I Just Want To Play Tennis

It was 8:30 in the morning when I got the call. At that time, I was completely immersed in work. My desk was littered with stacks of reports, ledgers, financial statements, bank statements, and a ‘Congratulations!’ card that everyone was forced to sign for a coworker who had just given birth earlier that morning. I was usually a lot more organized than I was at the moment. You see, I felt out of sorts. Every night I played tennis. It was not only a hobby, but it was also sort of my stress reliever. You could even go so far as to say that it was my drug. Nothing beat pounding balls after a long day at work. It dulled the urge to pound the shit out of my boss. Trust me. I was Ian Garvin, accountant by day, tennis phenomenon by night.

Tragedy had struck that past Monday night. I was in a third set tiebreak with Manuel, a Mexican tennis buddy of mine. It was a battle of epic proportions, but finally it was my match point. I did a hard flat serve. I faulted. Oh, the pressure of the situation. I calmed my nerves and slowly returned to the baseline. I hit my slice second serve out wide. Manuel returned the ball, but my shot had forced him off the court. I hit the ball as hard as I could for the winner, but upon doing so, a loud ‘SNAP!’ escaped from my racket, and my ball flew into the net. Horror crossed my face when I realized what had happened. A string on my racket had broken. I threw up.

My racket and I had been together for three years now. I couldn’t and wouldn’t play with anything except her, and she felt the same about me. We were one. So when she broke a string on me during that match, I felt it as much as she did. Sure, many people would have felt betrayed when their rackets made them lose a match, but my first concern was getting her fixed. I’m just that kind of a guy. I immediately took her to Sports Authority to get restrung. That was three nights ago.

So like I said before, I got a call at 8:30. It was Sports Authority telling me that my racket was ready to be picked up. A wave of joy and anticipation coursed through me. I felt my blood beginning to boil. My forehead had begun to sweat. I was ready to play. There was only one problem. It was 8:30 in the morning. I didn’t get off of work until 5:00 p.m. The agony!

I could imagine the wind against my face as I readied myself to serve, a sort of calm before the storm. I could feel my feet pounding against the pavement, the blood pumping through my legs. Nothing beat the sensation of striking a ball and perfectly executing a shot. Can anyone guess how many things could beat the sensation of sitting at a desk doing financial statements? There are not enough fingers and toes in this world to count them. Hmm… Would I rather play tennis or review last month’s trial balance? That’s a tough one.

I cringed as my eyes darted back and forth and sideways between my computer, the papers on my desk, and my clock radio. I tried to make it. I truly did. The ticking of the clock echoed loudly in my head, which surprised me as it was a DIGITAL clock radio. It got to the point where my hands were shaking and my entire body was drenched in a nervous sweat. I would not survive the day. I had to get out. I couldn’t take much more.

My phone beeped. I grabbed for it quickly. I needed something to distract me. It was my boss, Bob. I despised him, resented him for keeping me here so long every day. I knew immediately I shouldn’t have picked up the phone. It was too late now, though. It’s not like I could just hang up. I heard the pattering of the keys on his keyboard through the phone. Every keystroke felt like a needle through my brain. He was saying something to himself. I coughed loudly.

“Sorry, hold on,” he told me. “I just have to save this.”

“Oh my god,” I mumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I said. I coughed a couple more times, you know, for the affect. He grunted, pounded on a couple more keys, and then spoke to me.

“Did you finish those reports I gave you?”

“Not exactly…”

“Have you found that discrepancy in the general ledger?”

“Um… No…”

“Did you sign Jessica’s ‘Congratulations!’ card?”

“Not yet…”

“Hmm… You need to get that done. If I don’t have it all on my desk by the end of today I think you and I need to discuss the future of you in this company.”

“Yes sir!” I said. I was ready to hang up the phone. He wasn’t done yet.

“Do we have a problem?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, sounding confused.

“What I mean is do you have a problem with me or with this company?”

“No,” I answered.

He then proceeded to talk about how I seemed so lethargic when I was at work. He commented on how my efficiency had dropped. He yammered on about how he was getting complaints from the A/R department on how I was constantly forgetting to lock the safe at the end of the day. I didn’t catch too much of what he said as I was only listening with a half-ear. I was too busy checking the USTA website for the most recent French Open scores. Finally, I heard him say, “Do we have an understanding?”

“Sure,” I replied. We hung up the phones.

I decided to go along with the whole work thing. At least for the day. I figured that if my attention was focused on something other than tennis, the day would go by faster and I would be out there on the courts in no time. I also decided to stop watching the clock.

I concentrated and completed the bank reconciliation for the month of May. I reviewed the computer ledger and cross referenced it to our manual ledger and, after a long and boring time, finally found the problem. It was a transition error in the manual ledger. Even though I resented Jessica for having the day off, I still signed her card. I told her ‘Good Job on the Baby’ and signed my name. I attended a painstaking meeting with the Accounts Payable department on whether or not we should change the vendor that we get our office supplies from. Such a long meeting just to save us $4.72 a month. We decided it was worth it and I drew up a new vendor contract for that company.

I returned to my office exhausted and in pain. It had to be almost time to go home. I started packing up for the day and when I was done, I finally looked at the clock. It was 10:00.

* * *

I left Sports Authority with my racket in hand. The time in my car read noon. You see, someone had heard my scream and decided to call security. By the time security had shown up, I had already trashed my entire office. I had thrown my computer against the wall. The paper that had littered my desk now littered my floor. My digital clock radio had crashed through the window and fell ten stories into the street below. Jessica’s ‘Congratulations!’ card had followed it. The security guards escorted me off the premises. Bob said something about how I was lucky he wasn’t going to call the police. He gave me some bullshit about how I was a lunatic and I needed help. I flipped him off.

It was all okay now, though. I had my racket. I was in my car. I was driving to the courts. Nothing could stop me now. As I pulled up I could see everyone playing and having fun. Soon I would be out there with them. I got out of my car and walked in their direction.

The thunder roared. The raindrops started lightly at first and then progressed into a strong barrage of buzz-killers. Everyone at the courts packed up and ran for their cars. I watched in dismay as they all drove off leaving me alone at the park, drenched, with my racket in hand. A mixture of emotions flowed through me and I slammed my racket on the ground in anger. The frame broke.

* * *

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