raining.

I hail a taxi and get into the back, I tell the driver my address and we start off. The driver can barely speak English; I look at his taxi driver license I try to find a vowel, I can’t. He drops me off; I give him $10 and tell him to keep the change. I take out my keys and try to find the one I need. After a minute or two I find it and open the door. I throw the keys on the desk by the door, then throw my coat over them, closing the door.

I grab the TV remote and turn it on to the news, depressing as always. I hit the button on the answering machine, 1 message. Aida again, I hope she changed her mind; I should learn not to hope. I listen to the whole message, then I delete it. I call her number, twice, three times. She never picks up. I hang up the phone.

I stumble into my small kitchen, open the cupboard and take out some easy-Mac, putting it in the microwave. I take the bowl out and sit down in front of my TV. I tune in just in time to hear that there has been a shooting roughly 5 blocks from my house, gotta love the city.

I finish eating and throw the bowl onto some large pile of clothes. I grab the orange canister with my pills in them. I drop some random amount of them in my hand and swallow them, washing them down with some water. My shrink says I need the pills or I might end up killing myself, pleasant thoughts. I go to sleep.

The next day the paper reads “Cubicle worker dies Overdosing on depression medicine”

The End