Office clock

01
Water always goes downstream.

02

On a hot summer afternoon, inside a California company office, a man paced from one side to the other, twirling his pen between his fingers and occasionally glancing out the window at the parking lot as he passed it by.

The man was tall and thin, his pants grooved and damp from sitting all day. He thought about how good he was at his job, finishing his work early every day of the week. Usually, he would sit in his chair and twirl his pen there, but that was something he did out of a lack of self-confidence.

Since the boss had let everyone go home early today, he should pace back and forth until his shift ended. He would pace until it ended, and whatever he did—no matter how much he craved it—he would not look at the clock.

Looking at the clock made time slow.

So he wouldn’t look at the clock for any reason. If he did, the wave function would collapse, and the hands would land in a random position—usually the one you didn’t want. When you looked at a clock, one minute stretched into five.

He darted his mind in all directions to keep it away from the clock.

There was an eerie silence in the office, broken only by the echoing taps of his leather shoes. He scratched his face, realizing he had forgotten to shave that morning.

I didn’t shave?

He also couldn’t remember what he had eaten for lunch. He knew Wendy’s was closed that day, but somehow a Wendy’s cup sat on his desk, still half full of soda.

...

The days. They melted. They fused.

The man took a deep breath and planted his feet firmly on the ground.

“Right!” he said.

He closed his eyes and focused his mind, imagining what he would do next. His thoughts were simple: he would jump into the new game he had bought yesterday—a new installment in his favorite series. He thought about the smell of the box, the satisfying feel of peeling off the plastic, cracking it open, and popping it into the console to play all night.

He opened his eyes sharply and shot his gaze directly at the clock.

Tik, tok, tik, tok, tik, tok.

04:59 PM

...

05:00 PM!!!!

He rushed to grab his bag from his desk, thrusting his hand inside to pull out a binder filled with documents.

He took the bag and left the office.

He stopped in front of her office.

The office with the name on the frosted glass. Painted there was her name, the woman’s name. It rang in his head, bouncing around like a ping-pong ball.

He adjusted his tie and tucked in his shirt.

Now was the time.

He had a script and a plan.

He clenched his buttocks as he raised his hand, just as he was about to knock confidently. The handle jolted, and he immediately dropped his arm to his side.

“...”
“...”

The woman, with narrow, dagger-like eyes, saw a chest in front of her door and promptly looked up to see his face.

“...”
“...”

She examined him like a soldier under military inspection. Her eyes bored into his skull.

She suddenly reached out and touched his chin.

“Forgot to shave?”

The man couldn’t find the courage to speak, so he just nodded.

“You have it?”

He gingerly extended the arm holding the binder. The woman took it, opened it, inspecting every corner.

An awkward silence stretched until she spoke:

“You can leave—no—”
“...”
“...”
“...”

She scanned him once more, head to toe, suspicion in her gaze. Finally satisfied, she nodded.

“You’re free to go.”

“Y—Yes,” the man managed to say as she slowly closed her office door. The click confirmed it was fully shut.

Shut.

The footsteps faded. When he could hear drawers opening and closing, pens scratching on paper, he knew this day would melt into the others.

The reason he knew this was because this day has repeats itself.