Office

Water always goes downstream.

On a hot summer afternoon, inside a California company office, a man paces from one side to the other, twirling his pen in his fingers and occasionally looking out the window down at the parking lot as he passes by.

The man was tall and skinny; his pants were grooved and moist from sitting all day. He thought about how good he was at this job to be able to finish 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 let everyone go home early today, I should pace back and forth until my shift ends. I'll pace until it ends, and whatever I do, no matter how much I crave it, I shall not look at the clock.

Looking at the clock makes time go slow.

So I won't look at the clock for any reason. If I do, wave function collapse is going to take place, and the hands will collapse on a random position—usually the one you don't want.

When you look at a clock, one minute is five minutes.

He darted his brain in all sorts of 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. The man scratched his face; he had forgotten to shave that morning.

I didn't shave?

He noticed also that he couldn't remember what he ate for lunch. He remembered that Wendy's was closed that day, but somehow he had a Wendy's cup on his desk and there was still soda in it.

...

The days. They melt, they fuse.

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

“Right!”

He said.

He closed his eyes and focused his mind. He focused his mind and thought to himself and imagined what he would do next.

His thoughts were simple: he would jump into that new game he bought yesterday, a new installment in his favorite series. He thought about the smell of the box and how good it would feel to peel that plastic off and crack it open, pop that bad boy into the console and play it all night.

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

Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock.

04:59 PM

...

...

...

05:00 PM!!!!

He rushed to grab his bag from his desk. He shot his hand inside and pulled out a binder filled with documents.

He took the bag and left the office.

He stopped in front of THE office.

The office that had a name on the frosted glass. Painted on it was her name—that woman's name. It rang in his head, bounced 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 butt cheeks as he raised his hand. Just as he was about to confidently knock, the handle jolted, and he immediately put his arm down to his side.

“...”

“...”

The woman with her narrow, dagger-like eyes saw a chest in front of her door. She promptly looked up to see the man's face.

“...”

“...”

There, like a soldier in a military inspection—it sure felt like it—as her eyes were dead set on his, as if trying to bore a hole into his skull.

She suddenly reached her hand out and touched the man's chin.

“Forgot to shave?”

The man couldn't find the courage to say anything, so he just nodded.

“You have it?”

With that, the man gingerly extended his arm—the one holding the binder. The woman took it from his hand, opened it, inspecting every corner.

There was an awkward silence until she spoke. “You can leave no—”

“...”

“...”

“...”

The woman took one more scan of the man, up and down, from head to toe, with a suspicious look. After that she seemed satisfied and nodded. “You're free to go.”

“Y—Yes,” the man managed to get out before she slowly closed the door to her office. The click of the door indicated that it was fully shut.

Shut.

And the footsteps grew quieter and quieter, and when he could hear drawers open and close, and pens scratching on paper, he knew that this day would also melt into the others.