saving his job

He stumbled into the office, tomato red from being out in the sun all morning. His nose was an even deeper shade of red, from all the vodkas he’d also had.

But he was on a mission, he’d forgotten to send that one last assignment out before leaving the night before, even though he’d told everyone he’d do it. So damn it, he was going to make it into the office to follow through.

As soon as he got to his office, he needed to shit.

There was little time. He rushed into the bathroom, ignoring the “Do Not Enter” sign clearly posted outside the door. The janitor, as he always did on Saturday mornings, had waxed the floors of the two small private bathrooms in the front of the office. He never so much as mopped the floors in the main employees’ bathroom – there was still shit on the walls from three months ago when one of the sports guys had projectile dihearea  –  but that’s an issue all to itself. Or two issues? And let’s not even talk about the fact that the janitor hasn’t had a raise in over 25 years of service. Not that he really ever deserved one.

He made it to the toilet just in time, the smelly, putrid brown water oozed out of his ass and into the bowl. And all over the bowl. And all over his ass. He wiped a couple times then flushed. He didn’t bother washing his hands. It was a futile effort the way he was buzzing.

In his office, he slouched into his leather chair, turning on his computer. On the third try, he got his password correct.

He printed out his page. Walked to the printer and took it to another worker. Can you send this for me? He slurred.

“Yes, sir,” the eager to please when you are there, but back-stabbing ass when you’re not, employee answered in a not-too-perky, jut just perky enough to seem like I give a shit way.

“What page is it?” he asked as the boss stumbled away.

“Huh? I don’t know. It’s easy enough to figure out,” he said, walking out the front door.

He got in his car and pulled out. Then he realized he’d left his wallet in his office.

“Shit,” he yelled, pulling his car back into the parking space.

After getting back inside, he fumbled with his office keys for a good 45 seconds. Another employee watched him, shaking his head in disbelief.

“This guy is driving?” he said to himself.

Minutes later, it was over. The office got back to normal. It helped that the shaking head employee turned on the bathroom fan. It didn’t smell quite as poorly anymore.

“Going for No. 4 I guess?” a pony-tailed employee spoke, showing off his toothless grin of too many Budweisers and cigarettes over the years.

“Guess so,” bathroom fan turner on and shaking head guy said back. “Just back to the status quo.”

And that was the worst part of it. It was all supposed to change. But nothing did. That became obvious when the elf-like leader wasn’t removed. Instead, his hunched shoulders still rule over the serfdom. A sad state of affairs for a once proud place to be.

“Let’s get a taco,” bathroom fan and shaking head guy said to another employee. This one really liked techno and saying the word “Derp.”

“Nah, bro,” he responded. “I’m counting my calories tight today. Want to drink some beers tonight.”

So, fan and shake guy left alone. Into the 101-degree day in this shitty little Marine-base town. No wonder Ryan Adams was so fucking depressed and such a shit to so many women. He learned from this town. “Won’t no other way to turn out,” as the barkeeper says to fan and shake as he plops his butt down on the stool with still another hour and a half to kill on the clock.

“This is one of those days when I wish Elvis Costello would walk in and strike up another conversation with me,” he said back to the barkeep.

“Who the fuck is Elvis Costeller?” he asked back.

“Never mind,” he said, taking a swig of his too-warm Miller High Life – always in a bottle, never draft or in a can. Hell, do they even make it in a can?

The barkeep tapped the bar and moved on, swirling his dirty towel inside of a dirtier glass.

“Somebody’s gonna be drinking out of that glass soon,” he thought to himself. “Glad I only drink out of the bottle here.”

Forty-five minutes pass and not a soul came in the place. It was just him and the bartender. Until he was getting ready to go back to work, punch that clock and go home. That’s when the door opened. He peered at the enormous blast of light from outside as it crashed into him.

This is the time that some amazing woman will walk in, buy me a drink and take me home tonight like Ronnie Spector and Eddie Money, he daydreamed as he always daydreamed when alone in a bar.

Instead, it was the tomato-red man from the office.

“Give me a Corona, Mel,” he mumbled.

He spied an opportunity to either save his job or lose it. He decided on saving it and snuck out the back. It’s something he’ll regret as soon as he gets outside. Why? Because this job ain’t worth saving.