Wasting Away

By: A.D. Nicholas Bundt

            “This is your second warning!  No ifs, ands, or buts.  You’ll need to get your payments in by next weekend!  This is your last warning, Mr. Blaker.  We will be in touch with you later.”

            “Yes, I’ll definitely have the money in by next week.”

            “Weekend!  You better have the money in or else!  If not, we’ll discontinue your services!”

            “Yes, I completely understand.”

            “Good, I’m glad we could make an agreement.”

            “Yes, good-bye.”

            Chad Blaker was standing at his kitchen counter. He hung up and sat his cell phone down on a near by counter.  He looked into his vast kitchen of his luxurious home.  He love his huge house, and enjoyed living the good life.  He just couldn’t live without all his luxuries.  Computers, home theater, personal digital assistants, two kitchens, and four bathrooms, one bathroom for each level of his house.  He had hefty bills for his water, heat, and electricity and his house didn’t come cheap, but his job was able to support him.  He was a respected program manager for a software company.  He thought of himself as dignified and very successful.  What people saw of him on the outside was not what is was really like on the inside.  Blaker’s budget for his household was penny tight.  He was always receiving warnings to get his bills in.  He had just received one early in the mourning.  He was looking for more money.

            Despite his home being raided with notices, Blaker still could help but get excited for his company’s annual report.  He had a large chance on getting another promotion.  His upcoming promotion had him impulse buying more than usual, so he needed more money to pay the bills.

            Blaker blanked out of consciousness.  The painting on his wall then caught his eye.  He snapped back to himself and began to ponder on the painting.  He was still unsure of the meaning of it.  After a short while, he gave up on staring at it for its meaning.  The painting was a portrait of an orphan gently crying, holding the Earth in her small hand, and a few bills of money in the other.  The paint had no other features to it.  Not even a background.  It only contained those three things.  Blaker had bought it only because he had some money with him.  He felt the painting would give his downstairs kitchen an artistic feel.  Now it just bugged him.

            Blaker looked at his microwave’s clock and decided to leave for work.  He put on his business blazer and went to the garage.  He turned the key to his new Honda.  The garage door opened up, and he moved into the street.  He turned left and headed to the Vortex Innovations programming building.  The building was located inside town, so traffic became worse as Blaker made his way closer to his destination.

            Thirty minutes later, Blaker pulled into the parking lot.  He finally found a spot, parked, and headed into the building.  As his way there, Blaker thanks himself for allowing a decent amount of time.  He was not going to be late today.

            Blaker pushed opened the double glass doors and stepped into the lobby.  He moved to the identification desk that was located near the two elevators at the far end of the lobby.

            He flashed his I.D. card to the receptionist behind the desk.  He moved to the left elevator, got in, pressed his number, and watched the doors close.  The gravity pulled at him as he ascended three levels.  At the fourth floor he stepped out.

            “Hello, Chad,” said a woman to the left of him as soon as he made is way out of the elevator.  He turned; it was Rachael.  She politely waved at him.  “Hey, I got some mail for you.”

            “Oh, who’s it from?”

            “Well, I’ve some mail, so it is from more than one person.”

            Blaker sneered, reaching out to grab his mail, “I get it.”  Rachael handed over two envelopes.  He looked at the first one.  The letter was from his utility provider.  They had called him, so the letter was now junk.  The other envelope was colored green and was speckled with blue triangles.  Blaker stared questionably at it.  He opened it and read the message inside:

 

Dear recipient:

You have been chosen to help the environment!  You are a member of mother Earth, and you must respect her by saving energy, water, and reducing purchases.  You can save money by doing it to!  Anything that is not recycled goes directly to a landfill...

 

            Blaker attention span had stopped at the word “have” and he proceeded to the trash bin.  It was a brochure telling people how to save the planet, and Blaker was not interested at all.  “I hate junk mail,” he said, throwing the letters into the trash bin.

            “What was that one about anyway?” Rachael asked, pointing to the environmental letter.

            “Don’t be rude.  Do you ask everyone what they get in the mail?” He questioned her, glaring, but then answered her question anyway.  “It was about saving the planet, and using less.  Stuff I really don’t care about.”

            “Well, that doesn’t seem like junk to me.  That is important and you’re throwing it away,” she said defending.

            “Oh, it’s junk alright.  I’ve the money to buy what I want, when I want, so no one’s going to tell me otherwise,” he gloated.

