So basically, I have been trying to write a book for the past couple of months. One day I was sitting there bored and the realization that I have never wrote a fiction story since kindergarten suddenly hit me. So here is the first chapter of my book. Tell me what you guys think. o yeah, just in case you were wondering its supposed to be funny.
Chapter 1
BEEP, BEEP,BEEP...Quite possibly the most aggravating noise I can think of. Everyone has that one noise that makes their face clench together in irritation. For many, it’s the sound of Styrofoam, rubbing back and forth against itself. The sound of screeching tires. Nails on a chalk board. A metal fork banging and sliding against a dish as the slob violently gobbles down their meal. Everyone has that sound that when heard, echoes in their ears, driving them into a sort of temporary insanity. Mine is the sound of an alarm clock.
It isn’t so much the actual sound of the alarm that really gets to me, even though it does play a part, but it’s the underlining meaning of the moment I perceive that high pitch beep.
It’s like the sound of the neighbors barking dog. The teenager’s subwoofers that shake your house every time his car passes by. The sound of a parent’s newborn, crying a four o’clock in the morning. It’s literally, the sound of the apocalypse. Time to wake up…
For dreaming is the only time I am really able to feel peace. It is an escape from the imprisonment of the endless cycle we call life. Every day is the same as the last, and you live that day with the knowledge that tomorrow won’t be any different. Every day has the same routine; wake up, eat, work, eat, fall back asleep. Once in a while there is the casual alcoholic drink session that’s purpose is to help numb my existence. The crutch of contemporary America.
It’s the sound of smacking gum. Of your nagging spouse. The buzzing of a fly. A cell phone that does not stop ringing. It’s the coming of the antichrist. Time to wake up…
Alone. Trapped in world of perpetual inner dialog, longing for some kind of escape. Over the years, the excitement in my being has gradually depleted, and monotonous routine has taken over, and as I laid there in bed that morning, I knew that day wasn’t going to be any different.
I prepared for the day in the same fashion I do every morning. First step, like always, is taking a shower. For this event, I only use the basic necessities. One washcloth, one bar of soap, and a bottle of cheap shampoo. Now the shampoo may be cheap, but it gets the job done, which is all that really matters. The shampoo also supposedly specializes in the moisturizing of my follicles and in dandruff control. Not that I ever had a problem with the dryness of my hair, but if the shampoo helps, fuck yeah.
After taking my morning shower, step two is always getting dressed. One American made one-hundred percent cotton white collar dress shirt, one silk blue paisley necktie, one standard pair of polyester black slacks, a pair of black socks, and a shiny pair of black shoes. The standard white collar combat uniform. As an accessory, I also wear a counterfeit Rolex watch, which I got for the price of only ten dollars. Despite the fact that it’s counterfeit, the watch was pretty well made, and is impossible to tell that it’s fake. It makes me feel sad for the people that actually pay hundreds of dollars for a watch that looks just like mine. Suckers.
Step three. Eat breakfast. Cereal and milk, like always. Yes that right, I’m a cereal guy. For some reason the supplementary selections just don’t do it for me.
Don’t get me wrong, if forced to eat eggs or pop tarts, I would be content, but there is just something about the whole experience of ingesting those crispy pieces of goodness that really tickles my fancy. The way they start off crispy and, with time, get soggy by soaking up the milk. Cereal really is the only food in existence that changes taste as you eat it. It’s something incredible. No that’s not the word. Amazing? Magical? No, I know what it is, Sacred.
In case you were wondering, that morning I had Coco Puffs. Which has a certain uniqueness about it that causes it to stand out, above all other cereals. As you probably already know, It has the powers to turn white milk to chocolate milk in the blink of an eye. God I love new age consumer driven science. I really do.
After breakfast, the next step is heading off to work. This involves pretty much the same bull-shit that the majority of members of the present day working class go thru twice a day. Traffic. Traffic. Traffic. You know how it is, every god dammed bastard in America, besides myself of course, can’t drive for shit. But instead of boring you with the daily details of my drive to work, I’ll take this time to explain a little more about myself.
I was born back in July of 76’. Which if you use your mathematical skills, you would be able to calculate that I am currently 32 years old. I reside in a one room studio apartment on the east side of the city. Nice neighborhood.
The company I work for is titled Telecom Marketing Communications Co, also known as TMCC. We are the people that interrupt your dinners, disturb you when you’re relaxing, and gets your hopes up that someone may actually like you and take time out of there day to call you. Yes, I am an employee of one of the biggest telemarketing companies in the country.
It takes some big balls to be a telemarketer these days. For some reason people always communicate towards you in the manner that you’re some type of marketing strategist or decision maker for all the telemarketing companies in the world. I have had people I’ve met at parties, bitch me out for hours on end about “us people” continuously disturbing their family dinners, and that I need to do something about that. Or that they are on some “list” that means we can’t call their house or something like that. I have no idea if this list thing really exists, but I do know that I don’t really give a fuck about your problems. Nor do I have any authority with the company to stop those things from happening. So please, stop…
Overall, the job isn’t too bad, it has its perks. Steady pay with chance of raises. Full health benefits. Yearly bonuses. The whole works. And with the economy as it is, I couldn’t ask for anything better.
