Just Another Day at the Office

He felt a sudden burst of glee when he opened the door and saw that he was the first to arrive. This was seldom the case; the office was a network, a hub, a carefully controlled hive of activity that seldom let up. He allowed the door to fall shut behind him and made his way through the morning silence of the office to his desk at the pinnacle of the room. He dropped his briefcase to the floor and happily gazed around, enjoying the serene sight of a busy day before it began.

It was exciting to be in this room on his own. He knew the office like the back of his hand but it almost made him feel like an intruder to be alone in here. Much like an errant schoolboy who’d crept into the classroom while the other students played in the schoolyard and the teacher took the thankful weight off her feet in the staffroom. A sense of mischievousness that he hadn’t felt in years sneaked up and tapped him on the shoulder, the delicious shiver of devilment taking him by surprise. He snatched the small globe off his desk, unhooked the tiny blue and green world from its golden pedestal, and marched quickly back to the door. His wastepaper bin was barely in sight from here, the rimmed edge just peeking out from the side of his desk, and if his aim was strong and true he should be able to do this. He was an avid golfer and aiming for impossible goals was a major component of his daily repertoire.

His tongue poked out the side of his mouth as he concentrated, measuring the distance and the technique with a practiced eye. A long, high lob was required, a throw that had enough of an arch to avoid the corner of the desk but enough heft to carry it all the way to its target. He lifted his arm, wincing at the small pinch of rheumatism in his shoulder, and cast his shot. The globe landed in the trashcan with an audible thunk. He threw his arms in the air and performed his own victory dance, imagining the adoring masses shouting his name, clapping their hands, and stamping their feet to see him prove to them once again that he was worthy of their trust.

Trust. It was a big word and he knew he’d dallied around the edges of both the word and its meaning far too often for people to automatically link it to his name. He knew that many people equated trust with a person’s moral characteristics and likeability, which was a darn shame in his opinion, but he had to remember that universal likeability had never been one of his goals. Respect, yes. Loyalty and devotion, yes. He’d learned long ago that his natural abrasiveness and competiveness weren’t conducive to garnering love and affection but he was also smart enough to know that he couldn’t have everything in life. Money could buy a man most things but it couldn’t buy him unconditional love. Oh, there were those who loved him – in fact, there were those who loved him with a fervour and they weren’t shy in vocalizing their feelings – but he’d known since he was a small boy that unconditional love was never his to own.

He left his spot by the door and with his hands tucked behind his back in a pose that he’d not yet noticed was one of his most recognizable gestures, he began a slow circumnavigation of the room. The office was old, probably well overdue for an update and modernization, but there was something to be said for working in a space where other successful people had played out their dreams. He stopped in front of a large framed painting, gazing solemnly at the scene for a long, pensive moment before noticing a speckling of dust on the trim. He snorted in amusement as his brain, always his wittiest of companions, commented that the dust speckles were a metaphor of sorts for the modern world. The planet in its entirety was in need of a robust spring clean, a shakeup, and a jolly good tidy up.

He wandered back to his desk, idly listening to the sound of his footsteps echoing on the polished floorboard. Pacing himself. He didn’t need anyone to tell him that he needed to pace himself. It was all very well to ride the stress-filled, exhilarating rollercoaster of global business but it wasn’t an activity any mere human could keep up forever. It just wasn’t possible. He’d once thought anything was possible but sadly, he’d had to revise his opinion of late. He sighed as he sunk down into his comfortable, high-backed leather chair. He’d accepted this role gladly, stepped up into a promotion he’d dreamed of for years, but no one had warned him of the toll it would take on his psyche, on his outlook on life, and even on his outlook on himself as a man.

Some rosehip tea would go down well now, a soothing drink that he’d recently adopted as his go-to beverage. As soon as the other workers arrived, he’d send one of the lesser clerks out to get some. Perhaps a bagel too, although his doctor would frown and tut-tut if he knew. He absentmindedly patted his belly, aware that there was more flesh there above the cut and restriction of his belt than there used to be. He told himself he had to remember that he was older now, less physically active, and extra pounds were an indisputable fact of age. Heck, many of his friends were already grandparents! Time waited for no man – who was it that had first uttered that indisputable truth?

Someone flung the door open, startling him out of his reverie, although experience had taught him to keep his face impassive and never show fear. To allow emotion to creep into business dealings was unacceptable poppycock and anyone who did so deserved his disdain and contempt. He moved the waste paper bin back under his desk with the tip of one highly polished shoe and levelled his cold stare at the new arrival.

Johnson visibly quavered under the weight of his leader’s glare. “Sorry to disturb you, Mr. President. We have Russia waiting on Line 2.”

The End