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It had already reached the seventh hour. It wasn't that time passed more quickly in this place, but that everything all around seemed slower. The wind's howl turned to a soft murmur as the sand of times normally uncontrollable drive to run out slowed to a trickle.
The night sky had turned it's dull amber just as I had risen from a sleep that seemed to last only a moment, and yet by the same token, an eternity. The sand on which I lay was already becoming harsh, like a hibernating beast arising from an age long coma. I knew I would have to move quickly if I was to make it to any sort of shelter before the fire in the sky had reached it's peak. I could faintly see mountains in the distance when I would mount a dune, but they seemed at least a half a day's journey off. I would have to move quickly indeed.
As my pace quickened, the urge for water and food that I had so long suppressed began to well up inside once more. I had hoped to be in the foothills by now, but my loss of direction yesterday set me several hours behind. I felt as though at any time my body would give out, and yet the more this feeling came upon me, the more I pushed myself.
At last, I am starting to see the sand turn to rock, as the towering granite sentinels block some of the brutal rays of the desert sun. As I reach the small boulders that adorn the entrance to this natural labyrinth, I realize that as soon as I wake up, I am going to have to go to my pitiful job at Syntec, where I am a research analyst, which basically adds up to reading about who likes our new lotion toilet paper and bubble gum flavored anti-diarrheal medicine. Anyway, back to the mountain. I begin to traverse the treacherous slope, when all of the sudden I notice the small mountain brook that is trickling down next to me. I bend to fill my parched throat with it's wonderful coolness and... oh, Christ, I haven't pissed myself since I was five years old...
Well I've cleaned up that mess, but now I will undoubtedly be unable to sleep, especially in the wake of my recent water play.Oh well, it's already 4:30, I would have been getting up in two and a half hours anyway. I guess I'll go take a shower. I often find myself wondering what to do in the shower. You know, I wash my hair, body, etc., but it just seems like you go through all the trouble to get naked and all that, there ought to be some greater purpose. Oh well, just one of those things you do, I guess.
Now I suppose I ought to get dressed. Ah, you know what, I think I am just going to strut around naked for a while. Maybe I'll even go to work naked.
I wrestled with the nude work idea for another half hour or so while looking at what used to be my midsection in the full-length mirror I had hung on my ceiling. You would be surprised how much it can freak you out to wake up looking at yourself lying on your ceiling. Anyway, I resolved to scrap the naked thing for today, but if this week keeps going the way it has been, I may keep next Tuesday in mind.
Ah, an idea. I glance at the clock. It's 5:03, so I have plenty of time to fix myself a good breakfast so I can be razor sharp for work today. I look in the cabinet. A half pack of crackers, some mouse poop, and a can of cranberry sauce. Wow. I guess I ought to go to the grocery store. Maybe I'll do it on naked Tuesday.
Ok, lets look in the old...ahhh. Stepped on the cat. As I was saying, to the 'fridge, that long-standing symbol of bovine sexuality. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Guess I ought to quit eating that crap right before bed. Anyway, what do we have here? Some old bologna, some cottage cheese, and for some reason a can of half eaten cat food with a fork in it.I thought I took that fork out of there. Well, I guess its Yummy Fishbits again until I make it to the store. Wow. 6:30 already. Guess I could go ahead and put my shoes on. Ah, well I guess I should get dressed first.
Well, since I didn't go to the laundromat, it looks like I have a choice between the lime green jumpsuit again, or maybe I could spice things up with a little polyester brown. I suppose I'll try the'ester on. Classy, yet sassy, very male, yet very frail, very chic, a little geek, a little... once again, what the hell am I talking about. I am going to go with the polyester, for lack of a better choice, even though if everything I owned were clean the polyester would be the best choice. I don't think that jumpsuit flatters my figure anymore.
