The Margin and Monetary Approvals cubicle farm is vast like a beige-carpeted wonderland. Outside is gray and rainy. There is nothing to look at except bland inoffensive uninspiring business blah and outside ick. I am Processing Associate. Hear me… whimper.
We will arrive in Portland, Oregon on a Monday, which is fitting. We will have spent a summer frolicking in the summer sun and playing in the gentle breeze, and Monday is the perfect day to snap us back to reality. I bet if Monday was a person it would have a therapist. “Everyone hates me,” it would whine, “I was born this way! I can’t help it!”
As I sink back into my unobjectionable maroon chair with my sensible black headset tethering me to my practical beige desk half listening to (half being driven mad by) the loop of hold music, I let my mind slip me quietly and unassumingly somewhere else. My co-workers are none the wiser that I have made an escape.
We will be on open highway. It will probably be a weekday so no one else will be on the road. The windows will probably be cracked if not all the way down and the sun will glint off of the hood of the XTerra. None of us will mind though. We’ll all be sporting our shades. I’ll be in the front passenger seat and Joey will be driving. I’ll turn to the back and ask Tom to grab me a soda out of the cooler nestled into the footrest spot in the seat next to him. He’ll have his computer on his lap so it will cause a slight disturbance, but he’ll get me a Coke Zero anyway. When I pop the top it will fizzle and when I slurp the first sip into my mouth the bubbles will tickle my nose and I’ll scrunch it up to make it stop. Joey will have a half smile on his face and he’ll be snapping his fingers to the Grateful Dead music that will joyfully fill the car. I’ll settle back into my seat with my soda and look out the window. The car will be moving fast so the view from the window to the right of me will be blurred landscape but out front will be clear and we’ll be heading at it fast. Around sunset I’ll get out my camera and snap yet another picture of a gorgeous sun pouring itself out magnificently across another satisfying day. When we are on the road nothing will be beige, nothing will be usual.
56 days left, America. 56 days.
-Sarah