            Rachael just frowned.  “I need to get back to work.”

            “Yeah, whatever,” he said getting back to his own work.  He started down the corridor to his office.  He punched in, sat down in his leather chair, logged onto the computer network, and went to work.

            As of late, his assignment was to fix a series of security flaws in the company’s web browser.     Hours passed as Blaker worked hard.  Anyone that came to him for his approval was sent away with an answer quick and efficiently.  There was no snags in his division today.  So after a large work session, Blaker decided to get some food.  After eating, he came back to his desk and worked for another couple of hours but was still unable to get to a major breaking point.  He was annoyed because now he will have to go home and work on the patch on his personal computer.

            Tomorrow was Thursday and he had not started on the report for work yet.  He could just predict all of the stress he would experience this weekend, but if he got that promotion, all of the stress would be worth it.

            After Blaker got home, he moved to his office at home.  He was really tired looking at that boring, old work monitor, so his desktop would be a welcomed change.  He sat heavily into his personal chair.  He flipped on his computer and watched it boot up.  When the operating system was fully running, he started to work on the patch.  He wanted to get to that breaking point before he started on his company report.

              Blaker suddenly felt very motivated.  He realized it was impossible for him not to receive that promotion.  This is what must have been giving him the motiviation.  He was the best programmer they had and his division under his management could complete a major patch in a one or two weeks.  The company has to see that he being an executive would only just further the company.  He put on a large smile and began to vigorously type.

 

 

            “This report will tell the executives how efficiently my division can produce patches,” Blaker thought confidently.  “Then I’ll be able to expand the house.  How couldn’t I get this promotion?”  He labored on the program late into the dead hours of the night.  He arrived at a stopping point.  He saved, closed the program, shut this computer down, and shut off the lights.  His computer was left there in the dark as he headed to bed.

            Blaker slumped into his empty bed at around three in the morning.  He was getting later than he usually spent on work.  He had been meaning to fill his bed with a wife, but with his promotion so close and the report due, it could wait.  Plus he wasn’t on friendly terms with anyone, and that made it very difficult.

            After thinking to himself for five minutes, he dozed off into a very restless sleep.  The only thing he could only think about was all the things that would occur this weekend.  First, he needed to get both the utility and the house bills out of the way.  He had missed a few house payments lately, enough where he was in dept with them, but not too many.  He could obliviously still live in his house.  He would be receiving his pay tomorrow, so Blaker wanted to take care of that tomorrow.  Second, the company report needs to be in by Friday.  He planned on working on it tomorrow.  Hopefully, he would not have to think that hard on it.  He did have a lot of ideas about the different components of the speech.  He could put them together easily and quickly.  With this promotion he would make his house bigger.  Just then, he realized he hated the small amount of money he made.  He remembered dreaming that emotion in the mourning.  He remembered that he needed this promotion, or else he would lose it all, or he would have to sell it.  “No, no, no, no, I will never sell it, ever,” he remembered that semi-conscious thought.  “No, I would have to be dragged from my house.  I would have to be dragged, forced, seized.  Whatever!  I will never, ever sell this house!”

            He remembered no more, as the heavy sleep silenced his thoughts.

 

            Getting out of bed the next day proved to be a challenging task.  Blaker’s restless night caused him to be weary and tired.  Rational thought was difficult.  After a little coffee, he felt better.  He washed up, got dressed in one of his business blazers, got in his car, and drove off to work.

            After arriving to his office, more mail was waiting for him.  The envelopes consisted of company letters and two letters from his loan providers and his utility company.  They both gave concerns about his dept and another deadline to get his bills paid.  He promptly threw them away, not reading the deadline date.  After, he went and received his paycheck.  The hefty amount would surely pay the bills.  He tucked the envelope away in his pocket.  He would stop at the bank after work.  He then went back to his desk, and started working on another one of his department’s projects.  Throughout the day, he made great progress on it, but nevertheless was relieved when his lunch break came.  He moved to the break room and started to eat.

            After he was done, he placed all of his plastic containers into the brown bag he had carried them in, and threw them into one of the trash bins.  He went back to his cubical, but paused when he noticed his boss, Mike Freed, in the cubical down the aisle.  Blaker was curious on why Freed was at the cubicle.  After a brief period, he decided to ignore Freed’s presence, and moved to his cubicle.

