Transitory
Michael heard his alarm sound, aninsistent chirping he couldn’t slay, as he put his alarm clock on a tableacross the room to ensure his rising from the deep slumber of another latenight of drinking. He head felt heavyand a constant throbbing pushed into his temples as he forced himself from bed,smashed his hand down onto the alarm clock in anger and made his way into thebathroom. He began his routine ofgetting ready for work though clearly not fully awake, as a significant amountof toothpaste fell useless onto the bathroom sink as he mindlessly squeezed thetube.
He turned on the shower and steppedunder the light spray of water, without testing the water. He screamed out a reaction and nearly fellout of the tub, frantically turning the knobs in an attempt to lower thetemperature.
“The same routine, every goddamnedday.” He cursed aloud. He washed himself vigorously in anger,shaking his head as he thought of how little time he had before work.
He left the shower in a rush and ashe dressed, he looked at the clock, which announced he had less than fortyminutes until hell began again. Hesighed, put on his work shoes and shut off all the appliances. He exited the apartment in a rush, thinkingof the tourist traffic in his future. Ashe left the building, he felt a wave of heat crash into him. The scalding mid-afternoon sun said anomnipresent hello, shook hands with the sky and left a dazzling blindness inMichael’s mind as he jumped into his truck.
The air inside his truck seemed tobe on fire, making it hard to breathe as he started the engine and immediatelyturned the air conditioning to its highest setting. He pulled out onto the street, a majorthroughway with almost no traffic, but he smiled knowing that a parking lot ofvehicles lay waiting for him merely a street away from this emptiness. He turned onto the main street, which led tothe highway, and saw the cars backed up for over a mile. He turned on the radio, bushed the sweatgathering on his forehead, and settled into his seat, knowing the snarl oftraffic ahead of him might take twenty or even thirty minutes to unwind.
He arrived at work with less than aminute to spare before his scheduled in time. He ran for the door and pushed past a co-worker, seemingly new that hedid not recognize, in an attempt to clock in before being deemed late. The computer did not comply with him and gavehim an error message that he was not a scheduled employee. Michael shook his head in confusion and madehis way through the kitchen, seeing two more employees he did notrecognize.
He knocked on the manager’s door andwaited, seeing a woman sitting at the desk, seeming to transcribe papers intothe computer. She turned towards thedoor after some moments and finally rose to let him into the office.
“Yes?” She asked, as if confused as to the reasonfor his presence.
He stammered for a moment, trying tothink of something to say. He knew her,but she stared at him as if she had not seen him before that moment.
“The computer did not let me clockin, it said I was not scheduled.” Michael finally managed.
“What is your name?” She asked, still not recognizing him.
“Michael Adams.” He answered. He followed her and sat down in the chair offered. He watched as she punched his name into thecomputer and waited as the machine whirred with effort, trying to find him.
The machine beeped and his fileappeared on the screen. She tapped theglass knowingly and wagged a finger at him.
“You are not scheduled tonight, asthe computer told you already.” Shesaid, as if admonishing him for wasting her time.
“I wrote the schedule down lastweek, I know it is correct.” He retortedquickly, the anger rising within him.
She scrolled through his file,finding his schedule at the bottom.
“It says here you are not scheduledagain until Sunday evening.” She saidwith finality.
“That can’t be the case.” He argued.
She held out a palm to him and thensimply pointed at the screen.
“The computer has spoken.” She said. She clicked the red X at the top of his file and his name disappearedfrom the screen. She returned to the businessof transcribing the papers next to the computer into the database, without asalutation of any kind towards him. Helet himself out of the office and mindlessly made is way towards his truck,passing unknown co-workers.
He sat watching television thatevening, but did not pay the least bit of attention to the program. He could not comprehend what happened in theafternoon. He always took great care inwriting down the schedule the moment the managers posted it on Tuesdayevening. Had they changed it withouttelling him? Had they simply eliminatedperceived unnecessary shifts? Questionsswirled through his mind.
He grabbed his cell phone and send atext message to a co-worker he sometimes shared a beer with after hours. He paced the living room, biting his nails ashe waited for a response. His phonefinally beeped, after what seemed an eternity and he rushed to read themessage.
“Who is this?” It said. He stared at the screen, in confused horror, wondering if indeed hemight be going crazy all in one day.
“This is Michael Adams.” He responded quickly. He waited again, but the beep from his phonecame much more quickly this time.
“I do not know you.”
He closed his phone and placed it onthe coffee table. He sat with a thud onthe couch and leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling.
“I do not know you.” He repeated slowly, carefully articulatingevery word.
The days that followed passed slowlyin the heat of dead afternoons, watching the endless traffic of people movinginto and out of his apartment building, an occurrence so common that he watchedwith unseeing eyes as faceless neighbors hurriedly piled their meagerpossessions onto the back of rusted pickup trucks and scurried out of thecity. He watched an endless stream ofmovies rented from automated boxes he found to be at nearly every business aroundthe city. He waited for Sunday evening. He needed the money and hoped the shift mightbring a lot of business. He fell asleepSaturday night with a bottle of whiskey next to him, thoughts of the week onhis mind.