Today, I arrived at work at 9:02, which means, of course, I was two minutes late. God dam fucking rush hour traffic. It doesn’t really faze me though, because in situations like this, I have a pretty strategic plan set out, which has been successful plenty of times in the past. The office building put a fire exit door in the back that leads right to my desk, without passing any of my “superiors”. Amazing right? Well There is only one problem with this plan of mine……..
“Good morning, Mr. Foster….”
That screeching noise is the sound of another fellow TMCC employee that goes by the name of Martha Ross. If there is one thing you should know about Ms Ross, it’s that when she takes a shower her feet don’t get wet, yeah she’s a big one. And she isn’t one of those “bad genes” fatties either. She’s one of those, “I’ll even suck your dick, for a Klondike bar”, members of the horizontally challenged. She eats twenty four-seven, and the crap she eats is eighty percent of the time fast food and the other twenty percent is either cookies or doughnuts. Its sickening. I don’t get how people live like that. Just picturing a life of only having the energy and motivation to run when I see the ice-cream truck really freaks me out. She’s jailed within her own body. Left without the ability to do any form of exercise at all except to waddle to the refrigerator.
“…..I heard it’s supposed to be a scorcher today. Weather man says it’s going to get up in the high 90’s. Supposed to be a new……”
This morning, big old Martha, lady of mass, was already half way through a nice nutritious breakfast of a box of doughnut holes, and had a brand new box a ho-hoes sitting on her desk. In two hours both the boxes will be empty.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I am no fat-ist. Being overweight is not the reason I hate Monster Sized Martha. She is just one of those people where after adding excitement and happiness, God somehow got distracted and forgot to add the rest of the spectrum of human emotions. This freak accident left Robust Ross as someone that will not shut up. Even if she witnessed a baby getting thrown into an oven or was experiencing the collapse of the universe, she would probably still be yapping her trap about some random thing that happened to her the other night. Talking might actually be something she enjoys more than eating, which is a very shocking proposition.
“……global warming. Change needs to happen. But besides that, how was your weekend? I know mine was amazing. On Friday I went to the mall and bought a cute pair of…..”
See there is a point in most everyday conversations where I start to think to myself,
“Why the fuck does this person think I give a shit about this!!!”
Seriously… I don’t understand why people have this tendency to babble on about random shit that has no significance to anything. I don’t care about your weekend mall experience, or that your cousin is getting married. I just don’t care.
I will pretend to care, but only up to a certain point. But after the point has been reached, I need to escape…
“Hey Martha, I really like your shirt… it really brings out your eyes.”
“ooohhh, get out of here…”
“No honestly, you’re looking quite ravishing today….but listen. I’d really hate to cut this conversation short but I gotta get to my desk and get some work done…but we should defiantly continue this conversation at some point later.”
“but don’t you want to hear about what I read in Cosmos today. It says that seven out of ten babies are…..”
“later…”
Escape successful. Time to get to work. Like most offices, my working quarter is what many would call a cubical. If you don’t already know what a cubical is, the rooms of most offices are split into many sections. Each person in the room is assigned to a different section. To ensure productivity in the work place, walls are set up around those sections. This segregates the employees and stops them from having natural human interaction during work time. If they were to spend time interacting with others, then they would have wasted time and wouldn’t have been as productive as they otherwise would have been.
See, humans are social beings. Unlike many species of animals, humans tend to spend their whole lives surrounded by their own kind. The majority of our conversations deal with social topics. Political issues, he-said she-said drama, stories of past social events. Almost everything we do has some sort of social connotation to it. We are emerged in a world revolving around our peers. And if we choose to leave that, there are some serious side effects.
There are many studies that show that solitary confinement in adults is extremely detrimental to an individual’s mental health. Studies on Jail inmates in solitary confinement have shown that long term isolation can cause the development of adverse mental effects including hallucinations, delusions, depression, confusion, paranoia, self destructive behavior, and panic/anxiety attacks.
See, what I am trying to say is that, we need human interaction to be healthy, and because of that we will seek that interaction out at all costs. To stop people from seeking out interacting with their fellow employees at work, the only fail proof way is complete segregation. The cubical.
Cubicals can be made out a plethora of different materials. Fiberglass. particle board. Steel covered with fabric. Some can be made to absorb sound while others are made to deflect it.
Many people choose to decorate their cubical by hanging a wide variety of things on their jail walls. Usually things that they feel will help give off an impression to other people, of how they want to be viewed.
I sat at my desk that morning for not even two seconds before my supervisor confronts me.
“Robert, I would like to speak with you in my office.”
I follow him to his office, already having a slight idea of what he wanted to speak to me about. I have been late to work quite often lately, and I sensed that he might be catching on.
