Part one.
Spring field county, Alabama.
JOE
Fuck! The cooler broke again! I can’t believe they didn’t fix it.
Joe was sweating like an animal, his blue shirt full of dark stains from his sweat. He wished they had fixed the cooler after he asked them a thousand times, that’s the least they could do. But Joe knew they would not fix it anyways, why was he even furious?
He wished they had fixed the cooler
It was 26 degrees inside the office and the fun part was, he still had last night’s paperwork to finish.
He knew he should have known better. His wishes didn’t matter. He knew they didn’t care if he sweated himself to death. He was, after all just another employee, one of 268 others. It was absolutely clear they could replace him just as one replaces a broken light bulb.
His life didn’t matter to them, he didn’t matter.
But he mattered to Julie, right?
Right?
He wished he knew the answer. Deep down he desperately wanted to believe that he did, they had been together for 18 years after all. When he first met her in that multi-level management class, 3rd semester in college, he knew there was something special about her. The way she carried herself and her smile, her smile…. how the edges of her lips stretched far wide and her eyes became so tiny you could barely see them, her head slightly tilted towards left. He knew he had fallen for her. Though he had never considered he was good enough for a girl like Julie, but miraculously, by the intervention of the divine or something, it turned out she was into him too! It was nothing short of a movie. After graduating, both had decided to remain in Alabama and a few years in staying together, boom! they were married. It was pretty surreal now looking back. All of their friends were jealous. It seemed too good to be true.
Her smile….
Did he remember the last time she smiled? Searching through his memory, there appeared a hazy image, but it quickly vanished.
No, not really.
Julie didn’t smile these days.
The college days, the graduation, the moving in together, the intimate times…. it almost felt like a dream. Memories, fading away. So distant, that you’d have to ask yourself if they are even true. They had moved past the good old days; their relationship had moved past the good old days.
What must ……
JOE, JOE! ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME? I WANT THESE PAPERS DONE BY TOMORROW MORNING, WOULD YOU MIND DOING OVERTIME TONIGHT?
His thoughts were interrupted by the near screaming voice of his boss.
Fuck!
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
It was that asshole Reynold again. Doing an overtime? Would you mind?
Of course! I would mind you fucking dick head. What am I? Your dog?
But that was not a question, it was an order. They both knew it. There was only one answer.
Yes Reynold, sure, in what order do you want me to go through them?
Oh God! he would get home late again. Julia would be mad for sure, he had promised to make it home early, it was Kyle’s birthday after all.
KYLE
Julia was busy in the kitchen when the phone rang.
Hello?
It was nothing new. The same person with the same thing, can’t make it tonight.
She let out a deep sigh.
Okay.
And the line was dead.
She wanted to scream at him, cry out and pour her rage onto her husband, a husband that can’t make it home for his children. A husband who doesn’t have the guts to stand up for his family. A husband that’s never there.
She finished the icing on the cake and put on a smile. Children can be severely traumatized by tensions between parents, she had once read in a parenting magazine. She thought how she would tell Kyle that his dad won’t be home tonight.
It’s always me who has to do this. Always.
She went off to the TV room to greet the children.
It hadn’t always been like this. No, it hadn’t. Or had it? She wasn’t sure anymore. She remembered, she remembered how had they started out. The past felt warm and inviting, she almost wanted to get lost in her thoughts and never come back.
She felt someone tugging on her dress.
It was one of Kyle’s friends. Some of the children had gotten into a fight.
Supermom on duty, again.
BEGINNING OF THE END
Joe came home at 11. Julia and the kids were asleep. He had an extra key to the house. Julia had insisted he get one because she said she didn’t want to stay awake till he gets home.
She didn’t want to stay awake till he gets home.
He couldn’t blame her. He was the one who was always late and he could only imagine what it took to take care of Kyle. In a way, he was glad it wasn’t him.
He was glad it wasn’t him.
Yes, that was true. Sure, his life sucked. Reynold treated him like a dog at the office. He wasn’t sure he mattered or not. He wasn’t sure what his job was, selling insurance to people who didn’t need them? But he would rather do that than to stay in his son’s presence, because Kyle reminded him of something he did not want to remember.
Selling insurance to people who didn’t need them?
Yeah, that was his job. But there was more, it also included denying insurance to people who actually need them, old ladies with chronic arthritis would come crying at his office every day for help. But he couldn’t help them.
He couldn’t help them.
Or could he?
Yes, he could but, the company could not afford to lose money on claims that could be potentially denied. In other words, helping poor old ladies was not an option because it was bad for business.