            Either of them got along, however, Freed, in spite of his disliking of Blaker, gave Blaker a certain respect in which Blaker returned.  This respect kept each of them out of each other’s face and allowed them to work side by side if ever needed.  This respect did have boundaries that Blaker was cautious enough not to cross.  Even though Blaker had been cautious about the line, this line was recently destroyed and violated by Freed.  Blaker and Freed were increasingly becoming enemies.  This was suffering Blaker’s performance.  Blaker knew this and only hoped it was affecting Mr. Freed.

            A few minutes later Blaker heard a voice coming from his cubical entrance.  "So Mr. Blaker, how are you doing?"

            Blaker turned to stare right into the face of Freed.  Freed was supporting himself on the cubical frame.  “I hope you know that I’m looking forward to your report.  You’re one of our valued employees," he said, releasing the hold on the frame, and moving into the cubical.  To placed his stance right in front of Blaker.  Blaker, nervous by his boss’s presence, finally started to relax.  A smile came to Blaker’s face.  His enemy was bowing to him.  Freed actually complimented him and Blaker was hoping for more compliments when Freed continued.

            “Also, Mr. Blaker, we’re going to use this report to see where all of our employees stand.  Like how much they contribute.  So the board can look at possible salary increases,” he said, leaning over the desk to look at Blaker’s screen.  “This is one important report.”

            "Yes, I know sir,” Blaker said harshly, pushing Freed’s hands off his desk.  “You can count on me, remember?  Who was the one that produced that plug-in that… well… you couldn‘t figure out how to produce?"

            "Well, even with that fact, Mr. Blaker, I’ve been seeing a slump in the quality of your work.  You‘re slipping pal," he said, adding in a cold tone and a hard stare.  “And I’m going to see that fall.”

            "What did you just say!  What‘s that supposed to mean!"  Blaker said, standing up.

            A scorn crossed Freed’s face.  "Your work is coming in as garbage.  I know, because they told me to tell you.  There have been very large and noticeable flaws.  Even though you are getting your work done, you seem to not show the same... how can I say it... greatness?  Intelligence?  There is going to be a downsizing, and you need to show the company that you’re worth something or I’ll make sure they’ll throw you out of here and never let you get another job in this business.  Don't screw with me.  I hold your salary in the palm of my hands and I‘ll just crush it along with you any day.”  Freed turned around, and promptly left.  He left with a smile of victory, just like a predator that just finished off his prey.  Freed moved into the hallway and disappeared into the workers.  That would be the last time Blaker saw him that day.

            Blaker had no idea what to do.  Freed was right.  Blaker had difficulty admitting it, but he was right.  “How could he have won this easily,” Blaker thought, getting angry and worried.  “I thought there was going to be a promotion for me, but now it seems I‘m going to lose my job."  He looked at his computer screen.  It took him a minute or two to start working again.  This time he started to work as hard as he could, desperately trying to regain anything he could.  Maybe he could still get that promotion if his supervisors were still looking.

           

 

 

            Blaker came out of his cubical and prepared to leave.  He was still upset and worried over Mr. Freed‘s statements.  He emerged in the lobby and walked to his car.  He sat inside his car for a while.  He pondered over what he will do.  After coming to no conclusion, he started up the car, and exited the parking lot.  He was to occupied by his frustration that he drove straight home.  He would enjoy the peaceful time at home and would get time to blow off some steam.

            Arriving home, Blaker deposited everything work related onto one of his tables.  He moved into his T.V. room and watched one of his DVDs.  The movie cooled him off a little, but he was still perplexed why Mr. Freed would have said something so harsh and ignorant.

            "God, how could he have even thought of saying that?" He thought to himself.  “I’m one of his best employees,” he continued, closing his eyes in an attempt to release his anger.  "I really hate him.  I hate him with a passion.  But, if I get my promotion, then my boss would change.  People say that the main programmer's boss is reasonable, and knew talent when he saw it.  Then I would not have to deal with that loser.  Then, I would be able to get the money I ne-.”

            He opened his eyes in shear terror.

            "The bank!  Oh, shit!  I forgot to get the bills in!" He screamed.  He ran to his bedroom, pulled out the clothes he wore that day, and retrieved the envelope.  He then rushed to his car.  What seemed like an eternity, he pulled into the bank's parking lot.