Well now that I am dressed, I think I'll go ahead down to the street to wait for Ted. I have carpooled with him since my car got stolen from the carwash a couple of weeks ago. I think I saw my ex-girlfriend driving around in it the other day, but I don't really care, I was going to get a new one anyway. The time on my watch says it's about 7:30, but I don't think it's right, so I'll ask the next person I see. Well my watch was wrong, it is only 7:28. Glad I caught that early on, could have gotten out of hand in a couple years. Oh well, another possible catastrophe averted. So, only another hour left.I think I'll walk down to the magazine stand and buy a magazine or something.
Well the selection is kind of slim today, Knitting Monthly, Readers Digest, and Fish Collector are among the best that I see, but I think Knife Sharpening Today is where my money would be best spent. I suppose I should walk back down to my building now.
I find myself deep in the Amazon jungle. The enemy is all around and my gun has jammed. I feel the fear well up in my stomach, and can see death coming from the corner of my eye. Well, death isn't necessarily coming out of the corner of my eye, but from the corner of my eye I can see death coming. That’s better. As they close in on me I draw my knife and I realize that, to my dismay, it is about as sharp as a sack of crap. Had I only subscribed to Knife Sharpening Today sooner.
Ah, there's Ted. The ride to work is usually pretty uneventful. We go to the ferry, get off, and drive the ten or so more miles to the office. Today, however, Ted has taken a different route. I am starting to wonder. I want to ask what's going on, but if he is about to go off the edge, I don't want to give him the final shove. It's driving me crazy. Where the hell is he taking me. I am just a pawn in this game, and can do nothing at the hands of this madman, helpless to do anything as I see my existence spiraling to a black oblivion that is not only dark but smells like one of those deodorizer cakes in a bathroom urinal. I am at wits end. I have to know where my fate lies. I grab the wheel and jerk it to the right. Immediately, Ted slams on the brakes. Ah that rogue. He is a wily devil, able to counteract my every move.
"What the hell are you doing?"
A good question. Apparently Teddy boy sees that my intellect is indeed a match for his and decides that the only way to weasel his way out of this one is to play the innocent little bald man card. I tell him that I am on to his little plan. He looks at me like a smitten puppy.
"What in the name of God are you talking about.The damn ferry is closed today. We have to go downtown and use the bridge. Get out of my car!"
Well talk about overreaction. Hell, I could fix that fender with a plunger and a can of shoe polish. Oh well, guess that ends that little arrangement. Oh yeah, and some duct tape. No matter what kind of job you are going to do, it always helps to have a roll of duct tape handy. Better get to the subway, already half past eight and still at least 7 minutes away from the office. But, as my little experience just proved, you can never be too cautious. At least I escaped this time. Who knows, I might get struck by holy lightning while I sit on the crapper at work during the morning ritual.
You know, I am always amazed at how people have no idea what they are saying when they make advertisements. Take for instance car sales. They always have those signs and ads that say, "Come in today for "great" deals". Do they not realize that the message they convey to a learned man such as myself is "come in today to get screwed!" Well, now that that is off my chest I can relax on the ride to work.
Ahh, how I enjoy a nice ride on the subway. So many friendly and selfless people trying to do good things for no reason at all. Like the small bald man sitting next to that tired cocktail waitress over there. After a hard night's work, she has dozed off. He, quite selflessly, I might add, has begun giving her a pectoral massage. When she wakes up her chest will feel lovely and refreshed, and she won't even know whom to thank for this miracle. See, the world isn't all bad.
Wow. 8:36. Hope the train hurries up. I would hate to be late for my lovely job. I always look forward to a fresh day of gag reflexes and nausea. Oh well, I guess you can't have everything.
At last, the train has arrived at the station. As the cocktail waitress roused from her slumber, she noticed that the top three buttons of her shirt were undone. She may be confused now, but once reality sets in, she'll notice the sheer joy of the comfort radiating from her bosom.
As I exit the subway station, I begin to wonder where the hell I am. I see lots of buildings, so at least I know I am downtown. I think. Oh wait; hell there is my apartment building.
Whatever. I have to hurry and get to the office. I hop back on an empty car at the front of the subway, and lean my head on the glass. 8:43. Only seventeen minutes till show time. Going to dazzle them again today, you old dog you. I exit the subway station, again, and this time recognize the building a block or so down.
