Continuing to the third scene of the memoir I've been working on and posting here. Full first chapter can be found here.
I'm going to do away with the blockquote because it takes over the formatting, and generally puts the whole quote in italics which is not ideal since italics are slightly more tedious to read. So instead I'll put the part that's not part of the manuscript in italics! (:
Thanks again for your feedback thus far it's very encouraging (:
Monday, February 14th, 2011, ~ 10am --The morning sun streams into our cramped office. If it weren’t for the AC, which we can hear as a steady hum, the office would soon be stifling. I sit at the computer near the front windows, the one with a “don’t panic” fortune cookie slip taped to the monitor. I’m trying to update a page on the website about the absconding behavior of honeybees, but it’s hard to concentrate while awaiting a phone call that will radically determine my life for the next two years and beyond. At the middle desk Jeremy, one of our bee removal technicians, is idling away on the internet and in the far corner Amy, our tattoo-covered office manager, is working on her computer. There’s one other vacant chair against the wall by the front door. On the wall behind that chair there’s a whiteboard on which our boss had written “sweep/mop daily” but I had changed it to read “weep/mope daily,” and it’s remained this way for weeks.
My cell phone rings.
“This is Kris” I answer
“Hi this is Jim from the Peace Corps do you have a minute?”
“Yes ...yes” I answer as I get up and look for somewhere to go. I glance outside but there’s people out there, I know no one’s in the back so I dodge between the crowded desks to the door in the back leading into the garage. My coworkers know I’ve been expecting this call and glance up hopefully and scoot in to help me pass. The garage is dark, cold and cavernous, the bee removal trucks being out for the day.
“So they’ve discussed your case and … they are withdrawing your candidacy” the dark void around me seems to close in.
“What? Can I appeal?” I ask desperately
“The decision is final I’m sorry”
“But I’m not even charged with anything yet! I was only arrested and I’ve never had a legal or alcohol related problem before!” I try to argue, even though it’s clear I’m only talking to a messenger, not a decision maker.
“I’m sorry, that’s the decision,” he reiterates uncomfortably.
I numbly finish the call. I had been slated to ship out to tropical West Africa in two months. I look around the barren garage, no longer do I see in my near future quaint huts steaming in the morning sun,, cheerful greetings of beautifully dressed villagers, the silent blue flashes of lightning in the dark African sky; no, they crumble from my imagination and I just see my surroundings, a concrete floor, dingy walls, dusty equipment. Faintly there’s the muffled roar of the 15 lane freeway a block away.
I stumble from the icey garage back into the stuffy office. Jeremy and Amy look up hopefully and then look away in embarrassment after seeing my devastated face. I thread between the desks and plop down in the spare chair by the door with my head in my hands. The sun blazes through the window. Soon tears are streaming down my face.
“I’m never getting out of here!” I exclaim “I’m going to be stuck here forever!!” I’m vaguely aware it might hurt my coworkers feelings to hear my despair at being stuck with them but I’m well beyond caring at the moment if they see my tears or hear my lamentations.
I definitely have an actual picture of the "weep and mope daily" on the whiteboard I wanted to post here but I can't seem to find it.