My boss’s office is located on the other side of the building, in one of the biggest rooms they have. Instead of having cubicles like the rest of the population here at TMCC, Mr. Boss gets his own room to himself.
The room is dark with oak trimmed walls and a blood red carpet. Like everyone else in the office, Mr. boss also decorates his room; pictures of his family, Nascar photos, marine medals, the regular picture taken on some sort of fishing expedition of himself holding a fish, and my favorite, the star wars pop icon small plastic bobble-head statue of Darth Vader. He’s your typical ex-marine, red neck, nerd, which loves his family.
I sat myself down in the seat adjacent to his desk and mentally prepared myself for his speech that was surely coming. This isn’t the first time I have been brought to his office to talk about my work ethic. In fact it happens at least twice a month. Every time it is the same thing too. It’s the; your-late-again-and-your-fired, bull-shit.
He leans to speak to me, just close enough for me to smell the rentch of coffee and cheap cigarettes on his breath.
“Mr. Foster….hmmm, how should I put this?...You see this is a work place right? And work places need rules. For if there were no rules, there would be no productivity, and what is a buissness without productivity? Are you following me?”
“Ummm yeah I think so,” I replied.
“Now, thus far, this business has been running top notch. It seems like everyone can follow those rules except you. Now tell me Mr. foster, why is that, is there some reason I should know about that makes you better than everyone else at this company, that makes you exempt from following the rules?”
“Ummm no sir,”
“You have been late three times this week, is that correct?”
“Ummm yes sir”
“Now this type of behavior will no longer be tolerated. If you are late one more time you will be out there begging for change with the rest of the lowlifes of society. Jesus, Foster, you are more useless then tits on a nun. You understand me?
“Ummm yes sir”
“Good, now I don’t mean to be so hard on you, but I have to do this to keep my authority over the rest of the workers. If word gets out that someone isn’t getting punished for not following the rules, it comes back on me. Next thing you know we’ll be having wild parties with magicians and confetti in the office, and how would any work get done with that?”
“Ummm it wouldn’t sir.”
“Your damn right it wouldn’t. I am only being hard on you to prevent having people bringing in petting zoos during our break time. You understand?”
“Ummm yeah I think so”
“Ok, well it was a good talk; now fucking get back to work.”
See what I mean? The guy is a fucking push-over, especially for being an ex-marine. No wonder we haven’t won a war since WWII. We are a country of fucking pacifists. But hey, it works in my favor, so I’m not complaining.
My cubical isn’t decorated like everyone else’s. It’s just the standard gray cubical walls, phone, desk and computer. All I really need. I never really like the idea of decorations. I mean, you really can’t do anything with any of that crap. Its just pieces of cheap flare used to give off first impressions to others. Waste of money and time. A cheap show for other people that don’t already know you.
I sat down in my seat and decided to make my first call. For the past week our company has been selling red rubber balls that are placed on the bottoms of chairs to stop them from scratching the floor.
Before that it was energy efficient light bulbs. Before that, pills designed to help the elderly populace acquire erections.
Spill-safe coffee mugs. massaging shoes. low-fat, single-serving, microwavable dinner meals. As long as it is reasonably cheap and made by 4 year olds in a third world country, we have probably sold it.
“Hello, is this Mrs. Wilson?”
“yes”
“How are you today? My name is Robert Foster. I am a sales representative from TMCC and I am calling to talk to you about hard wood floors and what you can do to protect them.”
“HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU ASSHOLES NOT TO CALL HERE….. I AM ON A LIST…..”
I love when I get a call like this. For my fellow employee’s, these calls actually make people want to quit, or gets them pissed. For me, they are one of the few things in my mundane day that actually makes me laugh.
We have sold Universal remotes. Collector coins. Board-games. Do-it-yourself plumbing kits. We sell the crap that people think they need to make themselves happy. The problem is nobody knows what will really make them happy. In a year, there will be a nice 10 inch layer of red rubber balls on top of every land fill in the country.
“YOU PEOPLE HAVE NO RESPECT FOR ANYONE BUT YOURSELF. CALLING MY HOUSE AND DISRUPTING ME!!!. GET A REAL JOB…”
The best part of these people is that instead of just hanging up, they will waste their own time yelling at you about wasting their time. They turn a what would be a 3-5 minute conversation into a 20 minute speech.
We have sold plastic erector sets. Remote controlled little airplanes. Flesh Colored vibrators, which, by the way, is a really awkward one to sell over the phone.
It’s like,” are you very unhappy with your sex life, well we have a great product for you”
“IF I GET ONE MORE CALL FROM YOU FUCKIN PRICKS ONE MORE TIME I AM CALLING THE POLICE. WHAT YOU’RE DOING IS AGAINST THE LAW. IT’S FUCKING HARRASMENT”
She hangs up and the call is done.
The rest of the day drags on. As 5:30 rolls around I am already packed and ready to get out of there. I arrive back at my apartment at 6; throw one of those low fat single serving dinners into the microwave and lay down to watch the news. Within minutes I am already asleep. Meal uneaten, left undisturbed in the microwave.
