Another Day At The Office, chapter 1
This darn door is always stiff! Al always says he’s oiled it but I don’t believe a word he says. I don’t know why he’s still here he never does a thing. Suppose he’s the only guy the bank can trust because he’s been here so long. If I was manager I’d fire him, I don’t care how long he’s been here, I don’t trust him. Mr Riley trusts him. I think he’d rather Al did my job than me. He always avoids talking to me, worried that I’ll ask for a promotion. All that hard work over ten years. Why’d I bother! Pay wouldn’t be worth it. Or would it? I’d get to go on holiday, but I’d have to take her with me.
Peter was having the same subconscious conversation that went on in his head every morning at work. His head was fogged with regrets as he pulled his stiff office door shut and sat down at his desk. He looked at the photo of his wife in the tacky, gold coloured frame on his desk.
Damn sour, nasty face! What did I ever see in her? It wasn’t personality and it definitely wasn’t looks! I never realised how much she reminds me of my mother. Both look the same and boss me around. Maybe that’s why I took the job here. To please them and get myself out of the house away from their constant nagging!
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a packet of Chesterfields, held one with ease between his lips and lit it using a match from the box in his drawer. He wasn’t allowed to smoke at home or at work but he felt safer smoking at work. He’d rather Mr Riley walk in on him than his wife. He blew his smoke up into the slowly whirring, wooden ceiling fan, which filled the air with a light, tobacco smell. The room was dark and dank whether it was full of smoke or not. One window in the door looked out into the foyer and was covered by a faded blind. An old lamp with a discoloured shade lit the room. He leant back in his chair and dragged heavily on his cigarette. The heat of the room made him itch and sweat in his suit but the darkness and comforting smell made him feel sleepy.
Christ, if Riley or the wife came in now they’d kill me! Wonder what it’s like to be dead. Hey I shouldn’t think like that. That ungrateful woman is still looking at me. In all that damn jewellery and face paint she makes me buy. She wears it for a week and wants more! But I like that one, honey don’t you want me to look pretty? Plum’s the new colour, come on think of all the things I do for you. Blackmailing sneak would need a lot more than make up and jewellery to make her look anywhere near pretty! Damn facelift is what she needs!
He kicked the photo of his wife over so that her disapproving eyes stopped boring into him. He shook off his drowsiness, sat up and stubbed his cigarette out on the safe behind him. He’d done that several times before but the shiny, green metal never stained or tarnished. He leant down to open the safe and peered inside. He did this everyday. It was the only part of his job he enjoyed. The only part of his day, week or year that he enjoyed. He stared in at the money sitting in piles of $50 bills filling the safe from top to bottom, smelling and looking just as glorious as it always did.
Look, but don’t touch. The first rule of the paper work department. Never touch the money.
Peter stared at the money for quite some time. Fingering the tip of his tie with his sweaty fingers he realised that there was nothing he could do that would fix his situation. He shut the safe door and took off his tie. He arranged it around his neck in a restrictive knot. He peeked around the office door. There was one cashier behind a counter reading a magazine. Everyone else was probably in the tearoom. Peter didn’t bother locking the door, it was stiff to open and he knew no one would come in anyway. He stood on his desk and began tying one end of his tie to the ceiling fan. Without the blades gently whirring the room seemed even more eerily quiet than usual. Then to Peter’s dismay, someone did come in. A big man who entered as though he were opening a saloon swing door.
‘Get off that damn desk you fool! Open the safe and fill this bag! Do it quick and quiet! I mean it!’
Peter looked down at the masked man clutching a pistol in his beefy fist. He pondered as he got down from the desk safe the possibilities that’d opened up before him. Surely being shot was a much quicker method. But which was the more painful of the two? He was slightly vexed at the masked man’s timing but clutching the bag provided in one hand he opened the safe with the other, again. Peter looked at the money again, went to load the bag and then stopped. He was going to touch it!
‘Come hurry up! You’ll get it! Your brains will be out your head so quick!
‘Ok shut up! I’m doing it, alright!’
Peter shocked himself with his irritated reply. He was just so angry at being interrupted. He turned his attention back to the safe, reached in and picked up two wads with one hand. He’d never felt anything so smooth and delicate! The wads glided into the bag like confetti. He continued to load the bag, stroking the silky notes, seeing how the fresh green colour brightened the dingy room. He felt so in awe of this new spectacle that he forgot his dangerous situation. All the misery and monotony of everyday life vanished in the excitement of holding what he’d always wanted to hold. Peter looked at the masked man. He had no wedding ring on his finger. He had a packet of Chesterfields poking proudly out of the top of his jeans pocket. He clearly didn’t have a job, as he wasn’t wearing an itchy suit! His face was covered. His mask wasn’t his face. It was like he’d found a new face.
‘Hey I don’t like this stalling so I’m gonna give you three seconds to carry on loading that bag quickly or your pointless little life stops here and I do it myself! One…two…’
Five minutes later a criminal walked out of the bank with $100,000 in cash in a bag. He got on a bus leaving for the city. In the bank office lay another criminal. He was found dead lying next to two guns. One his own and one that had lived in the safe, belonging to the bank clerk. Some say he turned to a life of crime to get away from his family, some say he got remarried to a rich girl, others say he bought a new face and lived off the money. Whatever he did, the repetitive misery in Peter’s life stopped the moment the masked man stepped into his office and he touched what he’d desired to touch for so long.
