CHAPTER 1 - IT'S MY JOB
Soul crushing. That's what this was. Emily finally figured out the right word for it. That's what her job was. Soul crushing. She worked in the drab and bland cubicle number thirty-six on the boring floor twenty two of the blank glass office building. In fact the only thing exciting about her job was that she got to ride on an elevator for twenty one floors. One could imagine how much fun that really is.
Yet here she was again. The elevator just passed floor four. Two men got on, adding to the already cramped-ness of the elevator. Emily groaned and shuffled further back into the corner. She was already squished between an enormous accountant woman and a loud mouthed manager woman. It was mildly lucky she was so thin and small, but that really just added to how squished she was. A young woman of twenty four, Emily had lengthy blonde hair that was tied into a tight bun and an almost curve-free body.
Floor seven they stopped again. Two business men got off. One large fat man replaced them. No relief yet.
Emily groaned and adjusted the briefcase in her hands. The large fat woman pressed against her very uncomfortably. Emily tried fruitlessly to push back and adjust herself into a comfortable position. Wasn't there supposed to be some sort of limit on these elevators? Whatever it was, she was sure they were over it.
Floor twelve. A half-dozen people got off. They had some breathing room. The fat lady didn't move at all.
Her life had gone like most normal lives. She had been a child, then a student and then her parents urged her to go to college. Unfortunately, her mother's type of urging was to sign her up for the entrance exam, pay the fee and then use that as reason to guilt her into it.
Floor sixteen. More people got off. The fat lady stepped a few feet away and Emily took a deep breath.
Emily never had an issue with college, but she wanted to go for Aquatic Sea life studies. Become a scientist who swam and explored the oceans. But that was a pipe dream. Her mother signed her up for the classes she thought she could take. Mathematics. Computers. Accounting. In the year 1995, computers were becoming more and more mainstream. They were being used in banks and accounting firms.
Floor twenty. All but the fat lady got off. Two floors to go.
Her mother, Janice Heart, had insisted that this field of studies would ensure her a steady job and the chance to find a man to marry. That was her mother's true goal. To make Emily look appealing to prospective men by giving her an education and money. Emily had long since seen through her mother's ploys. But it never stopped Janice from calling her every week with the name of one rich or powerful man for her to go on a date with.
Floor twenty-two. Emily stepped towards the door. She stopped in the doorway and looked down at her shoes. She always imagined she would live much of her life barefoot, just swimming in the vast ocean, searching and observing the amazing sea life. Instead she wore shiny black clogs that hurt her feet and made her angry.
"Are you getting off dear?" The fat lady asked as the elevator tried to close but stopped when it bumped Emily's suitcase.
"What? Oh yes...I suppose." Emily sighed, stepping forward.
She walked slowly from the elevator.
"Emily! Good, you're on time today. Here are some TPS reports that I need you to fill out on the work you did yesterday. You didn't do them. Be sure to use the new cover sheets." Her floor manager said, stuffing an alarming stack of papers into her arms.
"But sir, I did these yesterday." Emily said, looking at the stack of papers held in her arms.
"Well I'm sure you did, but management down up floor thirty didn't receive them. So you've got to do them again." The manager said.
Emily was about to say something when she just turned and walked away. Shuffling down the long, bleak hallway between the cubicles, she reached number thirty six in the middle on the far side. They weren't allowed any personal effects in the cubicle save for a personal Calender. Erin had one with fish that her mother had bought her. She dropped the load of papers down on the desk and sat down in front of her computer. She slipped her shoes off under the desk and sighed. She wore a clean dark blue business suit with a skirt and matching tie. More than once she had considered just hooking her tie in a light fixture and kicking the chair away.
"Hey Emily. Could I have a word?" A voice said behind her.
This particular voice ma her want to take her heavy computer and hurl it across the room. It was, what management called, her day supervisor. A greasy, disgusting man who took entirely too much 'liberty' with his position. He was assigned to make sure the employees on floor twenty-two stayed on task and did their work efficiently.
