Tony toyed with a small twig between
his fingers. Traffic rushed by on the busy street as he waited to cross. His
stomach was rumbling with nerves. His neck tie was feeling tight around his
throat and his suit coat felt ill-fitting. The traffic signal changed to green
and Tony started crossing the street toward the imposing concrete building. He
fell into its shadow as he approached the front entrance.
Tony dropped the twig that had
giving his idle fingers something to do on the long train ride and entered the
through the revolving doors. The lobby was cold marble and Spartan furniture.
His footsteps echoed uncomfortably through the cavernous space. He approached a
white marble security desk and smiled awkwardly at the guard.
“Good morning. I’m here to see Mr.
Jerry Sampson on the 25th floor,” said Tony.
The guard nodded and picked up a
telephone and made a call. Tony rapped his nervous fingers on the cool marble
desk top. He looked up at the imposing corporate logo that hung like a Swastika
over the security desk. Tony shrugged off the shivers that ran down his spine.
The security guard hung the phone up.
“Someone will be down in a moment to
take you upstairs. Here is a visitor pass, please wear it around your neck at
all times in the building and return it to this desk upon your departure. Also,
please sign this guest book including the time, date, and the name of the
individual you are here to see,” said the guard.
Tony nodded and took the pass and
looped it around his neck and filled out the guest book. The guard motioned
toward the stone seating area. Tony nodded and shuffled toward the seating
area. As he has about to sit a woman appeared from the elevator bay. She was a
dish-watery blonde, short, bespectacled and wearing far too much make-up.
“Tony,” she asked.
“That’s me, “said Tony as he
recovered his standing positing in the midst of his downward sitting momentum.
“Please follow me,” said the woman.
Tony stepped toward her and he extended
his hand. She turned too quickly and didn’t see Tony’s out-stretched hand
shake. He fell in step behind her as
they headed toward the elevators. She stepped in first and Tony stood next to
her. She pressed the button for the 25th floor and the elevator
doors closed. Tony cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name,”
said Tony.
“I didn’t give it,” said the woman,
not looking at Tony.
“Gotcha,” said Tony.
The elevator smelled like hot
rubber; not smoldering rubber that you might smell near a tire fire, but like a
gasket that might be overheating in an engine. It took Tony a second to get
used to the smell and he exhaled through his noise loudly.
“Don’t let them see you do that,”
said the woman.
“Do what,” asked Tony.
“Make such loud noises,” said the
woman.
“Loud noises,” asked Tony.
The woman shifted her weight onto
her left side and kept her hands clasped in front of her thighs. Tony wiped the
sweat from his forehead and temples. The elevator crept up slowly toward the 25th
floor and the smell of the hot rubber seemed to be getting stronger. Tony felt
a little nauseous starting to couple with his nervousness. They passed the 20th
floor and Tony started to think about how terribly torturous this was. He didn’t
even really want to be here but society dictated that he had to have a job and
be a monetary contributor to its continued illusion of control.
The elevator passed the 23rd
floor and he took a deep breath.
“Shhhh…,” said the woman.
Tony looked at her profile. She
never even looked at Tony. She kept her eyes focused on the copper elevator car
doors. He wondered if she was some sort of service droid; some sort of flesh
covered android programmed to be as inhospitable as possible. He thought that
is was pretty typical for a giant corporate monster to have robotic employees.
A former person with a soul reduced to bells and wiring and heartless
processes.
The elevator dinged at the 25th
floor and the doors opened. The woman stepped forward and Tony followed her
out. The 25th floor was dimly lit, yet bathed in fluorescent hues.
It was like a hospital or better yet, a hospital morgue. The woman led Tony
through one of the dimly lit corridors of cubicle walls toward a barren yet
cluttered conference room. She pulled out a seat at the long wooden table and
motioned for Tony to sit. He sat down and turned to the automaton woman.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Shhhh…,” she repeated as she exited
the conference room, still never looking at Tony.
“…it,” said Tony.
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