The Newest Act In The Modern Circus

Todd, phone to his ear, rifled through a stack of papers. When he found the one he needed, he glanced at his boss’ open door across the room and decided he could probably land it on his desk as a paper airplane.

As he folded, the hold music on the other line disappeared. The chipper voice was deafening after the tinny music. “Hello! Thank you for waiting. How can I help you today?”

“Hi.” Todd shifted the phone to his other ear. “I’m calling to check on the status of an order that was due last week but hasn’t been marked as shipped yet.”

“Ah, let me transfer you to our shipping department!”

“They just-” The hold music started playing again and Todd sighed as he tossed the folded report through the air onto his boss’ desk. Howard, also on the phone, quirked an eyebrow at Todd who shrugged as he turned his attention back to the email he’d been writing when Howard had asked for the report.

As he wrapped that up, a delivery woman stepped out of the stairwell. Todd flagged her down and pointed toward the meeting room next to Howard’s office. When she hesitated at the door, Todd called out “just go in. It’s just a group project.”

Todd shifted his attention back to his inbox before the woman had even touched the doorknob and started sorting through the messages that were piling up while he was stuck on the phone.

Instead of answering any of them, he took a moment to breathe and switched his attention to a different document. As he reflected on his attempts to punch up his resume in order to avoid getting another job like the one he’d grown to hate, he wrote “professional juggler” down under his Other Skills section. 

Cubicle Fields Forever

Darryl rose and left his office. He paced past the dark cubicles and down a dim hallway, looking for the one coworker he knew would be around this late. Greta usually visited him but, today, he thought as he counted rows in the next cubicle field, he’d visit her.

After turning down the seventh row, he found an office belonging to “Tim” that he was certain should’ve been Greta’s.

“Weird.” Darryl turned and found himself in the middle of the cubicle field again. The office behind him had vanished. Darryl rubbed his eyes and headed toward a looming office wall he could follow back to the hallways.

When he got there, he peered at the sign on the nearest office. “Regie? Z52BQ?” Darryl reached out to touch the plaque. It was real but, when he pulled his hand away, it said “Reachme.” As the hairs on his neck rose, Darryl spun to find himself in the middle of the lightless cubicle field again.

Darryl took off running and, when he finally reached a wall, sweat pouring off him, he glanced behind him to find nothing back there but endless dark cubicles.

Darryl looked forward again just as something loomed in the shadowy door of “Meatgyre’s” office. He screamed as a blazing light erupted from this figure.

When his vision cleared, he saw the tall, solid form of Greta holding out a hand. “Oh my god, are you okay?” Greta hauled him to his feet. “I was just about to leave and you startled me!”

“What?” Darryl looked behind him and saw the ordinary five-by-five of cubicles with offices on each side. “I was…”

“You shouldn’t wander around here in the dark.” Greta patted him on the shoulder and led him away from her office. “You might get lost. Or worse…”