The Backup Asset

…25

Quentin’s day had been once again remarkably annoying, irritating, and endless. The minutes had dragged by slowly, making the day seem eternal.

He wasn’t feeling all that great. His hands were shaking a little, very unusual for him. A migraine had clouded his brain for the better part of the day, and now was impairing his vision, making it blurry, unfocused. He stopped a little to analyze what was going on with his body, why it was betraying him. Then he realized he was deeply upset; he’d gone way past the typical workday irritation with the idiotic boss and with everyone else who wouldn’t let him be. He was upset to the point where his entire being struggled to compensate and failed miserably.

He went for the bourbon bottle and filled a glass with almost double his usual serving, then fired up his personal laptop and logged in to the Rat Olympics chat room; maybe talking about it would make it better. Maybe hearing how other people struggled just as badly would make him feel less battered.

DespeRatt: Hey guys…

LostGirl: Hey stranger, it’s been a while.  I was thinking maybe you got another job and forgot all about us.

DespeRatt: I wish. No, I’m still there, and today it’s been worse than usual.

LostGirl: Why? What happened? Someone gave you shit?

DespeRatt: Sadly, that’s almost the norm, but no. They gave me a fucking free lunch!

Slave19: And why is that bad? What am I missing?

DespeRatt: Ah… where do I even start… I need a break from them to survive my day. Today they gave some of us a mandatory working lunch, which to me it means they squeezed another hour of work out of me for $10.50, the price of that salad. Huh… if they even paid that much for it. I could barely hold it together the whole time.

LostGirl: Some folks like it, you know. I don’t think anyone wanted to offend you or anything.

DespeRatt: I know they didn’t want to offend me, but they did want to get more work out of me for free, and that’s hard to swallow.

LostGirl: You sound like an hourly employee. Aren’t you salaried?

Quentin rubbed his hand through his hair. Today it was hard to find sympathetic ears even here, where he’d always found kindred spirits.

DespeRatt: I am salaried, but this is nonsense, IMHO. Time is time, for everyone, salaried or not. Every hour is a tiny little sliver of our lives that they rob us of. So what if I’m salaried? I shouldn’t want to have a life, or need rest — a fucking break, like I am entitled to? I have to go nonstop, like some nightmarish automaton, for eight, nine hours in a row without needing a fucking break? Yes, LostGirl, I am salaried, but so the fuck what?’

LostGirl: I am sorry, dear Ratt, I really am. Didn’t mean to upset you even more. I totally see your point.

DespeRatt: I apologize too. I know you mean well, you always have.

Slave19: Even with cars you have to stop the engine when refueling, right?

DespeRatt: Right. Didn’t think of that, but yeah, absolutely.

Slave19: Because they could blow up otherwise. 

DespeRatt: Very true. This is precisely what happened to me today.

LostGirl: Are you in management? Are you able to influence these decisions?

DespeRatt: No, and no. I’m an engineer, LostGirl. I never wanted to be in management, still don’t. I… I’m not really a people person. Ideally, I wanna be left the fuck alone to do my work. A good workday is a day in which I interact with people remotely, not face to face. Oh well… nobody’s perfect, right?

LostGirl: Are you socially anxious?

DespeRatt: I guess you could say I am, although I’d call it much more comfortable alone. Plus my work doesn’t get interrupted by others every minute or so.

Slave19: I know an exercise that can help wipe that frown off your face. Let’s plan revenge.

LostGirl: 

DespeRatt: Huh?

Slave19: Just virtually, of course. If you had all the power in the world, what would you do with the offenders at your job?

Quentin caught himself smiling, the first time in countless hours.

DespeRatt: Ahh… let me think. The asshole with the working lunch — I’d prevent him from having a non-working lunch for at least a month. But he might like that. Huh… What would you suggest?

Slave19: How about having him serve lunch to people as a career? Wouldn’t he look just great as a waiter in some cheap diner?

DespeRatt: Totally. You’re so much better at this than I am. Let’s continue; my migraine started going away.

Slave19: Glad to hear. Who else is on your shit list?

DespeRatt: My boss, of course. The biggest idiot who ever walked on this planet with an MIT degree. Entitlement meets arrogance but fails to meet any superior brain function with this guy.

Slave19: Thinking… Arrogant, you say?

DespeRatt: And then some.

Slave19: How about street vendor, selling hot dogs right in front of your corporate office?

LostGirl: ROFL.

DespeRatt: Gotta give it to you, you have talent! If I’ll even be in a position to think of real revenge, I’ll know who to ask.

Slave19: You will. Life circumstances change every day. Soon, your time will come. Just hang in there.

DespeRatt: I will. Thanks, you guys, you’re awesome.

Quentin closed his laptop and leaned back in his chair, letting out a long sigh. Yeah, this was fun, and helped him forget the miseries of the day, but it was definitely not progress. His résumé still needed a little tweaking, and that’s where he should have spent his time instead.

He rubbed his forehead for a minute; his migraine was returning with a vengeance.