"Yes Sloan?" Emily said, gritting her teeth as she turned around.
"I heard you were having an issue filling out your TPS reports for your work yesterday. Management really needs those. They have to know what work is getting done." Sloan said, grinning, "Are you not wearing your shoes? You know that is thoroughly against dress code. I may have to report you. Unless...of course...you want to break the dress code in another manner."
The way he said that last sentence made Emily's skin feel like it had a million bugs crawling around just under the surface. She reluctantly put her shoes back on and looked up at him.
"Fine." He grunted, "Just get those TPS reports done or you'll be talking to management about it."
"Okay, Sloan." She said with bile creeping up her throat.
Sloan rubbed a hand over his pencil-thin oily mustache and walked away. Emily turned back to her computer and fought the urge to gag. That man took every single chance he could to make a move on any woman on the floor. He was sickening and stupid, but he was also the son of the CEO and he knew that his father would take his side over any woman.
Her head felt like it was going to explode already. She dug in her briefcase, found her bottle of aspirin and quickly swallowed two of them before getting to work.
*******
Work went how she expected it to. Soul-Crushingly boring. A noisy and packed subway trip home and she stood in front of her dirty apartment building on the south side of New York. There was upsides and downsides to living in New York. She knew that there was. She just hadn't figured out the upsides yet. Her mother lived in Brooklyn but insisted that her daughter move here to try and get better work. Sure the work was better, but the apartment cost a fortune and she had to live in a town with millions of people.
Walking inside, she headed over to the elevator and clicked the button. The elevator dinged and nothing happened.
"Sorry hon, it's out of order." The janitor said, walking over to stick a paper on the elevator door.
"Oh. Thanks." Emily sighed.
She stepped over to the stairs and started to climb. She lived on the tenth floor. At least she didn't have to stand in the elevator. That's always just felt like she was back at work.
Third floor.
Her feet were killing her. The shoes that came with the suit were terrible and had no support in them. The salesman had assured her they would loosen up...six months ago.
Fifth floor.
She never understood those comics when she was a child that portrayed the man coming home from work tired and aggravated. She always thought work would be fun and she would make money at it.
Seventh floor.
But the money was always gone before she got the chance to have any fun. The work was empty and boring. Nothing about her life was turning out how she wanted. She always thought if she went to college and got the good job, at least she would make a lot of money. Well at this point that was a fiscal impossibility.
Tenth floor.
Almost home. She walked out the door and down the bland linoleum hall. Everything was bland in here life. Everything was boring and empty. No man was ever interested in her like her mother had thought would happen. It was so bad that, at night, Emily couldn't even bring herself to masturbate. Masturbation, when she had been a teenager, had been a pleasant escape on reality for a little while. But now her life was so smashed under her work and bills that even her imagination could bring forth a pleasing thought.
Door number one thousand twenty two.
That always reminded her of work. She hated it and always considered pulling the numbers off the door so she didn't have to look at them. It wasn't like she had any friends to come visit her or anything that needed to know her address. But as always, she just walked inside and dropped her briefcase on the counter and kicked her shoes off on the edge of the worn old carpet. Digging in the fridge, she pulled out a beer and sighed. At least she had a cold beer waiting for her here. But she wasn't an excessive drinker at all. Unless you consider 'going out on Friday night and getting so fucked up that you're always surprised Saturday morning that you actually got hone' to be excessive.
Flopping down on her couch, she groaned and lifted the beer to her lips.
There was a knock at the door and she yelled angrily the door.
"Oh come on! I haven't even managed to take a drink of my beer yet. God damn it!" Emily yelled loudly as she got to her feet.
She pulled the door open with one hand and took a long pull from her beer in the other. She was still drinking when the man at the door said something.
"Papers." The man said.
"Ahhh. What? Oh." Emily said, finally looking at him.
He was an old man with his face hidden by a low-pulled baseball cap. Frizzled graying blond hair stuck out from the hat in long wavy strands. His skin was well tanned and he wore shorts and an old T-shirt. He didn't look like any delivery man.
