Barricades of Heaven

The only thing worse than having a boss? Having multiple bosses.

“Excuse me?” said Boss Number One, walking up to my desk. Boss Number One, whose real name was Albert Weisneiski, was a strange man. He looked a bit like a mouse-man...like Peter Pettigrew. But really, can you blame him? His last name was Weisneiski. He was short and wide, thick glasses placed upon his small nose, making his beady black eyes look huge. His comb over hairstyle was my favorite thing about the man. I don’t know why. But I loved it. He always looked terrified of anyone he spoke too, employer or employee. “Excuse me?” the squeaky voice repeated. “Mr. Hartley?” He said to me, placing my TPS report from last week on my cubicle desk. “Did you forget to read the erm...memo this week?” He shrunk away after asking, as if I was a tomcat.

“No, sir” I replied politely and calmly. I looked at my report, simple, boring, black and white, non-memo-abiding. The weekly memo was posted on the coffee maker in the kitchen. This week was color week. Nothing could be printed in black and white. It was asked that all employees wear a bright colored shirt. I looked down at my button up grey shirt. Damn. The office always tried to make the place more festive. “I apologize. I simply forgot.”

“Well...you...don’t forget next time.” He said awkwardly. He picked up the report.

I nodded my head and waited for him to leave. His beady eyes looked back at me. Mr. Weisneiski stayed for a while before he left, as if he thought I’d follow him. Like I said. Strange man.

I turned back to my computer, continuing what I was doing before, (Software Engineering. Joy.) just soon enough so my back was turned to Boss Number Two, who was also coming to have a nice chat with me. Now, Boss Number Two, whose real name was John Johnson (well, not really John Johnson, it was something Greek, but no one could pronounce it, so, John Johnson.) was completely different than Mr. Weisneiski. Johnson was Greek. And Johnson was proud. And Johnson was loud.

“Danny Boy!” Johnson yelled as he neared twenty feet from my desk.

“Morning Mr. Johnson.” I responded quietly, looking down at my feet.

“We need to talk.” He said to me.

“Oh, sir, I know, about my TPS report. I really am sorry.”

“Did you read the memo? It’s on the coffee maker now.” He said loudly.

“Yes, yes sir I did. I-I just forgot.”

“Stand up for me son.” He said, standing aside so I could step out of my cubicle.

I stood next to him, at least a head taller, and looked down at his face.

“Boy? What are you wearing?”

I looked down at my clothes, a grey button up shirt, black slacks, and black shoes. I then looked at Johnson’s clothes. His pants were yellow. Pleated. His shirt was stripes of all different colors of the rainbow. It was nearly blinding.

“Sir, I apologize. I’ll dress more colorful tomorrow, I promise.”

“Well. I’ll make sure to get you a copy of the memo by the end of the day.” He said as he turned, walking away to his corner office.

“But. Sir. I-I read the-I...Okay.” I sat back down at my desk until 5.

5 rolled around about forever and a day later. I picked up my jacket, keys and the seven copies of the memo I had received that day, and headed out to my car. I finally started the vehicle and began the hour-long drive home to my twenty-mile-away apartment.

“COME ON, CREEPS.” I yelled out my sunroof amidst the honks of numerous cars in the same position as me. FINALLY I reached the hold up. It was the most pathetic car accident I’d ever seen. But EVERYONE had to stop and stare for about ten minutes. God, people piss me off.

I stepped out of my car into the parking lot of my apartment. I entered the code for the door to my building in the keypad of the lock. The lock clicked open loudly. I checked my watch. 6:39. I walked in, and greeted the apartment manager, Jorge.

“Hey...” Jorge said with slurred speech, head on his desk, half asleep.

I headed to the stairs and hopped up them two at a time, faster than usual. I was ready to sit down and turn on Home Improvement. And as if I wasn’t being suave enough already, my right foot missed a step, slipped, and fell up the stairs, running in to my neighbor across the hall, who happened to be carrying a mint mocha chip frappuccino from Starbucks, and who happened to spill it all over herself and me. So there I was, lying on the stairs covered in a cold coffee drink along with a neighbor who had the same fate as I. Neither of us spoke, or moved. After the silence had become as awkward as possible, I finally spoke.

“Hey, Aimee.” I said, still face-down on the stairs.

“Nice to see you, Daniel.” She said. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

“To watch Tim the Tool Man Taylor.” I replied flatly.

I finally rose to my feet and looked around at the mess. Really, it was like I hadn’t yet grown out of that whole awkward puberty stage. “I’m sorry.” I said weakly to Aimee, offering her my hand to stand up.

“No worries” she said, sounding angrier than she was saying. “I’ll just call my date and tell him I’ll be late because a neighbor of mine fell up the stairs.”

“Do you need me to...uh...do something?”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I think you’ve done enough tonight...” With that, Aimee turned the opposite direction and began climbing up the stairs back to her apartment.

Well today had been spectacular.

I waited a few seconds so I wouldn’t run into Aimee again, and I headed up the stairs to my own apartment, ready to change clothes, microwave a Hot Pocket, and enjoy a lazy evening on the couch in front of the TV.

Goodnight America.