WatsItLike

A short story by a junior accountant.

It was a Tuesday.  Joe was working from the office today.  He had been staring at a Form 1040 for the past five hours and his eyes burned.  He needed to urinate, which was expected after three energy drinks. 

It was a 30 second walk to the bathroom.  He would stop for one of those strawberry candies in the jar at the reception desk, and at the urinal he’d get to stand for 60 seconds, and then 30 more seconds for handwashing, 30 seconds on the walk back: altogether he had almost three minutes of leisure ahead.  W00t! 

Control.  Peak performance.  He stood, stretched his legs, tucked in his shirt, and straightened his slacks.  This was a professional services firm.  Professional services.

He knew not to look into offices as he walked past them down the hallway on his way to the restroom.  Eyes should be fixed straight ahead on a fire alarm or something.  His steps should be measured but not robotic.  Brad, next door, walked with intention to impress management, and you could hear him coming like a tyrannosaurus.

The hallway was sterile white.  For 2,366,400 minutes Joe had worked in this building, and so seeing walls any other color would’ve sent his cortisol levels through the roof.

He reached the reception desk and took a candy from Eleanor’s jar, then went to the coffee nook to fill his mug. He eavesdropped on the reception desk while coffee babbled into his mug.  

At the reception desk, Scarlett was gossiping with Eleanor about workpapers.  Maybe the partners had decided to stop using them forever.  Maybe they had decided to close the firm.  Joe crossed his fingers.  Blue folders for this year’s workpapers.  Yellow for last year’s.  Hey, colors of the Ukrainian flag.  Maybe I should join the Ukrainian Foreign Legion, thought Joe.  Would it be harder than public accounting? 

A partner stopped to drop off a piece of mail.  “Certified, please, Eleanor,” he said, handing her an envelope and taking a strawberry candy.

This Partner had a penchant for emailing Joe about missing W-2s at 12:31pm, one minute after Joe went to lunch, who the duck knows why?! 

Scarlett was leaning on the reception desk, saying, “Eleanor and I were just talking about the new workpaper requirement for juniors.”  (She was a manager.)

“Yes, we’re doubling the amount of workpapers,” The Partner said.  “And we expect one hundred and ten percent compliance.”

“Oh, how fun!” said Scarlett.  “Maybe we can give the juniors a pizza party!”  

“Let’s not get too crazy.” said The Partner, laughing. ”We don’t want to spoil anybody.”

Scarlett asked The Partner for his signature on an IRS letter. 

“Certainly,” he said.

“You have a cute signature,” she said. 

“It’s like from a twelve-year-old boy.” He looked down at the tip of the pen like it was the pen’s fault. 

Scarlett bit her fingernail and watched him, smiling coyly.

“I’m really an oversized kid in a suit.” His skin was pale, sun-starved.  His loafers were blocks of rubber, made for comfort.  His aftershave filled the room.  

“I heard you visited Saint Michael’s?” asked Scarlett. 

“Yes.  Unfortunately, I spent most of the time on client calls, while Claire and the kids enjoyed the shops and the museums.” 

Vacations were an acceptable topic.  Acceptable topics were sports, family, vacations, and weather.

“You’ve been there, haven’t you, Joe, Saint Michael’s?” asked The Partner.

Joe was holding his finger in his cup of scalding coffee to see if he would wake up from his nightmare.  He jumped, startled.  It would be unprofessional to suck coffee off his finger, so he hooked his dripping finger into his pocket.

“I completely agree,” he said.  It was safe to agree.

“Saint Michael’s,” said The Partner.  “We were wondering if you have been there.”

“Oh, no sir.  I have never left the U.S.,” said Joe.

The Partner twisted his gold wedding band, waiting for an explanation. 

Joe swallowed; his whole brain suddenly shut down.  Who was he?  Was this Earth?  “Uhh….”

 “That’s one thing special about this firm, we are like a family,” said The Partner.  “Working here is a vacation.  Compared to other firms.”

“Yes, sir,” said Joe.  Six more months, he told himself. Then I will move to Tahiti and live in a tiki hut and never speak to another human being.

“What do you think about the new workpaper requirement, Joe?” asked The Partner.

“I love it,” said Joe.

The Partner returned his attention to Scarlett.   “This firm really is a vacation.”

Scarlett put a hand on The Partner’s hand.  “I know.  By the way, I have to pick up my husband from the golf course this afternoon….”

“Absolutely.  Take the day,” said The Partner.

“Thanks!” Scarlett bounced away.

 Joe was still standing there with his coffee cup slightly shaking.

 “What are you looking at?” asked The Partner.  “Back to your desk.”

“Sometimes, a person’s got to take a break from the dance floor to appreciate how much fun he’s having from the bleachers,” Joe said.  He gassed it back to his office to start another 1040.  Clocking out was as distant as his memories of childhood summer days, but the accounting life reconciled with the best of his worst decisions.