It wasn't until I heard the rapid knocking on the wooden desk surface that I could cut short my daydreaming. Her single fold lid eyes which made 29's face look drowsy all the time and her milky Asian hand still on a fist caught my attention for a couple of seconds more.
-"Are you ok?" she whispered . "I called your number at least five times, are you sure you're fine?" she insisted.
-"yeah, I am. Sorry, I was just thinking about this afternoon's reunion" I persuasively lied. "something you need 29?"
-"no, leave it, we will look at it after the meeting" she concluded showing me that messy smile of hers. Those teeth seemed to have had a terrible argument and now every single one was heading a different way. In spite of that, I still thought of that chaos as a very cute one.
Do you ever think about that? I don't mean your numbered colleagues' sleepy eyes, their soft hands or disorganized dentition. I mean chaos. Early in the morning with plenty of time to kill, I ask myself; what if there was an earthquake right now? It happens to me all the time , particularly during the hot season. I get drown in my pool of thoughts and always need some kind of fleshy lifesaver to pull me out. The cacophony that reigns this place cramped with more than 70 numbers obliges me to escape, if I don't do it this way, what else do I have to keep my sanity?
-"Have you been able to end the report for this afternoon 13?" the astounding pair of legs, a decent torso crowned with an average face that constitutes 32 asked me in a serious, still extremely kind voice.
-"I'll mail it to you right away 32, with all the attachments. Sorry for taking so long" I apologized, something I have to do around 200 times a day in this place.
-"That is ok, I was just wondering if you needed a hand with that" 32 said with a wink. What a
phoney.
Why don’t people let their mind fly? That long report, the next meeting, the final appointment, the long mail, the irritating phone call. Are we saving lives or changing the world by doing all this? I kept wondering while sipping a cup of tasteless, sugarless, charmless dark cup of coffee. "Why don't they?” the question kept spinning "And what if a plane crashed into the building now?"
Lunch time, the herd in its full rushing out the office at the exact same minute it did the day before. It is as the hard-working employees' minds were programmed to do so (Aren't they?); to chatter down the hall only to become absurdly mute the moment they ride on the also packed elevators. As the doors of those up-down going boxes slided open at the top floor where I work, I couldn't help but thinking this time it would definitely fall crushing us all.
Once in the lobby, all employees are required to go through the big crystal main gate in order to get their strongly desired lunchboxes in exchange of a couple of coins. Before I crossed the portal I noticed that the EXIT sign on top of the transparent door has a little green man running desperately towards an open door. Had they decided to make the man green in order to be politically correct toward the white, black, yellow and brown human numbers who inhabited this building? Even so, it was obvious that something was going to happen sooner or later, otherwise why would he be running so desperately.
Once I found a place in the cafeteria, and without having really intended to do so, I started checking everyone's lunch. What 71 chewed looked like greasy pork chop, 45 looked delighted with her thick noodle soup and 15 washed down her sandwich with a cold soda. My life or death mission got interrupted by 29's messy toothed mouth saying "Do you mind if I sit here 13?” which I, against myself, just acknowledged with a fast nod and the fakest of smiles. As all those sets of jaws, teeth and tongues did their work in an almost ridiculous rhythmical way, the fact that nobody had ever tried to poison all those lunchboxes just struck me as unbelievable. This lack of imagination was going to be the doom of the human numbers.
Once back in the office, I keep it up with the thinking; I would love to enter into each one of their heads, one at a time and figure out what the heck they think of the 9 hours they pose their buttocks on that uncomfortable chair. Dreams, illusions, plans, ideas, projects, some number in particular who means all for them or the one they would like to give this meaning to but has not shown up in their lives yet. That quick lunch normally inflates my belly like a ripe watermellon and makes me feel as heavy as if I had swollen a ton of pebbles. Does it happen to you as well?
The meeting went as expected; boring and meaningless, without a single important decision taken, leaded as usual in a mediocre way by 1 who was always checking 2's and 3's faces after every sentence looking for approval. I couldn't decide which one of them I respected the less. How come, one of the numbers had never gotten tired of all the nonsense discussed here, grabbed his guts and a sharp (or blunt?) object and got rid of as many of us as she or he could?
The boredom in the last minutes of the afternoon became less bearable since the heat got worse. I could feel the droplets of sweat dancing all over my skin, getting me drenched, opening the door to that acrid smell. Time to go back home though. I took my stuff, waved goodbye to 29, 28 and 27 who all sit next to each other in the same row and ignored their choral "bye" while I stepped out. Going back to the station I knew my last hope was to have some kind of misalignment, human error, obstruction or attack that caused a terrible derailment costing many lives, although this was not going to happen either; luck, once again, had not been nice to me today. What about you?
