By: Brianna Lee Hubler
Copyright © 2022 Brianna Lee Hubler. All rights reserved.
__________Marcel squinted at the symbols scratched onto his yellow notepad. The bargain lightbulb screwed into his desk lamp was dim, even at its brightest setting. Marcel’s monitor outshined the lamp, but his colleague’s handwriting was no more legible than a five-year-old’s. His colleague inscribed the notepad with the data needed for their most recent project, but with no more dedication than minimum wage encouraged. Marcel’s eyes drifted from his colleague’s illegible notes to the document occupying the monitor. He sighed and navigated his cursor to the hyphen in the upper right corner of the screen.
__________Marcel minimized the document, reached behind his monitor, and clicked the display off. He scooted back in his rolling chair, stood, and walked to the blinded window. He snatched the adjuster from its place and turned it. The blinds opened. Blaring sunlight poured into Marcel’s office, stung his misadjusted eyes, and lightly burned the skin of his nose. The heat of the day sailed in through the unblinded window. Marcel’s air conditioner temporarily failed to combat the hottest day of the year. These discomforts swiftly reminded Marcel why he shut the blinds earlier that morning. Marcel groaned and turned the adjuster again.
__________He closed the blinds, but he paused before he dropped the adjuster back into its place. The adjuster was a shear, plastic rod hung by a string. The string matched the ugly, beige color of the blinds. Marcel laughed.
__________It’s like a pseudo crystal attached to wannabe curtains, Marcel thought.
__________He dropped the rod and examined the blinds.
__________These must be the ugliest symbol of modernity ever manufactured, he concluded.
__________Marcel laughed again and turned away. He returned to his desk. He shoved his notepad to base of his desk lamp, picked up the lamp shade, and tossed the shade aside. He sat in his seat and scooted his chair in. He reached behind his monitor, clicked on the display, and navigated his cursor to the document icon on his computer’s taskbar. He raised the unfinished document, briefly scanned his progress, located the last symbol he copied, and aligned his fingers along the home row of his keyboard. He turned again to his yellow notepad and deciphered the next symbol. He entered this datum and then the next. He continued until his phone buzzed in his pocket.
__________Marcel retrieved the phone, and acknowledged the timer, which indicated the end of his shift. He smiled, slid the phone back into his pocket, and shut down his office computer. He turned off the lamp, replaced the shade, and left to his car.
__________He drove home, greeted his wife, settled on his couch, and turned on the television. Marcel’s wife sat down and nestled herself against his side. Marcel wrapped an arm around her. She smiled, though she faced the screen, and gossiped about the lives of celebrity actors, and about the twists in the television plotline. Marcel listened solemnly. He tried to forget that he would return to his dimly lit office, and reassess his colleague’s poorly printed notes, in no more than twelve hours. He wanted to enjoy those hours away, but each minute ticked away another moment, and each passing moment moved the clock closer to his phone’s next alarm.
Endlesslore 