According to the
clock on the wall behind me, I’ve only been at work for an hour. According to
my sense of exhaustion, I’ve been here for twelve.
I worked until one
in the morning last night, and still didn’t manage to get finish everything I
needed to get done, which would be fine if this wasn’t the third time this
month it had happened. I’m sure the boss would fire me if it wasn’t for the fact
that he can’t find anyone to replace the people we’ve already lost, and he’s
not eager to lose more.
When I first
started this job in the beginning of 2020, we had twelve people in the office.
I didn’t talk to them a lot, but they seemed to know that they were doing. Then
the pandemic hit, and they sent us all home in March. There were some growing
pains when they were putting the virtual infrastructure in, but most of us were
glad to not have to commute. Then schools went remote, and we lost two people
when they had to quit to help their kids through school. We had to take on a
bit more work, but it was going to be fine once we got more people in.
Then we had to go
back to work, before they’d made vaccines, and four more people left because
they didn’t want to risk their lives for a job when they had other options.
Over 2021 we lost two more people, which wouldn’t have sucked so much except
that they don’t seem eager to replace them. My boss says they can’t find anyone
who’s willing to work for what they’re willing to pay. Frankly, if I wasn’t
already working here, I wouldn’t be willing to apply either.
Aside from me, the
other people working here are Maryann Williams, Lucy Nguyen, and Nina Cravitz.
Lucy’s the best in the department, despite being as overworked as the rest of
us, she never falls behind like I do, complain like Maryann, or fall asleep at
her desk like Nina does. I don’t know if I find that impressive or infuriating,
but I get the feeling that if she was floundering, our boss might get the hint
and start employing more people. As it is, this is the third day in a row I
can’t keep my eyes open despite drinking three cups of coffee. I know from
experience that if I drink any more, I won’t be able to sleep even if I don’t
have to bring work home.
I send off an
email, then get up to get a drink of water, mostly because I’m hoping that
movement will magically instill a desire to do something more productive than
stare at my screen in frustration. On my way to the water cooler, I notice that
Nina has, once again, fallen asleep at her desk. She didn’t do this when we had
enough people for all the work in the department, she’s just overworked and
sleep deprived like I am. I reach down and tap her shoulder, and she leaps up
and says, “Sorry sir,” before noticing it’s me.
“Looks like you
haven’t had coffee yet.” I say.
She sighs and
says, “I’ve already had a cup.”
I scoff and say,
“That’s weak. I’ve had three, and I’ve only been here for an hour.”
“Really?” she
says, sounding dubious.
“I was up until
one last night.” I say
She says, “No
wonder you look so tired.” Then she gets a look on her face like she realizes
what she just said.
“Don’t worry,
it’s not your fault I was working long after I should have been in bed.” I say,
glaring at the boss’ door. “I’m sure it’ll be over once they hire more people.”
I say, with the biggest smile I can muster. We’ve been joking about how they
aren’t hiring anyone to help us, but that stopped being funny about three
months ago.
I grab water and
then head back to my cubicle, and on the way am met by our boss. By some
miracle, I don’t grumble “What the hell do you want?” at him, like I really,
really want to right now.
“Ellen,” He says
pleasantly, having gotten a decent night’s sleep, “Do you have the report I
asked for yesterday?”
“Which one?” I
ask, trying not to sound sullen and annoyed.
He frowns at me,
“The one I sent you home with” he says.
I try to remember.
Last night already seems like a bad dream, the kind I’ve been having way to
often lately. I go to my desk to check and realize I didn’t manage to finish
it. “Sorry sir, it’s not ready.”
He frowns and says,
“Why can’t you finish your work on time? I know we’re a little short staffed at
the moment, but that’s no excuse for not giving your all and pulling your
weight. We need you to do all you can for us, and you’re letting us down Ellen,
especially after I let you leave work early yesterday. I’m so disappointed in
you.”
I don’t say
anything, because I can’t think of anything to say that isn’t some variation
of, “I’m giving my all you monster. It’s not my fault you refuse to hire
someone or help us out in any way, and I’m tired of getting yelled at for not
wanting to work overtime.” He eventually leaves, looking disgusted, and for a
moment I’m tempted to send a letter to HR about his behavior. Unfortunately, HR
is notoriously useless here.
I go back to work.
Work seems to drag on forever, especially since we’re all so swamped that we
can’t talk to each other or share gossip. To pass the time, I put a check mark
on a sticky note every time the thought “I want to quit” crosses my mind. I’ve
been doing this ever since May of last year when I only put one or two marks on
a sticky note per day. Now there’s rarely a day I don’t think this at least
twenty times.
The only
highlight of my day is when I go past Nina’s desk on my way to the bathroom and
see that her desktop background is a picture of Julius Corvin. I can’t suppress
a flash of rage, but I ask her, “You a fan?”
She flinches, then
says, “No, I’ve just had the same desktop background since college. I don’t
like his music anymore, but I like this picture anyway.”
I think about it
for a bit, then say, “I was a fan in high school. I used to pretend I was his
girlfriend.”
Nina gets a weird
look on her face, “Wasn’t he, like, forty or something?” She asks.
I shrug and say,
“Teenage girls get crushes on older guys all the time, it’s not a problem
unless he asks her out, and he was thousands of miles from me in a giant
mansion filled to the brim with security, there’s no way I could get even close
enough for that to be a problem.”
Nina looks at her
computer screen and says, “I never liked him much, but my brother’s and I would
listen to his music on road trips. We live far enough away now that we don’t
travel together anymore. I found that his music doesn’t sound as good when
you’re not in a car.”
“You’re smarter
than I am. I thought he was god until about a month ago.” I say.
“Why?” Nina asks.
“Why did I think
he was a god, or why do I not think he’s a god anymore?” I ask.
“Both I guess.”
She says.
“I thought he was
a god because I liked the sound of his voice. I never actually checked to see
if he was a good person. I stopped thinking he was a god when I learned he was
producing NFTs.”
Nina looks
disgusted. “I didn’t know he was doing that.” She tells me.
I sigh. “From
what I can tell, every famous person is evil. If they aren’t evil when they
start out, they will be by the end of it.”
She laughs, and
we both go about our day until she leaves at eight. I stay for another hour
more because I feel like I should than because I want to please our boss, who,
as usual, left at five.
I can’t help but
think about Julius Corvin for the rest of the day, even on my drive home. I hate
him, but at the same time I feel kind of sad. The part of me that wanted to
date him in high school, that used a picture I took of him when I was in the
backrow of one of his concerts as my desktop until I went to college, wants to
think that he turned out the way he did because he didn’t have anyone who was
willing to stop him. But that reasoning falls apart when I think about the fact
that no one in my family would stop me if I got into NFTs, and I still wouldn’t
do it even if I was told I had to do it or else I would die.
I never liked him
as a person. I didn’t follow him obsessively on social media like all my
friends did, because I knew from reading tabloid headlines in the checkout lane
that every famous person is a monster once you know enough about them. But that
doesn’t mean I was happy when I found out it was true.
The problem is that
for as long as I’ve listened to his music, Julius Corvin has lived in my head
rent free, as a man who wanted to date a much younger woman when I was in high
school, and now as a man willing to do anything, no matter how scummy, for easy
money. When I was young and read a story about a little boy who loved a soldier
more than anything, only to learn that the soldier had faked all his
accomplishments, I promised myself that I would never meet any of my idols in
real life, lest I learn just how evil they really were. I plan on keeping that
promise, but I wish there were some way I could meet up with Julius Corvin and
tell him exactly what I think of him, and where I hope he ends up when he dies.