Yes, this was his job. The company’s business model was his Bible. He was to read this Bible everyday like a faithful dog and follow every word. The company’s values was his values, the company’s words were his words.
His own values and words?
They didn’t matter. And why should they? He worked for the company and they paid him a lump of cash money every month so that he could run his miserable life. He had no reason to complain.
He had no reason to complain.
Or did he?
The truth was he hated his job. He hated, hated, hated, hated it!
He truly did. It made him feel hollow. It almost felt like he had no soul. Actually, he had no soul. That’s what the company wanted him to be, soulless. Did he enjoy lying to people selling overpriced health insurance? Did he enjoy saying no to pleading old ladies and acting like it didn’t bother him? Did he enjoy always keeping a straight face at work, as if he had no emotions, as if he was dead.
As if he was dead.
Yes, he was dead in a way. He was dead inside.
He was a dead man, just breathing.
Raised in a catholic family, Joe was religious. He was a church volunteer during his high schools and he never missed Sundays. At work, he always wondered if he was committing a sin. Sins, it was one thing he was taught as a child; after death God will judge you for your sins. God, he feared what might happen to him when he dies. All the pain and suffering he brought upon those whom he deceived. He just hoped Jesus would forgive him.
He laid in bed next to Julia. She was snoring slightly; they were getting old after all. He knew she was a light sleeper so he didn’t want to wake her up, so he slid into the blankets as quietly as possible. His thoughts soon filled his mind again.
He feared what might happen to him when he dies.
It was a funny thought he considered. Fear. Fear was an emotion he only knew too well. He feared everything. He feared that Julia would someday think he was too much of a burden to keep up with and leave. He feared he would lose it at work and say something Reynold didn’t like and get fired. He feared what Kyle would think of him if he was old enough to understand what a looser, he had for a dad. He feared his very existence. But the funny part was yes, he feared about things that might happen to him while he is alive, but he now feared what would happen to him after death too. Fear, he concluded, would be a part of him even after death. It was strangely funny, he almost felt like laughing.
He almost felt like laughing.
But laugh at what? His messed-up life? His painful existence? Yes. Misery becomes comedic when there’s too much to lament upon.
With that thought, sleep finally showed mercy on him, and he quietly slipped into a hazy state of unconsciousness only to wake up next day.
Not that he was looking forward to it anyway.
THE NEXT DAY
The next day he woke up early. The digital clock showed 3 am with its bright lights which hurt Joe’s eyes. Julia was still sleeping. He slid out of the sheets careful not to wake her up.
Shit! This was the third day.
This was the third day the doctor’s pills hadn’t worked. He had taken 4 Dioxepine pills last night, which was more than the normal single dose but, who cares right? This shit wasn’t working anyways. Julia used to make him not take more than one pill but these days she herself was taking medication; Prozac for her mild depression. She had problems of her own and he wasn’t expecting much from her anyways.
He checked his phone for what his day had for him. As usual, it was Reynold asking him to email, on his behalf, to his wife that he was busy in a shareholder meeting and couldn’t come home for a few days. In fact, he was going to LA with his whore; that pretty face, 22-year-old model Ardia and spend half his (Joe’s) salary on 2 day “trip”. And as his employee, he was naturally expected to lie on his behalf to his employer’s ever so trusting wife. It was completely normal.
Later that day, he had to review potential insurance claims filed this week and, in the evening, he was to attend the “co-worker meet up” which the company insisted to have every month in order to improve communication and relationship between employees for greater efficiency. What a load of bullshit. It was basically; 24 employees locked up in a bar for which the company paid for the night and you had to talk to people, or as the company puts it, your ever so friendly “co-workers” about your life and make friends with them. Co-workers huh? Half of those people, Joe had seen them every day in his department for the last year or so, none of them had shared more than 5 words with him. If he was lying on the street, bleeding to death, they would drive right past him, and he would do the same to them. it was unnatural as fuck but …
THE COMPANY WANTS YOU TO MAKE FRIENDS.
So, you will make friends. it is part of the job.
Morning came.
As always, he skipped his breakfast. Drove 2 hours in the never-ending Alabama city traffic and finally made it to his office. The entered his hot and almost suffocating room, fuck they still didn’t fix the cooler. But that was the thing of the past, just one of many miseries in his life he will eventually learn to live with. He got on with the paper work, not leaving his desk for the next 3 and half hours. *The doctor had specifically advised him to not do that (to avoid his horrendous back pains) but, who cares right?
He took a quick coffee break and did it all over again.
