Arrow Rock Literary Journal

I adjust my glasses, ready to head out. I finished up my report on last month’s sales on staplers yesterday and am relieved to finally have completed it. With a final sip of my coffee, I am out the door. Since I live close to work, I decide to walk there, letting myself use my legs before being condemned to my small office for eight hours.  

Right before I can cross the street to my building though, a car blows through the red light, the man inside it casting a dirty look at me as he drives away. 

Ah, colorblind and a degenerate, I think to myself. But I don’t say it outloud. I never do. Shrugging off the potentially dangerous encounter, I continue my walk to work. After a sadly brief trip, I find myself in front of Deskful Dilligence Incorporated and head inside. 

“Good morning, Rita,” I cheerfully greet. Rita says nothing, barely bothering to look up from her computer.  

Up yours too, lady. 

I sit at my desk, organizing it so that I could be prepared for the day’s workload. I want to turn in my physical copy of the report first, but the boss’s room is still dark, suggesting he isn’t in yet. I look down at my watch, confirming that it is 9:00 A.M. Second time this week. How does he have a job? 

The boss arrives ten minutes later, seemingly apathetic to his tardiness. He throws his coat up on the rack and heads straight towards his room. 

“Rita, put on a batch of coffee,” he calls out to her.  

Why didn’t you ask her that while you were right next to her? After watching Rita wordlessy get up and start preparing, as if she knew it was coming, I decide to walk up with my report and knock on the boss’s door. 

“Not now, I just got here. Give a man a bit of time to settle in and get his coffee, sheesh,” the voice beyond the door replies.  

Should I come back before or after your massage? Instead of letting that slip, I simply walk back to my desk and start working on my report on hole punchers. About twenty minutes later, my boss, Mr. Phillips, comes to my desk, folder and coffee mug in hand. 

“Ah, there you are Simon. I believe you had something to give me?” Mr. Phillips asks. 

“Here is the physical copy of the report on staplers, sir,” I respond, handing him the paper. “The digital one has already been sent to you.”  

“Ah, excellent,” the boss replies, setting down the folder and taking the report. “Wouldn’t want you to forget about this.”  

Like how you forgot how to plug in your coffee pot? Or set your alarm?  

“Before I take my leave, Glen called in sick today,” he states, taking a sip of his coffee. The only thing he is sick of is your bull- “Gonna need you to help with the workload, be a team player,” he finishes. With that, he taps his finger on the folder and goes to refill his coffee mug.  

With a sigh, I go back to my work, hoping to knock it out early so I could make room for Glen’s work. Glen is the executive assistant, so he should be researching other office supply companies. That sounds manageable to me, so I am not too worried.  

It isn’t long before one of my colleagues decides to make small talk. Zane strolls up to my desk, a smirk present on his face. Zane, I swear if you are here to brag about your “body count” again, you will be the first on mine. 

“Hey Simon,” he says, resting a hand on my desk. 

“How can I help you Zane?” I ask, turning my body towards him. And how would you like to lose your left hand? 

“I have a good feeling about this year. I think a promotion is in my near future,” he replies. Not as near as the violent mauling of your left hand. “Don’t worry, once I ascend the ladder, I’ll keep you around,” he adds, as if to reassure me, a flashy smile present on his face. Fine then, I’ll play. 

“Wow, Zane,” I start. “I can’t believe you already finished today’s work on top of Glen’s.” 

“W-well, I haven’t…” he starts before he realizes what I said. “Wait, did you say Glen’s work?” So I was the only one who received Glen’s workload? What happened to being a team? 

“Yeah,” I say, keeping up the game. “Glen called in sick so we all have to do some of his work today. Did Mr. Phillips not give you any of his assignments?” 

“…Trying to do all the work yourself, Simon? You sly dog!” Zane announces, a strained smile on his face. “After a promotion too, eh? You will be tough to beat,” he says before roughly patting me on the shoulder and walking away. Great, now we both hate each other. 

During my lunch break, another one of my coworkers comes to talk to me.  

“Hey Simon,” Kyle says, sitting next to me, wiping his brow as if he has been running around all day. His belly peeks out from under his T-shirt, a size too small for him. It also looks as if he has a bump on his forehead. 

“Kyle,” I acknowledge, taking a bite of my sandwich. Make this quick, I have a turkey and swiss that requires consumption.  

“Y-You are never gonna believe it,” he says. “But I think the bathroom is haunted.” You’re right, I don’t believe it. Arkham Asylum, I have found the missing inmate. 

“Haunted?” I ask, taking another bite of my sandwich.  

