Stunning

Why would Ultisyn wish him to go to McColoughey’s? He knew why, he knew the exact reason and feelings propelling that very state of mind. But he wouldn’t address what he knew to be true initially; he hated the thought of charity in any form. He ran through all possibilities in his head, turning them over and over again, wondering if an ulterior motive sat behind the inanity of it all. But alas, none awaited him, and he knew that his boss did indeed pity his current state of livelihood and wished it to change. He felt slightly insulted. No, he thought as he once again became fixated on the stapler, he was just reminded of the seclusion he chose.

In any case, he would go. He braced himself for a damnably awkward affair, one spent in agony. He would spend every moment in silent plea for the cessation. A pressing sigh spilled from his lips, deflating his body and acknowledging the mental defeat. Tonight at 7, he thought.

The stapler stared back at Aiden blankly. The paint gleamed back at him in a crisp sympathy that he appreciated.

Not to worry, he thought to the equipment. It will all be over by 8.

The days at work were always long but never painful. Aiden lost himself most of the time, dazing at the fabrics and colors that floated about him. He would sigh and continue to fill out the paper work, wondering why daylight savings exists or some other enigma of the sort. The mystery of daylight savings had puzzled him for ages on end. Nighttime falls upon the inhabitants of earth much earlier in the winter, which means that it’s pitch black at seven when it wouldn’t usually be so until 8. Why then, he wondered, do we “fall back”, so that it would be pitch black at 6? Wouldn’t it be much more logical to gain an hour, so that it would be pitch black at 8 and still light at 7? You couldn’t say “fall forward” and “spring back”, of course, but surely a society wouldn’t let a witless adage such as those appointed to the conundrum of daylight savings be the deciding factor is such a ritual. That would just be silly. But this country, he reminded himself as he gawked stanchly at his stapler, is not a normal one.

“Aiden! What are you doing?”

Aiden jolted in his chair. Being wrenched out of his reveries was the most frightful thing to him; usually he braced himself when he knew he would he would have to talk to another; he would think about what he would say and how he would carefully form the words. When such a thing was launched upon him unexpectedly, however, he shook with anxiety and unease.

“Paperwork,” he finally stammered back in response.

“Paperwork!” His boss, Mr. Ultisyn, barked back at him. “You didn’t look half awake! How could you be doing paperwork?”

“Excuse me, I’m sorry. I just…very, very pensive at times, this must be frustrating to you, I understand, do excuse me.”

“It’s alright.” Mr. Ultisyn responded. Aiden had always been treated very delicately by Mr. Ultisyn, like the frail son of a manly father, hearing his father’s sharp compassion as he stumbled through life. Mr. Ultisyn boomed out his desires in a military manner, but his sentences always ended softly with Aiden. “But even if you are great at staring into space that’s not what I pay you for!”

“I realize that.”

“Get that to me by 3, would you?” Ultisyn said, referring to the paperwork Aiden was busy neglecting.

Aiden nodded slowly, glad the conversation was almost over. Ultisyn waited for an additional response from Aiden. When it didn’t come, he slapped Aiden brusquely on the shoulder and stalked down the row of cubicles. Aiden let out a sigh and glanced down at the papers in front of him. He didn’t know what it was; he wasn’t afraid of Mr. Ultisyn. He wanted to avoid disappointing him, but why couldn’t he talk to him casually? Well, he couldn’t talk to anyone casually. Sometimes he would stammer through the thoughts he was trying to convey so disjointedly that people would just laugh nervously and walk away. He could rarely say what he wanted to perfectly, although it all flowed fluidly through his head. There was a problem with how-

“Son, what’re you doing tonight?”

Heavens! Ultisyn was trying to kill him! He straightened up, curious as to why the man was here yet again.

“What, tonight? Would you, well, like a layout of my precogitated activites? Exactly, I don’t, exactly what are you endeavoring to find out by asking that particular question?”

It was an odd question indeed.

“Jules and Addie are going to McColoughey’s. I want you to go.”

Aiden glanced down the way. Julius Clamer and Addie Brown were employees of the other sector at the plant. He knew of them, but doubted he had said more than 10 words to Mr. Clamer. Why on earth would Ultisyn wish him to associate further with them? And, to further analyze the curious request, why would he wish him to go slosh about at the local pub with them? He had many questions, but he could only summon up one, for the time being.

“Why?”

Ultisyn frowned.

“Come now, I’ve done plenty a favor for you, boy, and you can’t go denying that. I just want you to go for a beer with some coworkers, get to know some people better, that’s all.”

Preposterous.

“Why?”

Frustration began to tear at Ultisyn.

“Tonight at 7, I want you to be at McColoughey’s. If you’re late, you’re fired. If you don’t show, I’ll fire you. Just show up for a beer and I’ll give you a raise.”

The man briskly fled the scene, once again walking down the row of cubicles. Aiden looked after him, drenched in confusion and fear.

Preposterous!