The crowds
all keep rushing by, on their way here and there like ants in a colony. A few
of them even acknowledge each other as they pass, but it’s a rare occurrence.
And there I stand here, still, being knocked this way and that as everyone
churned forward to their workplaces.
What am
I even doing? Hoping for some sort of human interaction, I guess. I saw a few
of them glace at me where I stand, wearing my long raggedy coat and hat. It was
only ever like this at rush-hour, so it made sense that I came here now, but as
for why, well, that was a different
kettle of fish. It’s difficult to say exactly why, except for perhaps the idea
that someone might bump into me, to have a conversation. Even if someone just
asked what I was up to, that would’ve done. But no, nothing.
At that
moment, a bell chimes above. Eight-fourty-five. I should get a move on, I can’t
be late for my meaningless filing. I let the tide of the crowd pull me toward
my office-block, a mediocre looking building with grey walls, blue halls and
the smell of paint and coffee. Recently
they even put some cheese-plants in to make the place look vaguely more accessible,
but nothing says I love my work like plasticesque indoor foliage.
I
climbed the stairs to my little cube, not a single response from any of my
so-called co-workers. Tapping keyboards, phones ringing and the occasional
screech of our crappy wheeled chairs scraping across the plastic linoleum. This
place is a little slice of purgatory. Not bad enough to be hell; but balancing
on a knife-edge between acceptable and abysmal. I can’t even fathom what half
of my job is as I sit down and start
booting up Excel and Word and another thing for accounts, and a proxy so I can
still see half the internet while I’m on my break.
There’s
no joy as my day flits by, another eight hours of clicks and numbers and tired
eyes. I didn’t even bother standing in the crowds to gain something. I stop at
a Tesco on the way home and buy some macaroni and cheese, but I don’t even
really like it, let alone love it. The only thing I can think is that she’ll be home and awake by now. Then again, she does
like to nap.
I catch
a packed bus home, the smell of sweat and smoke on everyone around like smog.
No one enjoys the bus except little kids, and sooner or later they learn
otherwise. I get off, trudge up my driveway and slot a key into the door.
Immediately,
I’m knocked back by the smells of spice and warmth. It’s the antithesis of the
office, all reds and oranges and browns, and from the kitchen she yells “You’re
just in time, lovely, dinner’s almost done.” And then I remember why I’m going
to go through it all again tomorrow.
