#38
Bob hated morning people, so it was probably inevitable that he married one, and he worked for another. At six in the morning, rain or shine, Glenda was up. She tried to be careful and to let him sleep, but it is physically impossible for an adult human vibrating with energy and excited by the prospect of another glorious day to sit still, stand still, or be still, so every morning at six, Bob got up.
By the time he was out of bed, showered, shaved, and half-awake, Glenda had run two miles, made breakfast, brewed coffee and gotten out of his way. That was the wisest thing, they both knew. When morning person meets anti-morning person, it’s much like the ol’ matter, anti-matter problem. He was likely to flail angrily and screech as speak coherently, and he could be counted on to forget everything he said by the time he was fully and coherently awake.
The coffee saved him. The first cup bit through the funk and allowed a bit of light into his eyes and mind. By the end of the second cup, he felt almost human. The third cup rode in the cup holder on the way to the office. He didn’t always finish it, but the roads were awash in morning people, driving, jogging, and milling about — foolishly oblivious to the anti-morning sattelites screeching through their orbit. If Bob had that third cup of coffee handy, and something delayed his progress, he could use it as a buffer, sipping slowly and imagining slow painful death to everyone with the temerity to smile. It had kept people alive, and Bob married and employed, for decades.
At the office, he was confronted first by Melanie, the receptionist, whose smile appeared to be hooked over her ears and whose perfect white teeth and bobbing curls gave Bob an unavoidable mental image of some lost Osmond, just waiting to be discovered and brought back into the fold. She alway gave him a cheerful good morning, and he always grunted back at her, heading for the coffee lounge on his way to his office.
On the way to said lounge, he had to pass Peterson’s office. Peterson was not just a morning person. Peterson was the sunny, vapid, grinning GOD of daylight. Bob secretly believed the man had a hidden chamber beyond the walls of his office where he recharged at night. No one could have the energy Peterson exhibited day in and day out without an alien supercharger – it was just simple physics. That’s what Bob thought.
Coffee could even the odds. If he got to that fourth cup and piled in the sugar, he could face Peterson, take the daunting pile of crap he’d be doled out for the day, and maintain a semblance of good humor until knock off.
As Bob passed in front of Peterson’s open doorway, he tensed and grimaced. Nothing happened. He passed by without notice, or a sound. He stopped. The coffee smelled wonderful, and he knew he should just thank his lucky stars and race ahead before Peterson realized he’d missed his ritual greeting and tried to turn it into a “moment”. Something in his head betrayed him. Cursing himself inwardly, he took a step back, and then another. He glanced into Peterson’s office.
No one was there.
Peterson had not once, in eight years of inhabiting that same office, been anywhere but in that chair. It felt like someone had ripped out a tree, or a building he’d lived with all his life, or like a tooth missing from the lower half of his mouth. Bob stepped inside, and glanced about. No one was in sight.
This was new territory. He had to get his day’s assignments from Peterson, so in theory, his presence in the office was covered. It felt very strange. He stepped over to the desk, where the in/out trays sat waiting. There was nothing in the out tray, which should have been full of things to irritate him with. He stepped closer still. There was a single sheet of paper on the desk. Without thinking, he reached out and took it, scanning it quickly.
It was a memo. It seemed that Peterson had been…let go. Terminated was the word they’d used. There was a short mention of “burn out” but no explanation. Then came the line that fascinated Bob the most. At the bottom it said:
Effective immediately – Bob Fedders to be promoted to Department Head.
He started at the note. He rounded the desk and sat down.
Melanie stepped into the doorway. She held his coffee cup in her hand. It was full, and steam rose from the top.
“Congratulations,” she said, smiling. She didn’t look perky. She looked tired…and run down.
Bob couldn’t speak. He went through the day in a daze, moving his belongings from desk to desk, arranging his pictures. Calling Glenda, who was thrilled, but not as surprised as Bob himself, apparently. They made plans for dinner…vague plans. She didn’t commit to a place, or a time, but she promised she’d see him soon.
Bob sat. He tried a little work, but couldn’t concentrate, and figured that – under the circumstances – the powers-that-be would understand.
The clock moved slowly around to 5:00 PM and he rose. He grabbed his things and headed for the door, but when he reached it, he found it locked. Odd, but not impossible. He wasn’t used to the door, or the lock. He fumbled with it, frowned, and fumbled some more. It stayed closed – and locked.
Bob glanced around, and noticed a second door. It might just be a bathroom, he knew. He felt silly for not having opened it before, but to be honest with himself – he hadn’t even noticed it. He walked quickly to the door and opened it. The room beyond was dark – but he entered and fumbled for a light switch. The door closed behind him.
When he found the switch, he saw he was in a very small room. The space was very dimly lit by bluish tubes running up the walls. He turned back and tried the door, but it was closed. Slowly, the walls began closing in. He heard a whirring sound from above, but had no time for it – he fought the door, screamed, pounded on the walls…he was still pounding when the helmet settled onto his head and latched itself. He still struggled, but the walls closed tighter, and soon he could only stand. White light glowed above him. Something hummed on top of the helmet. Then something bit hot and hard into his scalp, and he screamed.
***
Len stepped into the office, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. There was a receptionist, and he stepped up to her desk. Her name-tag read: GLENDA
“Hello,” he said. She smiled widely, showing perfect white teeth.
“You must be Mr. Dodson. Mr. Fedders is expecting you. Go right in.”
Len stepped into the hall, saw an open door to his left, and stepped in front, glancing in.
Across the desk from him sat the most wide-awake, irritatingly alive man he’d ever seen. Christ…the guy looked like Howdy Doody on crack!
“Good morning,” Bob said. “And a glorious, sunny morning, don’t you think?”
Len nodded and sighed. Another morning person….just what he needed.
Bob grinned. “The coffee is down the hall on the right.”
Written by David Wilson - Visit WebsiteFollow me on Twitter
