Hell Is Other People, Danielle Bellwood [best novels to read .TXT] 📗

only by fractions of a second, but on a few notable instances, by minutes. And I was just informed that not only is one of your employees missing for the second day in a row, your new temp just walked out. Again.”

“Ummm,” Roger said. “I’m not sure what you want me to…”

“I need you to fill out triplicate form 37B,” Phil said. “Get it to me before the end of the day. And review the handbook about insubordinate charges. They are your responsibility. Get them back in line now, or else. There are worse jobs than supervisor, you know.”

Roger swallowed the large ball of anxiety lodged in his throat like a toad. “I’ll do my best.”

“No,” Phil said. “Your best isn’t good enough. Do someone else’s best.”

“O…kay…” Roger said.

Phil abruptly disconnected the call. Rising ponderously from his padded office chair, Roger trudged through the hallway to Bertha’s receptionist station. He stood in front of her desk and let out a long sigh.

“Yes, Roger?”

“I need triplicate form 37B,” he said. “And a current handbook.”

Bertha’s eyebrows rose in surprise above her glasses, nearly disappearing into the bangs of her impressive coiffure. Rising regally from behind her receptionist counter, she retreated to the rack of open cubbies on the wall behind her, filled with stacks of paperwork in every hue under the heavens...uh make that halogens.

Bertha grunted with the effort required to lift a massive stack of pink and yellow sheets from the cubby in the exact center of the wall and carry it to the counter where Roger waited. The form fell with an audible thud onto the Formica surface, one lone top sheet floating lazily in the air before settling to rest on the sizable stack.

Form 37B was a foot-thick sheaf of paper that the accountants created to torture supervisors. It wasn’t really in their job description to torture but they received a sinister satisfaction from forcing subordinates to prepare paperwork by hand.

For some reason, Phil had apparently taken a special interest in Roger. Receiving special interest from the accounting department was not something to be excited about. But it’s not as though Roger got excited about anything.

Every day of Roger’s life felt exactly the same as the one before. Roger had been handling the data entry division for nearly as long as he could remember. Roger suffered from an overabundance of apathy, a condition which made it nearly impossible for him to function at anything other than sitting at his desk day in and day out, typing emails, answering calls, and waiting to introduce one damned soul to another. It wasn’t a very good job but at least, until lately, it was easy.

“Form 37B,” Bertha said as she pulled a small brown pamphlet from below the counter. “And a current handbook.”

Bertha dropped the handbook on top of the giant pile of multi-colored paper. Roger stared morosely at the mountain of mindless paperwork for a moment before forcing himself to scoop it up in his arms and turn for the door.

“Where are you going?” Bertha asked.

“The watering hole,” Roger said. “I might be awhile.”

As Roger approached the door to the coffee shop, he was relieved to see an older couple in Aloha shirts coming out just as he was about to go in. The woman held her cup of iced green tea in one hand and pressed her hip against the door, holding it open so that Roger could enter without having to shift his armload of paperwork.

“Thank you,” Roger said.

“Your circus, your monkeys,” the woman answered.

“What?” Roger asked, confused.

She and her husband nodded toward the sign on the door. The epithet was scrawled in large red letters across the whiteboard.

“Huh,” Roger said. “Okay.”

The woman stepped away from the door as soon as Roger crossed the threshold and the black glass panel swung closed behind him. It was empty in the shop. The only other soul in sight was Joe Jr, waiting patiently behind the register. He glanced from Roger’s eyes to the impressive pile of papers in his arms and said, “Rough morning?”

Roger sighed heavily and dropped the form on the nearest table. The spindly piece of furniture shuddered under the weight.

“Missing employees.”

“Uh oh,” Jr said. “Form 37B?”

Roger nodded. “Phil needs it filled out by the end of the day.”

“Bureaucrats,” Jr muttered.

Roger’s heart stuttered slightly. “What did you say?”

“I said the whole accounting office is a bunch of bureaucrats.”

As if on cue, Arlo walked in to the coffee haus at that moment. Roger heard the faint shush of the door swinging open behind him and knew that it had to be the tardy temp without even looking.

“Hey, Joe,” Arlo called to the barista behind the counter. “Hey, Roger,” he said as he breezed past Roger to pick up two cups of coffee waiting on the counter.

Arlo turned around with the cups in his hands and cocked his head slightly at the foot-tall form on the table before Roger.

“What’s that?”

“A form,” Roger said. “The accounting department noticed that my employees keep missing shifts. This is my punishment.” His eyes drooped in defeat as he considered the mound of menial busywork morosely.

“Your circus, your monkeys,” Jr said.

“Really?” Arlo seemed highly interested. He set the paper coffee cups down on the little table, and sat on a stool beside Roger to look at the first page. “Truancy and/or Job Abandonment by Worker Class Cells aka Drones must be handled in a most expeditious manner. Failure to properly correct errant behavior by charges will result in the handler being severely punished…” He glanced up at Roger in surprise. “Roger, what exactly do you do at Forever Pharma?”

“Well…” Roger said. “I…” He furrowed his brow in thought. “I…”

Arlo pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Holding it above the table, he snapped a pic of the top sheet and uploaded it to his Instagram. He hadn’t posted a new entrée or cactus photo for a while and his followers might be disappointed by the unexciting snapshot, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t for them. It