Why They Look So Happy

Thank god it's Friday. After the poor St. Johns Wort Kid didn't come back to work yesterday after lunch, I just numbed it all out. That's one thing about this job - anything you need to numb out is usually right in the lunchroom, and if you want something special you can always request it from a junior associate. There are a few forms to fill out, but they're quick and standard, definitely worth it if you want an Oxy or two.

So I am sitting at my desk with that mellow loaded feeling, still able to input data but my mind is a million miles away, walking on the beach (before I knew about THIS place of course - I haven't walked on the beach since I started working here - all I can do is think of the people underneath me working overtime) making a special dinner for a few close friends, after dinner single malt scotch, music, reading in bed late at night.......my eyes were starting to droop slightly and my typing got slower. Jordan leaned over and pretended to grab the stapler, knocking into my chair.

"Peter!" His whisper was ragged. "Look sharp - they're coming in."

Six of the highest staff white coats walked through the double glass doors, their black shoes heavy, gleaming, their thick glasses masking the satisfaction their posture radiated.

"'Ladies and gentlemen," one man announced, "we have implemented a new clocking in system, it is very simple, you will hardly notice it."

He droned on for a bit, and I couldn't help but wonder if it was the oxy and my semi stoned state, but I felt like I had seen this guy before. Understand, this group hardly ever addresses us, it's almost always junior members, and junior junior members we deal with, and half the time they are just a revolving door blur of faces, numbers, testing facts, blah blah blah. I wouldn't know the guy that handed me the disk this morning any more than I'd know you. So you could probably think I was a stoned idiot, of course I would recognize him, he works here. You'd have to work here to understand that no, you don't recognize anyone who works here. I looked at myself in the mirror this morning and didn't have a clue who the dude in the bathroom with me was.

So, this fellow starts calling out names, and people are getting up and forming a line. My name was called, I glanced at Jorden, his face was blank. I must have missed something. I got in line, and once we were all up, the guy flipped open a notebook and pulled out a bright red plastic card, holding it up high, turning it this way and that way.

"Now, we already have the box installed at your home, it is right by the doorbell. Simply clock in when you get home, and clock out when you leave for work in the morning. Then use your normal black clock in card when you get here. Any questions?"

Yes. I have a lot of questions, but they are for the few of us, Jordan, Anacuerva, Sam, Julianne, Renee and Luka. When we go have "drinks" we could talk, but I am getting the distince impression that we are to go straight home. My mind is not processing the full implications of what is going on here.

But my biggest question, the one that keeps looming larger as I step closer and closer to this nameless white coat, is why do I recognize him?

He handed me my card and smiled. It was the same glacial smile from the new platelet guy over a week ago, the one whom I had never seen before.

It was the same guy.

I just stood there, my hand not moving to take the bright red home swipe card.

"Is everything all right," he glanced down at his folder, "Peter? It is Peter, is it not?"

I nodded. "Yes, sir, everything is fine. Going swimmingly, in fact."

He chuckled, it was phlegm-y and horribly unpleasant. I took the card and made my way back to my cubicle.

The day I decided to tune it all out is the day they raised the stakes so high that numb is no longer an option.

Back at my desk Jordan leaned over.

"I've already got a plan, Peter. Don't worry."

I dry swallowed my second Oxy.

Don't worry, I wont.