Peter was having the same subconscious conversation that went on in his head every morning at work. His head was fogged with regrets as he pulled his stiff office door shut and sat down at his desk. He looked at the photo of his wife in the tacky, gold coloured frame on his desk.
Damn sour, nasty face! What did I ever see in her? It wasn’t personality and it definitely wasn’t looks! I never realised how much she reminds me of my mother. Both look the same and boss me around. Maybe that’s why I took the job here. To please them and get myself out of the house away from their constant nagging!
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a packet of Chesterfields, held one with ease between his lips and lit it using a match from the box in his drawer. He wasn’t allowed to smoke at home or at work but he felt safer smoking at work. He’d rather Mr Riley walk in on him than his wife. He blew his smoke up into the slowly whirring, wooden ceiling fan, which filled the air with a light, tobacco smell. The room was dark and dank whether it was full of smoke or not. One window in the door looked out into the foyer and was covered by a faded blind. An old lamp with a discoloured shade lit the room. He leant back in his chair and dragged heavily on his cigarette. The heat of the room made him itch and sweat in his suit but the darkness and comforting smell made him feel sleepy.
Christ, if Riley or the wife came in now they’d kill me! Wonder what it’s like to be dead. Hey I shouldn’t think like that. That ungrateful woman is still looking at me. In all that damn jewellery and face paint she makes me buy. She wears it for a week and wants more! But I like that one, honey don’t you want me to look pretty? Plum’s the new colour, come on think of all the things I do for you. Blackmailing sneak would need a lot more than make up and jewellery to make her look anywhere near pretty! Damn facelift is what she needs!
He kicked the photo of his wife over so that her disapproving eyes stopped boring into him. He shook off his drowsiness, sat up and stubbed his cigarette out on the safe behind him. He’d done that several times before but the shiny, green metal never stained or tarnished. He leant down to open the safe and peered inside. He did this everyday. It was the only part of his job he enjoyed. The only part of his day, week or year that he enjoyed. He stared in at the money sitting in piles of $50 bills filling the safe from top to bottom, smelling and looking just as glorious as it always did.
Look, but don’t touch. The first rule of the paper work department. Never touch the money.
Peter stared at the money for quite some time. Fingering the tip of his tie with his sweaty fingers he realised that there was nothing he could do that would fix his situation. He shut the safe door and took off his tie. He arranged it around his neck in a restrictive knot. He peeked around the office door. There was one cashier behind a counter reading a magazine. Everyone else was probably in the tearoom. Peter didn’t bother locking the door, it was stiff to open and he knew no one would come in anyway. He stood on his desk and began tying one end of his tie to the ceiling fan. Without the blades gently whirring the room seemed even more eerily quiet than usual. Then to Peter’s dismay, someone did come in. A big man who entered as though he were opening a saloon swing door.
‘Get off that damn desk you fool! Open the safe and fill this bag! Do it quick and quiet! I mean it!’
Peter looked down at the masked man clutching a pistol in his beefy fist. He pondered as he got down from the desk safe the possibilities that’d opened up before him. Surely being shot was a much quicker method. But which was the more painful of the two? He was slightly vexed at the masked man’s timing but clutching the bag provided in one hand he opened the safe with the other, again. Peter looked at the money again, went to load the bag and then stopped. He was going to touch it!
‘Come hurry up! You’ll get it! Your brains will be out your head so quick!
‘Ok shut up! I’m doing it, alright!’
Peter shocked himself with his irritated reply. He was just so angry at being interrupted. He turned his attention back to the safe, reached in and picked up two wads with one hand. He’d never felt anything so smooth and delicate! The wads glided into the bag like confetti. He continued to load the bag, stroking the silky notes, seeing how the fresh green colour brightened the dingy room. He felt so in awe of this new spectacle that he forgot his dangerous situation. All the misery and monotony of everyday life vanished in the excitement of holding what he’d always wanted to hold. Peter looked at the masked man. He had no wedding ring on his finger. He had a packet of Chesterfields poking proudly out of the top of his jeans pocket. He clearly didn’t have a job, as he wasn’t wearing an itchy suit! His face was covered. His mask wasn’t his face. It was like he’d found a new face.
‘Hey I don’t like this stalling so I’m gonna give you three seconds to carry on loading that bag quickly or your pointless little life stops here and I do it myself! One…two…’
Five minutes later a criminal walked out of the bank with $100,000 in cash in a bag. He got on a bus leaving for the city. In the bank office lay another criminal. He was found dead lying next to two guns. One his own and one that had lived in the safe, belonging to the bank clerk. Some say he turned to a life of crime to get away from his family, some say he got remarried to a rich girl, others say he bought a new face and lived off the money. Whatever he did, the repetitive misery in Peter’s life stopped the moment the masked man stepped into his office and he touched what he’d desired to touch for so long.
