A Humble Beginning
"Good afternoon, Riley Real Estate, how may I direct your call?" I say, and another tiny part of my soul dies. The caller ID shows "front door", so I know it's a delivery person. I get this call a dozen times a day. I know they'll want the mailroom, they always do, but I ask anyway because it's all I know how to do this late in the afternoon.
"Hi, this is UPS, I'm looking for Kevin or Mohamed in the mailroom," the voice on the other end of the line responds. He sounds about as exasperated with this routine as I am.
"One moment please," I say. I transfer him in a fraction of a second and sigh at my expert speed. I look up at the clock. It's five past four. Still almost an hour and a half before I can get out of this wretched place.
I turn to my computer screen and start a game of solitaire. I fuck up towards the end. This happens a few more times before I hear the door to the office suite open. I minimize the solitaire mid-game, though I doubt anyone would care that I'm playing. I look over my left shoulder to see who it is. It's Millicent Hughley.
"Hello, Andrew," she greets me in her sing-song voice.
I say hi back. I tell her I like her new haircut. She smiles. She's wearing a sweater that shows off her sagging tits. Judging by her weathered face I guess she must be closing in on sixty. As she walks out her panty line is clearly visible through her thin white linen slacks. I simultaneously wonder why I notice these things and wonder what it would be like to make love to her. I get the feeling she would bake me cookies afterwards.
Just before she leaves through the glass doors she turns around. "I'm going to the little cafe downstairs," she says. "Can I get you anything?"
"No thanks. I'm good." She turns back around, leaves. I maximize my solitaire window, lose again, and change the rules from draw three to draw one. I deal a new game. It takes too long and it feels like I'm cheating, so I close the thing. I look back up at the clock. It's four fifteen. Time might as well be going backwards. Why didn't I bring a book today? I open up a web browser and go to the webpage for some science and technology periodical. I read a couple articles I passed over yesterday.
The phone rings again. I answer. It's a wrong number. We both apologize for some reason.
Through the glass doors, out by the elevators I can see the pretty girl from the computer company across the hall. She smiles and waves. I smile and wave. We awkwardly break eye contact and she starts tapping her foot impatiently, waiting for an elevator. I look at the clock, which I realize I can actually hear ticking. It's four thirty. Since it's Friday, everybody leaves early. Except for me, of course. Some one needs to be here to transfer calls from the UPS guy to the mailroom.
This excrutiating tedium continues for another hour.
At five twenty-five I'm looking at the elevators, waiting for Mohamed to come out of one of them. I hear a muted ding from out in the hall, Mohamed shuffles out of an elevator. I close a game of minesweeper and logoff my computer. Mohamed opens the glass doors. I grab my bag and look down at the ass print in my seat cushion.
"Come on, come on," Mohamed says, motioning for me to get out. His accent is thick and hard to pin down, and his voice is raspy from cigarette smoke. As always, he sounds simultaneously joyous and exhausted. "It is Friday! Have a good weekend, my friend." He beams, revealing a couple of gold teeth amidst several yellow ones.
"You too, Mohamed," I say, smiling. "I'll see you on Monday." We say goodbye. I go out into the hall, push the down arrow and wait for the ding. I enter the elevator, and gratefully accept my weekly deliverance.
