Story: Mondays
The sun was shining when Jack drove to work. Thirty half-conscious minutes of traffic and, coffee in hand, he'd make his way to the main building of the facility where all employees were required to enter through security. It was a stupid system that really offered only modest security - anyone really threatening could circumvent the system quite easily. He never quite understood how a rent-a-cop who earned nine or ten dollars-per-hour could be expected to risk his or her life to protect anything.
He chuckled to himself as he walked up to the building, taking note of the fact that there were no people around. He had a strange sensation that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. ‘This place is normally crawling with people at this time in the morning,’ he thought. He recalled a few days ago when it took him nearly thirty minutes to make it through security with all the people waiting. They had even gone so far as to make him empty his coffee cup before entering that time, as “the metal cup could be hiding something dangerous.” He had really laughed at the suggestion, but internally seethed at the ridiculous abuse of power by the security guard. ‘I guess you have to do something to justify your existence,’ he thought, ‘even if it’s making a ridiculous show of your less than apparent value.’
Jack approached the security desk with the baggage screening machine and noticed the guard was slumped over the desk; he appeared to be sleeping. Jack spoke to him loudly, “hey, this can’t be that boring of a job.” The guard did not respond or move. Jack reached over and tapped him on the shoulder – still no response. Jack gave him a shove and the guard fell off his share. He walked around to the other side of the desk and checked his vital signs only to discover that the guard was dead. There was no blood or anything, but this was far from a normal occurrence. Somewhat alarmed, Jack entered the building to phone the authorities.
Upon entering the building he noticed that other people throughout the building were slumped over their desks as well. The air in the building did not appear to be foul – a bit stale, but not foul – so Jack slowly made his way through the building. ‘If it’s a biological weapon or something, would it have worked this fast?’ he thought. ‘More importantly, who would attack a small bank processing facility?’ It all seemed very strange. He continued walking around noticing smartly dressed people slumped over or sprawled out on the floor.
‘Can this really be happening?’ he thought. He pinched himself really hard and the pain in his forearm was enough to tell him ‘no, you’re not dreaming!’
He continued walking through the building to the sound of machinery humming and the absence of any human sounds. He shouted, “Is anybody there?” There was no response.
He slowly made his way to his supervisor’s desk. Mr. Snowdon was a large man, and reminded Jack of Jaba-the-Hut from the Star Wars Trilogy. He had a way of rolling around the office in his desk chair, rather than getting up; a habit that destroyed several chairs and caused much humor throughout the building. A loud and belligerent man, Jack had found the easiest way of dealing with him was in being up front about everything. He looked at Snowdon who was now slumped back in his chair like a dead animal. Jack leaned over his desk and said “I’m going home, I’m not feeling well.”
With that Jack slowly walked out of the building and got back in his car. He drove the short distance back to his home – taking note of all the other vehicles on the road, and the people taking care of their business – and climbed back into bed and slept.