            Blaker ran up to the front door.  The bank was still open, much to his relief.  Once he had the money, he rushed home, and called up his utility providers.

            The utility people were mad, but understanding.  He had made enough money to pay off his late payment and his next payment.  Blaker blew a sign of relief when they told him the money was in.  Blaker smiled an over exuberant smile as he left their office.

            He felt refreshed as he went to his car.  "Well,” he thought to himself, “now I better start my report.  It’ll probably take about an hour to finish.”

            After seven hours of working, Blaker was getting way too tired to even work.  He had drunk all coffee in his house and there was no way for him to get more.  No matter how tired he was, he was making progress on it though.  He had already written about seven paragraphs and was making it all come together.  He was going to show everyone at work just how great of an employee he was.

            He was going to show Mr. Freed that if Blaker left his division, they would be nothing.  Blaker typed furiously at his report.  He was typing on about how hard and dedicated he can work and how much he has worked in the past.

            Blaker’s mind soon thought over his paper.  Blaker decided that his paper needed revisions.  His rationale about the revisions were that if he told the company that the division would fall apart with out him, then the company would decide that Blaker should stay in his division.  Thus, he would get no promotion.  With this possibility in mind, he decided to revise his strategy.

            After a half an hour of revising, Blaker found that his paper was getting better and better.  His paper was more to his liking every time he read it.  Every time he read it, he placed himself in the audience’s mentality, and found that they would not overlook the examples that he had brought up.  This promotion was in the bag for Blaker.  He knew it was.  So he gloated about it, even though there was no one around to see.  Upon his face, a large smile had formed as well.

            He just needed to save his report and all his hard work would finally end.  Blaker loved the fact that his report was complete.  The finishing of his report took off a terrible stress on his shoulders.  With his stress gone Blaker spun around his chair as he sighed heavily.

            Blaker eyed the clock as he spun around and found that he would get a least three hours of sleep when he hit his bed.  He laughed silently.  He had not a care in the world.  So when he slowed his turning to halt in front of his monitor, his smile was in full force. 

            Then his monitor went black.

            Blaker smiled still.  However, his eyes said something completely different.  He tried to turn the monitor back on.  It did not turn on.  He checked the power cord.  The cord was fully in the socket.  He looked at his computer.  His computer was strangely quiet.  No fans were whirling inside.  There was no clicking of the hard drive.  He pressed his ear against the case.  No, there were no fans whirling inside.  His computer was off.

            Blaker’s smile faded.  He had not saved his work.

            Blaker moved himself from under his desk to his chair.  The fact that was slow to get at Blaker was now accepted.  His computer crashed for some reason.  That reason was also beyond his control.  Even so, for some reason, Blaker felt calm.  He just felt empty inside, like someone who just accepted his destiny.

            Someone started to bubble up inside of Blaker.  He noticed this bubbling and did nothing to stop it.  When the feeling hit him, his calm was quickly broken.  His monitor was shattered across the floor before he decided destroying things would not help him.

            He decided to go to bed.  "Screw work, screw everything," he thought.  He walked slowly to his stairs to his large window.  He looked out, only to find light shining in.  It was from a street light.

            He cursed in awe.  There was power to the lamp, but no power to his house.  He had to check the light switch just to find out.  He looked back at the streetlight, and then back at his neighbor’s house.  It had a faint glow coming from it.  It was a digital clock by the window.  He cursed again, louder.  He was puzzled about this weird phenomenon.

            Then he became intensely furious with himself.  They cut my power!  He grabbed his phone.  He was swearing aloud and repeatedly.  He lifted it to his ear to find that there was no power to it, no phone line, no power, nothing.

            That is when he gave up.  He was thinking only about his job when he tried to sleep in his bed.  The house was even more dark than usual.

            He could not sleep.  What would he do?  He has no family that will take him.  He was pretty much their enemy.  They did not love him, but were envious of him.  If they found out about his mistake, it would wreck him.  This was a guaranteed bad day.

 

            The next day, he made a special effort to make his report on the way to work.  About three paragraphs into it, he realized his efforts were hopeless, and he that he would be fired.  He did not drink any coffee, so he was having trouble even making coherent sentences.  He barely made it to the assembly were each employee in the division would present their report.  He got it right when the people were sitting down.  Maybe he could use some of the other people speeches to stumble his way through his own.