-"Are you ok?" she whispered . "I called your number at least five times, are you sure you're fine?" she insisted.
-"yeah, I am. Sorry, I was just thinking about this afternoon's reunion" I persuasively lied. "something you need 29?"
-"no, leave it, we will look at it after the meeting" she concluded showing me that messy smile of hers. Those teeth seemed to have had a terrible argument and now every single one was heading a different way. In spite of that, I still thought of that chaos as a very cute one.
Do you ever think about that? I don't mean your numbered colleagues' sleepy eyes, their soft hands or disorganized dentition. I mean chaos. Early in the morning with plenty of time to kill, I ask myself; what if there was an earthquake right now? It happens to me all the time , particularly during the hot season. I get drown in my pool of thoughts and always need some kind of fleshy lifesaver to pull me out. The cacophony that reigns this place cramped with more than 70 numbers obliges me to escape, if I don't do it this way, what else do I have to keep my sanity?
-"Have you been able to end the report for this afternoon 13?" the astounding pair of legs, a decent torso crowned with an average face that constitutes 32 asked me in a serious, still extremely kind voice.
-"I'll mail it to you right away 32, with all the attachments. Sorry for taking so long" I apologized, something I have to do around 200 times a day in this place.
-"That is ok, I was just wondering if you needed a hand with that" 32 said with a wink. What a
phoney.
Why don’t people let their mind fly? That long report, the next meeting, the final appointment, the long mail, the irritating phone call. Are we saving lives or changing the world by doing all this? I kept wondering while sipping a cup of tasteless, sugarless, charmless dark cup of coffee. "Why don't they?” the question kept spinning "And what if a plane crashed into the building now?"
Lunch time, the herd in its full rushing out the office at the exact same minute it did the day before. It is as the hard-working employees' minds were programmed to do so (Aren't they?); to chatter down the hall only to become absurdly mute the moment they ride on the also packed elevators. As the doors of those up-down going boxes slided open at the top floor where I work, I couldn't help but thinking this time it would definitely fall crushing us all.
Once in the lobby, all employees are required to go through the big crystal main gate in order to get their strongly desired lunchboxes in exchange of a couple of coins. Before I crossed the portal I noticed that the EXIT sign on top of the transparent door has a little green man running desperately towards an open door. Had they decided to make the man green in order to be politically correct toward the white, black, yellow and brown human numbers who inhabited this building? Even so, it was obvious that something was going to happen sooner or later, otherwise why would he be running so desperately.
Once I found a place in the cafeteria, and without having really intended to do so, I started checking everyone's lunch. What 71 chewed looked like greasy pork chop, 45 looked delighted with her thick noodle soup and 15 washed down her sandwich with a cold soda. My life or death mission got interrupted by 29's messy toothed mouth saying "Do you mind if I sit here 13?” which I, against myself, just acknowledged with a fast nod and the fakest of smiles. As all those sets of jaws, teeth and tongues did their work in an almost ridiculous rhythmical way, the fact that nobody had ever tried to poison all those lunchboxes just struck me as unbelievable. This lack of imagination was going to be the doom of the human numbers.
Once back in the office, I keep it up with the thinking; I would love to enter into each one of their heads, one at a time and figure out what the heck they think of the 9 hours they pose their buttocks on that uncomfortable chair. Dreams, illusions, plans, ideas, projects, some number in particular who means all for them or the one they would like to give this meaning to but has not shown up in their lives yet. That quick lunch normally inflates my belly like a ripe watermellon and makes me feel as heavy as if I had swollen a ton of pebbles. Does it happen to you as well?
The meeting went as expected; boring and meaningless, without a single important decision taken, leaded as usual in a mediocre way by 1 who was always checking 2's and 3's faces after every sentence looking for approval. I couldn't decide which one of them I respected the less. How come, one of the numbers had never gotten tired of all the nonsense discussed here, grabbed his guts and a sharp (or blunt?) object and got rid of as many of us as she or he could?
The boredom in the last minutes of the afternoon became less bearable since the heat got worse. I could feel the droplets of sweat dancing all over my skin, getting me drenched, opening the door to that acrid smell. Time to go back home though. I took my stuff, waved goodbye to 29, 28 and 27 who all sit next to each other in the same row and ignored their choral "bye" while I stepped out. Going back to the station I knew my last hope was to have some kind of misalignment, human error, obstruction or attack that caused a terrible derailment costing many lives, although this was not going to happen either; luck, once again, had not been nice to me today. What about you?