“Yeah, once I was done unleashing on the toilet—” Really? Right in front of my sandwich? “—I heard an unholy sound come from it.” I’d be making an unholy sound too if I had you “unleashing” on me. Wait… “I turned around and suddenly the toilet erupted, spewing crap everywhere!”  

I set down my sandwich. The one thing I enjoyed in this building, ruined by a toilet-clogger who believes in ghosts. 

“I was so quick to get out of there that I ran into the wall,” he says, pointing towards the bump on his head. “Bet you were wondering about that, huh?” I wasn’t. 

“What makes you so sure it was a ghost?” I ask. The only thing that’s gonna haunt you is the janitor.

“After I hit my head, I heard a feminine voice shriek ‘Get out, get out!’ behind me.” Ah, I figured it out now. “ I was so scared that I didn’t even look behind me, I just ran. Can I have some chips?” He gestures toward my bag of chips. You just told me you didn’t wash your hands after taking a dump. 

  “Did the bathroom have urinals?” I question, hoping to take his mind off the chips. He opens his mouth to speak but comes to the same conclusion I had. 

“I-I need to go,” he announces, quickly gathering his things and taking off, leaving me with my half-finished, now unwanted lunch. 

After finishing my work, I start looking at Glen’s. Thankfully, it is nothing I need to be in the office for so I can take it home with me. Deciding I had enough of the workplace for today, I begin packing up. Right as I am going to take off, Dana walks up to me, looking as if she is about to go off on a tangent. Can’t you tell me tomorrow? Or never? 

“Ah, there you are, Simon dear,” she announces, as if she had come across me by chance. “The craziest thing happened to me today!” You realized you wear enough perfume to lay low an elephant? “I think Kyle just tried to hit on me!” Did he mistake you for his body pillow? “I found him snooping in the ladies washroom while I was in there!” It’s all coming together now. “Like, what made him decide that was a good idea? When has Kyle had a good idea? “I mean, there are plenty of reasons to date me—” Well, two. “—but still. Sorry Kyle, but this ship has sailed.” While you left his sail at half-mast. “You never know who’s on the prowl these days,” she continues. Yeah, I heard cougar attacks are common this time of year.  

“What made you want to share this with me?” I ask, keeping the impatience out of my tone. She seems shocked by the question, as if the answer was obvious. 

“Simon, darling,” she starts, brushing a free hand through her bob cut. “You are one of the few men here I actually trust and tolerate.” Gee, thanks. “It’s only fair that I clue you in on all the hot goss.” Why do I have a feeling you are referring to yourself as “the hot goss”? She then seems to scrutinize my face, leaning in. I hold in my breath, not wanting to inhale that noxious perfume she had on. Personal space, Dana. 

“I bet if you took off those glasses, you would be quite the looker,” she finally announces.  But then, I would not be able to “look”. “I’m sure I could find you someone, I am quite the matchmaker,” she proudly proclaims. This again? 

“Sorry, but I am not looking for love right now,” I politely decline, awkwardly bowing my head. 

“Eh, okay,” she says, shrugging. “If you ever change your mind, you know where to find meee!” she sang that last part out, leaving with a strut. Cougar on the prowl. 

Finally, I return home, letting out a small sigh as I shut the door. I look down at Glen’s folder in my hand, a reminder that the day isn’t over. Before I could start on it, my phone begins to buzz. I take it out and am surprised to see that it is my mom who is calling. 

“Hello?” I answer. 

“Hi, Simon!” my mom responds, full of cheer. “I just wanted to tell you about this crazy secret that was revealed in my book club today!” 

“Why is everyone telling me their life stories?” I ask, genuinely baffled. I don’t mean to dump this on her, but today has been a long one. “Every time I turn around, somebody feels the need to spill the beans. Why?” 

“Why?” I hear her repeat before she chuckles. “Oh, Simon! It’s because you are such a good listener. You always hear people out and never lash out at them, regardless of how you feel. They probably just like talking to you.” 

I stand there quietly, unmoving. 

“I guess I should have asked this first, but how was your day?” 

“Oh, you know,” I say, feeling myself relax a little, “the usual.”

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Andrew Rashleigh is currently an undergraduate student at Lindenwood who is majoring in English with an emphasis in Creative Writing. He is a member of Lindenwood’s Creative Writing Club and has taken classes such as Advanced Creative Writing, World Building, and Getting Published – Tips for Writers. His favorite genre to write in is fantasy, but he also writes creative nonfiction, realistic fiction, and humorous work as well. When not writing, he enjoys reading, playing video games, and watching movies, always assessing what makes them good and wondering how he can apply those good qualities to his own writing.