One of my favorite things about going to work is the elaborate security they have in the lobby. This guy named Darryl sits behind a little counter over in the corner and watches the lobby, which he can see anyway, on a hidden camera. The camera by the way, is "hidden behind a little plant on his counter. Anyway, he seems to forget who I am from day to day, so he has to stop me, frisk me, and call one of the higher-ups to get clearance for me to come in. They unfailingly say yes, which is no surprise to me due to the fact that my opinion is a valued commodity of this company.
Now it's on to the elevator, where Stan inevitably farts every morning, and everyone gravitates to the other side. He doesn't seem to mind, judging from the smirk on his face. I hit the third floor button, and almost as if God is laughing at me, the elevator jolts to a stop. Hooray. Of course, the chorus of "Ahhh"'s that arises is nearly deafening. Stan reaches over and hits the button. This will, of course, signal the ever vigil Daryl to our predicament. Well, I guess he did help clear up the burrito incident in accounting, so maybe he can handle this.
As I thought, Stan has let loose one of his "children" to reek it's nasal havoc. Hallelujah. How could I be blessed this much. Well, Stan, we'll see who is laughing on Naked Tuesday. I wonder how Daryl is going to react to my rippling chest and firm buttocks. What? What the hell has that got to do with anything. Oh well, I guess that cat food is starting to kick in. Better go with the chicken kind next time, it has a lower percent of catnip by volume.
I hear the scratching at the door. Could this be a hell-creature coming to take my soul back to its fiery den for a feast of the flesh... Nope, just Darryl. I guess he is a little more competent than I give him credit for. Then again, maybe not.
Well, I guess we'll be taking the stairs today. Oh well, I can use the exercise anyway.
Finding my desk is always fun. About once a month they decide that they need the space I occupy, so I am perpetually being moved. Oh well, it kind of spices things up. There's Carla. At least seventeen fake tigers have to be skinned every week so she can be outfitted in those pants. Oh well, I guess it could be worse. She could dress like Erin, who wears the same flowered skirt and blue shirt every Monday. Then on Tuesday, it's the red shirt with the black pants, and then, well, you get the picture.
Work is always an adventure for me. They have a conspiracy of sorts against of me. Every time I go into the break room, I see this one guy. I think he waits for me. Every time he sees me, he flips out a little notebook and jots down a few notes. Then he gets up and walks out. Without fail. Then he goes over to Carla's desk, and they go over what he wrote, and seem to smirk and snicker. I know this because I followed him before. It was dangerous, but I had to know where he was going with his information. Was it my keen fashion sense that they were monitoring? Remember, I am wearing the polyester today. Could it be that they are part of a secret society of that monitors snack intake for the FDA. I am going to have to find out what they are writing.
I sneak up behind her desk. They turn around, but using my training from the "academy", I avert their gaze to the left with a small explosion. Okay, so it's a paperclip, but in my line of work you have to use what you've got. The distraction gives me the time I needed. I jump to my feet and peer over the edge of the cubicle. I bend over it slightly to get a better view. Ah, now were getting somewhere. The screen says...hell, my pen fell out of my pocket. I'll have to come back another day to crack this one.
Quickly I make my way back to my desk, careful not to be followed. Now I have to sift through a stack of papers.
But as my comrade steps forward, he trips the trigger on the bouncing Betty. I hit the dirt in time and cover my head with my coat. The shrapnel rains down on me, not only ripping flesh but also searing it. The time of my youth has passed, now I have been thrust onto the stage of adulthood with neither a script nor a director. It is an evening at the improv, and the consolation prize is death. Seeing my entire platoon die was a sobering event and has not left me...what the hell am I thinking that for? I think I need to go to a therapist. Oh well, I guess everyone has an episode of post-traumatic stress syndrome from time to time, even if they have never been through anything more traumatic than having their pants ripped off of them in front of an entire high school assembly. That never happened to me either, I am just saying that that would probably suck.
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