Around eight, there was movement in the office; chatters here and there, middle age men getting off their chairs to “talk” with fellow workers (which they rarely did). Around 8:15, the HOD (Head of Department) gathered everyone up as a shepherd gathers his cattle and made the usual announcement with a whole lot of fake enthusiasm, “Fellow co-workers! do you know what time of the month is it?” As usual, there was a low mummer of approval in the group of office workers. The HOD decided to go ahead; “It’s the most awaited part of the whole month, it’s co-worker meetup! So, I hope you all have completed you log entries. If so, then let’s head downtown to the bar and have some lively conversations!” With that, everyone gathered up their belongings and off they went to celebrate Joe’s most hated part of the job.
THE CO-WORKER MEETUP
Don’t get me wrong. Not everyone hated the event. There were some, middle aged men with families like Joe’s himself, who actually enjoyed this “meet up”. That wasn’t surprising because they actually had friends, or at least colleagues they could talk to (and the fact that they probably weren’t miserable enough to need pills just to sleep also helped). Joe on the other hand, had all the odds against him. He didn’t have any “friends” in the company, wasn’t into socializing with those generic ‘colleagues’ who would forget his existence the very next day of work (everyone is desperately trying to just float above water, no one had time for some dude who was stuck in the same boat in life as them), nor was he fortunate enough that at least sleep showed him mercy in his already fucked up life.
“Co-workers” they call themselves, but the moment Monday came, they would forget your existence entirely (even if you worked less than 12 feet from them) and just focus on work, trying to get the promotion that everyone wanted. Sure, you could talk about friendship and goodwill all day long, but when it’s time for that promotion there were no “colleagues” involved, only potential competitors. And you don’t shake hands with your competitors, do you? Nope, you try to crush them, and that’s exactly what everyone did in the office. Everyone wanted to deny as many claims as possible, and some even tried to steal customers from their “co-workers” so they could get their numbers up. Everything, of course, for that weekly bonus and eventually the promotion.
THE PROMOTION.
Joe found it all funny. Everyone ran after the promotion, but in the last 5 years he could not remember a single person getting it (at least not in his living memory). There was no proof that it even existed, yet everyone in the office dreamt about it every single day. Everyone still dreamt about getting that fancy promotion, moving to a new cubicle on the 7th floor, and having their own private space. This was, Joe concluded, just one of many methods that the company uses to manipulate their workers. “Give them hope and they will work like ants to get out of their rut” was the company’s philosophy. It worked, and it worked well. It was quite admirable on the company’s part, Joe concluded.
So, with the soul draining work behind them, off they went to the bar.
MEXICAN FOOD
The bar was located in one of the “less affluent” areas of the city. The 14th street was not known for the most beautiful sights; it was full of beat down, old residential buildings (the kind where the rent is cheap and the roof leaks) on one side of the street, while the other side was full of cheap restaurant and bars.
Wealthy families did not come here. The street had litter everywhere, the waste bins were overfilled and there were a couple of homeless people camping under the light pole. It wasn’t the nicest place to have “lively conversations” as the company put it. But since the event was sponsored by the company itself, the workers had, let’s say, “mediocre expectations”. And to make matters worse, the HOD was in charge of organizing the event, which meant he would do everything he could to cut the costs. Why? Because whatever he could save from the budget went straight to his pocket. A couple hundred dollars every month just to eat at a shitty restaurant and make your colleagues suffer didn’t seem like such a bad idea, did it?
And honestly, no one complained. They had bigger things to worry about in life, and everyone knew, if they were in HOD’s place, they would do the same. They all belonged to the same breed of men after all. Beat down, middle class and hungry for more.
Hence, on a warm Tuesday evening, the dozen or so employees of MET LIFE INSURANCE .CO went to the Mexican bar to enjoy their “co-worker meetup”.
EL MARCHINO
The bar was called, “El Marchino’s Restaurant and Bar”. Unsurprisingly, it was run by a man called, you guessed it, El Marchino. They served Mexican food. Adjacent to the bar, was a food stall run by an Indian couple. And besides that, there was a small bakery and so on. The street was full of mediocre restaurants (that primarily served the residents of the building across the street). Hence, the moment you walked into 14th street, your nostrils would get filled with exotic smells from all over the world (with all those spices from the restaurants). It was a distinct feeling, and Joe had gotten accustomed to it.
The bar itself was nothing special. It was, after all, just one of the many restaurants on 14th street and the food was mediocre at best. It wasn’t the most popular place by any means, and the nearby restaurants didn’t help either. Being cheap and opening till 2 in the morning were the only things that were going for El Marchino’s bar. The bar was barely making any profits.
