Short story : Office

Mind the plot and theme; I disclaim the causes to get you mindfucked.

I controlled my middle finger with an effort, smiled with calm regret and stepped back out into my private space called cubicle. I should have guessed before ever started here that, this is definitely a tough fight.

Mr. Chen is our boss. We actually have two bosses here in the office, doesn’t mean we disregard the other one but the major business operation here is conveyancing whilst the other one is doing litigation. Get the picture?

Back to Mr. Chen, he has this ‘island hair’, long face, and firm body except having slightly flabby gut. Some brains, some attitude and a severe substance abuse problem. (Assuming you can call a jargon a substance; it does have the same life-threatening consequences anyways). I have killed Mr. Chen in my dreams a thousand times. Sometimes I use a gun, sometimes a knife and sometimes my bare fists, but the end is always a happy one.

The scenes on every single day more or less are just the same. I step up to the office, put a fake smile on my face for the receptionist behind the counter with a very warm “Good Morning” wish however just to get cold facial expression. Or some other days, I reach first, sit silently at my cubicle and never receive any of the morning wishes but I don’t give a flying fuck. By 0930, everyone should be in the office already.

Here where the routines start:

Files banged on table, toilet door slammed hard, those unanswered questions, snots, “shites” and “damns”, everyone gets on each others’ nerves, loud typing noise, hysterical laugh nuisance follows personal phone calls, taking things off of my desk without permission cum putting thing on my desk without an “excuse me”; everything around me is just stressful anyway. And each time, I calm myself down and decide to remain silent.

I am the youngest one, the latest comer in the office. Somewhere between Monday morning and Friday evening, I vent out my aggravation in the toilet, deep inhale and exhale sometimes cry. The whole thing in the office called for serious adjustment of attitude and projected images where I was not used to. Every morning I wake up for work, I have to prepare myself with whatever/whoever that may bombard me.

“Stay back today! I don’t care whether it takes you until 11pm.”

“But Miss Lim, I have an emergency at home.”

It is as pointless as asking a pack of hungry wolves to say grace before a meal. Or maybe it is a proven fact: Chinese cannot wait. Not in lines, not in seats, not at traffic lights, not ever. It is genetic. I look forward that perhaps one day some bright young doctoral student finally puts out a research paper correctly indentifying the special gene that’s at the bottom of it, christens the condition “Patience Deficiency Disorder” or some such and, with a sympathetic worldwide cluck, they are all upgraded from ‘uncounth boors’ to ‘people with special needs’.

“Sher, where do you work?”

“In between hell and jungle I suppose to say.”

“When did this happen?”

“I don’t know. A little sudden, probably not the best however it will give me a chance to understand the real world we’re living in.” Albeit amidst the weeds of mediocrity.

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”

Annoyingly, my voice chose that moment to wobble and crack.

That is it.