            That was impossible, as everyone was talking so fast to him.  He blamed his lack of sleep.  He had trouble making out the point of each person’s speech and even more trouble picking out useful lines he could use himself.  Even though they were talking normally, his lack of sleep last night and even this whole week made it seem there were going a mile a minute.

            He cringed as the people clapped after each presentation.  It was like gunfire, loud and repetitive.  He even had the nerve to stop the people next to him.  They gave him weird looks and cruel words as he grabbed their hands.  He hated this day, and he probably always will.

            He felt tears come to his eyes as the name Chad Blaker was called.  He stalled a little, until Mr. Freed told him to "quit clowning around, and give your damn speech."  Blaker slowly walked up to the podium.

            He cleared his throat, and launched in the worst speech he would ever give.  It started with a strong introduction, but soon became a pause-ridden joke of a speech.  His suck-up paragraph came way sooner than he planned it, and made it kind of an I-am-sorry-that-I-didn't-do-this-speech speech.

            The people in the crowd were no help in letting up or concealing their amazement of how badly prepared and even delivered report.  Later, after the catastrophe, they claimed that he would be known as the skipping-record.  They rumored that the format was so off the wall, they claimed he must have placed random phrases in a hat, picked them out randomly, and used the order picked for his speech.  He was the laughing stock of the entire company.

            Even though some of the other speeches could have competed for the ill-prepared title, his respect and reputation made it ten times as worst.  When you are the top programmer for an important branch, you are watched on constantly be the others.  If you made a mistake, it would be known for all time.  Competition in this field was razor sharp, and could cut through the armor of big business executives when you are out on top.  On the bottom, you clean up the mess the top people dropped down for you.

            Blaker did not exit the refuge of the bathroom for about three hours.  He was acting childish, he knew that, but that is what he could only do.  He did not like it, but it was better than being out there where people were rated on efficiency and profit gained.  In here, it was like his warm cozy home.

            After closing time, he waited till the janitors cleaned the place.  He went to his desk, where sat a letter.  It was from the executives.  It was the closing statement for him.  It was like he was cut from air.  He opened it, and found what he expected.  Fired.  Plain and simply put.  They sugar coated it a little, but not much.

            He opened the door to a powerless home, hours after what he would have usually got home at.  All he could do was cry.  He had used some of his money to call a bankruptcy, but since of the bad credit and very late payments, they did not accept him.  None of the lowest of the unions could help him.  He had done this on himself.  The only thing he tried that lead somewhere was a money loan that claimed it would not say no to anyone.  Well, they made an exception.  They were part of an environmental pact, and they pulled up some data, and found recycled the least in a five-mile area.  He also used the most energy in the block, and used water like it was endless supply.  At least, that is what they told him.  He was rejected until he could use less.  Well, since he had to home to really use any anyway.

            He was crying.  He cried for a long time.

            He had built an empire, a castle in which he could live in.  He was going to put a family in it.  Not anymore.  How could he be so stupid and selfish?  How could have he even not realize it?  He was an idiot.  A complete and utter idiot.

 

            Blaker had to sell everything to pay off his depts.  He tried to get a job, but there was nothing to be found.  He had to sell his car, live in the cheapest apartment in town, and eat very little.  After a while, he luckily stumbled into a fast food job.

            He did keep his painting of the orphan.  He thought he finally understood it.  Blaker himself was carrying the world in his hand, but no money in the other.  He had also cried.

            His shift ended one day after he had been thinking about the painting all day.  He started to walk home.  His car was currently out of gas.

            A few blocks from his work, a little homeless girl stopped him.

            "Mister, do you have any money to spare?"

            Blaker looked hard into the kid’s eyes.  He saw loneliness, but not emptiness.  "Sorry, kid, but I lost my money.  But here, I do have this."  He handed her a dollar worth of change.

            "Thanks."

            "I know it is not enough, but I hope it helps."

            "It will help a lot," she said softly.

            Her reaction surprised Blaker.  "How will one dollar help a lot?"

            "How what?  Mister, I have something to say to you.  Maybe it’ll help explain it more," she said, gesturing for him to lean down.  He did so and presented his right ear.

            "Why doesn't the world just use less and save, than just make more?"

            Blaker stood back up and analyzed the message.  He thought back to his painting.  He finally understood its meaning.  The meaning had not been hidden in the painting.  It was just a future glimpse.

            To this, Blaker just said one word.  “Huh.”