Moreover, the recent FDA (Food and Drugs Administration) regulations required restaurants across Alabama to comply with the new food safety standards, a move which the restaurant owners were not very excited about, especially El Marchino. Marchino, being the man, he was, had enjoyed good profit margins (on whatever customers his shitty restaurant had) by spending little to no money on safety and hygiene. Everyone knew the place was dirty (not that they cared though). But with the new regulations in place, his profit margins were bound to shrink, and he (as any other business owner would) really didn’t want that to happen. His bar had been raided by inspecting officers 3 times in the last month alone, causing him to lose a ton of money in fines, and as a reward, there was a huge NOT SAFE sigh on the entrance of his precious little restaurant. They were already threatening to shut his bar down. The new rules had really started to hurt his already crumbling business, and Marchino was not happy about it.
He hated rules, even as a child. He hated school (in fact, he had never been to school). He hated those inspecting officers. He hated the law.
But he kept going. Nothing seemed to be able to bring El Marchino, nor his restaurant down. Not the competitors, not the bad publicity, and now, not even the state of Alabama. He seemed invincible in the face of such daring odds. People wondered how he could afford to run his restaurant in such circumstances, but he did. Despite everything, the bar opened up at sharp 6 in the evening and remained open until the sun came up, every single day. And El Marchino was always at the counter, like a goose brooding on its nest.
It’s important to mention that seemingly no one ever came to the bar, like the bar was almost always empty except a few mysterious old folks and of course, the employees of MET LIFE INSURANCE.CO every now and then. Why? There were a lot of better alternatives nearby of course. But unlike many businesses, the apparent lack of customers, it seemed, was not really an issue for Marchino. He didn’t really seem to care. He just wanted to keep the business running, even if he was his only customer. He was a strange man. It was a weird way to run a business. Very weird indeed.
HUMBLE ORIGINS.
Marchino, might not have been the smartest guy in the room, however he for sure, wasthe wittiest man in the whole of Alabama. You simply don’t make it from smuggling drugs in Salvador to opening a legitimate business in the middle of America without some serious wits.
Woah! Wait what?
Yup. But we will get to that later.
The Mexican was a peculiar character, both intimidating and charming. But mostly charming, after all not many knew his other side. In fact, no one in the Alabama county really knew where the Mexican had come from. And of course, no one knew of his past. He was a master at selling his ‘charming’ image, and it had apparently worked on the good folks of Alabama county. It was as if he had materialized out of thin air and now was a part of their lives.
“Hey, can’t a Mexican make an honest living in America?”, he would often chide the inspecting officers as they left his little bar with his ‘hard-earned’ cash.
He was a wild dog, even at the ripe age of 62. Rumors had it that he once had bribed the town mayor to avoid parking tickets for his food truck on Sundays (he ran a food truck on weekends to make those extra bucks). People speculated that he would do the same with the FDA officers, but that was just talk. Federal agents are way more expensive than your small-town mayor. Marchino couldn’t afford them, but he did try his best to win their favors (albeit with little success).
He was like the old, charming grandfather that every kid wanted, and with valid reasons too. Part of the reason why people came to his bar (despite the mediocre food and the obvious lack of hygiene) was his personality. He was really friendly to his customers and had lots of stories to tell from his days back in Mexico (how many of them were actually true remains an open-ended question, but people loved them regardless). He had a special way of talking that made even the most mundane topics sound vivid and exciting. Once you talked to Marchino with his slippery tongue, there was a good chance that you would get enticed by his ways. After all, even the mayor could not resist his charms.
And with that, there was the familiar jingle on the door and 27 or so employees of MET LIFE INSURANCE.CO entered the tiny Mexican restaurant oozing with alcohol.
Joe was the last to enter.
LION’S DEN.
As soon as Joe entered the bar, his ears were blasted with loud Mexican music as you would expect in such a setting. The room was dimly lit, and there was cigarette smoke everywhere. Apparently, some of those old folks had been there recently. And, in the corner close to the exit door stood Marchino. As always in his checked shirt and a cigar in his mouth. At the sight of his usual customers, he gave the familiar grin and loudly welcomed the incoming group, especially the HOD.
As soon as they entered the restaurant, everyone separated into their little groups. Everyone had their own little circles within the company. But the first one to leave the group and make himself at home was of course, the HOD. He went ahead with Marchino as usual (who everyone thought was a little too friendly with the HOD) into a private chamber, reserved only for the “important people”. Once the king had gone, the followers followed. And in no time the air was filled with loud music, alcohol and a whole lot of “lively conversations”. Joe on the other hand, went to his own little corner near the washroom and sat. Alone.
He started thinking again.
Honestblogs 