He woke to the sounds of his alarm,which ripped into the dead silence of his whiskey induced sleep. He groaned as he rolled out of bed andslammed the alarm clock, feeling an intense throbbing in his head. He stumbled into the kitchen to force down aglass of water, an intense feeling of dehydration ripping through his limbs. He ignored the pain and made the journey tothe shower, starting the water without being conscious of it. He stepped into the tub and screamed asscalding water burned his skin. Hecursed himself once again, hurriedly turning the knobs to change thetemperature.
He dressed and took several painpills to dull the headache pounding at his brain. He pulled on his shoes, shut off all theappliances and left the building. Theheat of midafternoon slammed into his chest, taking his breath away. He walked quickly to his truck, the simpleeffort bringing beads of sweat to his forehead. He started the truck and blasted the air conditioning, the heat rippinginto his mind, erasing all save the need to cool his body.
He pulled out into traffic, heavy fora Sunday. He left early enough to ensurehe arrived on time for his shift. Hedidn’t want management to have the smallest excuse to send him home. He turned onto the highway and was surprisedto see very little traffic. He smiledand turned on the radio, finding a talk radio station.
“…And we’ll cover Michael Vick’sreturn to the NFL next on W___.” Theannouncer said before the commercial break.
“That figures.” Michael muttered as he pulled into theparking lot of his restaurant. He put onhis apron as he approached the building and looked at his watch.
“Ten minutes early.” He said to himself as he entered the buildingand made his way to the front, wanting to know in advance what section he hadthat evening. A tall young boy stood atthe host desk. He did not know this boyand the boy stared at him quizzically, almost a question to Michael. Michael leaned around him and looked at thefloor plan, trying in vain to find his name.
“What section do I have?” Michael asked the host, confused.
“Um, I don’t know.” The boy stammered. His face flushed a deep red. A server, a young girl wearing a plain blacktee shirt and dark blue jeans, which seemed to be the uniform, differing fromhis own white shirt and black pants, approached him.
“Can I help you?” She asked. Her voice was thick with curiosity.
“I’m here for my shift tonight and Ican’t find my name on the floor plan.” Michael explained to her.
She eyed him carefully, looking overhis foreign uniform slowly.
“Are you sure you are in the rightrestaurant?” She asked. He wondered if she thought him to becrazy.
“I’m quite sure. I’ve worked in this restaurant for over sixmonths.” He said with confidence.
She stared at him and said nothingin response to his statement. She simplyturned from him and walked into the kitchen. A few moments later a tall fat man holding a clipboard approached him,giving his uniform the same confused once over as had the server.
The man extended a hand to him,which Michael shook. The tall fat manseemed friendly enough.
“Can I help you?” The man asked. “I’m Roger, the general manager for thisstore.”
Michael stared at him, never havingseen this man before this moment. Hefelt a sinking in his stomach and a tightening in his groin, feeling as if hehad to urinate suddenly.
“I was scheduled for work.” Michael said finally.
“What is your name?” Roger asked. Michael told him and waiting as Roger scanned his clipboard. “I’m sorry, but you are not on my list.”
“That can’t be.” Michael said. “I was here on Wednesday and the manager on duty showed me in thecomputer that I was indeed scheduled for this shift, Sunday evening.”
“Do you know the name of thismanager?” Scott asked. His face showed his lack of belief.
“No, I do not.” Michael answered softly.
Scott sighed and motioned for him tofollow. He led the way through thekitchen, which seemed changed somehow from what he remembered seeing Wednesdaynight. Scott opened the office door andled Michael inside, offering him the seat next to the desk. Scott opened the folder with the employeefiles and typed in Michael’s name, both of them waiting with impatience whilethe machine whirred in effort.
After some moments the computerbeeped and a message appeared on the screen.
NO MATCHING NAME FOUND IN DATABASE.
Michael stared in disbelief at thescreen, his vision clouding for a moment as all of the facts of the dayattempted to crowd into his brain. Hefelt physical pain in his head and place his hands on his ears, as if to stopthe entry of further stimuli.
“No, this can’t be.” He said.
Scott frowned and pointed at thescreen once again.
“You are not in the computer. Therefore, you do not work here.” Scott said, as if the logic in his statementwas incontrovertible.
“I work here.” Michael said quietly, a weak attempt todisagree.
“You do not exist.” Scott said as he rose from the desk. He led Michael towards the exit at the rearof the kitchen, opening the door for him in silence.
The door opened into an alley and ittook him some time to find his way to the main parking lot. He looked for his truck, but the spot he leftit in was empty. He ran to and fro,looking in vain for his vehicle. Infrustration he returned to the restaurant, hoping someone inside might have ananswer to the riddle of his lost truck.
He opened the door, but found nobodyat the host desk. He ran from room toroom, finding not a soul. He made hisway through the kitchen towards the manager’s office and pounded his fists onthe door. He saw a small figure sittingat the computer. The person did notrespond to his repeated assaults. Michael stopped and simply waited, watching the figure typing into the computer. After many minutes, the figure turned andvery suddenly opened the door.
A man stood before him, a small thinman with a receding hair line. He lookedat Michael with questioning eyes, as if waiting for him to explain hispresence.
“Where is Scott?” Michael asked.
The thin man looked at him, hisexpression void of comprehension.
“There is no Scott here, boy.” The man said, his voice ripping intoMichael’s mind. He indeed wasn’t sure ifthe man actually spoke or somehow was speaking inside of his head.
Michael turned, wanting to hearnothing further on this day. He ran forthe exit and burst forth, screaming and waving his arms.
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