Office Days

"Hey. Wake up." A woman dressed in office attire says blandly, slightly shaking the shoulder of the man sprawled across his chair, drooling onto his sleeve. His eyes flicker open. "What?" he asks, readjusting himself. "You fell asleep. Go back to answering calls, rookie." "You've been calling me rookie for the past seven years." "So?" she says snakily. He sighs heavily as the seemingly bored woman walking away without a word. The man slips on his headset, glancing towards the analog clock strung on a wall between sets of cubicles. Each hand indicated that it was one in the afternoon. Six hours before his shift ended. He drags his palm down his profile, turning back towards his small, clanky computer, and clicking on the small 'Answer call' button that had been sitting on his screen for the past fifteen minutes. The headphones begin to rattle his eardrums as he is greeted by the loud shouting of an infuriated man. He leaps out of fear, having forgotten to turn down the volume in case of this common situation. He settles back down, and tries to douse the flames of fury blazing through his brain with comforting words, but to no avail. It was as if he had added gasoline, as the flames only grew bigger. He begins to rub his temples.

This was going to be a long day.

The man swings open his apartment door, taking off his jacket that was beginning to feel like bricks being propped onto his shoulders. He walks into his makeshift kitchen, swinging open the mini fridge and grabbing a water bottle. He twists the cap off, and takes a refreshing swig. He walks towards his ragged couch, only to notice the large imprint pushed into the side, and the small television flickering an action movie right at it's breaking point. He smirks, facing the wall. "Ollie ollie oxen free!"" He shouts. "Ah, come on! Every time with you!" A man rounds the corner, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "You've got to stop with that, it never works. Hey, why are you so cheery, anyways? Whenever I find you, you're usually in a pout for half an hour." The office worker asks, taking another large gulp of his water. "It's Friday!" The other shouts. The man cocks his head to the side as he brings the bottle back up to his lips. "Y'know, the day we always go to May's Cafe?" he stops mid sip, spitting out the liquid. "Chris, please tell me you didn't forget about May's Cafe!" The other male shouts. "I didn't, I didn't! I just need to change out of the work clothes is all!" Chris says, rushing into his room and slamming the door.
After a few minutes, Chris slips out of his room, dressed in a bland pair of jeans and a grey tee. "Come on! Let's go!" He shouts, motioning for the other to follow him as he dashes out of the apartment. The man sighs, but follows his command. They both run alongside the paved road, their thoughts cluttering into a foggy mess, matching the atmosphere around them. Chris smiles as he feels small droplets of water begin to condense on his heated cheeks. He keeps his hopes high that it stays like this so he could enjoy the rare moment.
"Chris! Marcus! It's great to see you two!" May smiles as the two slam through the door. "Hey, May! Great to see you too! Hey, you mind if we just go and sit down? We, uh, kind of just ran here." Chris speaks for the panting Marcus. "He's not exactly what you would call 'fit'." Marcus shoots him a glare, causing him to laugh. "All righty! Table or booth?" "Booth." Marcus wheezes as Chris breathes in to speak. "I'll take you to the best one we have before the dinnertime crowd sweeps in." She begins to walk forward with a dignity no one with a paper hat propped upon their head should have. She gestures to the booth to her left, and the red faced male flops directly onto the cheap cushioning. "You hungry? I'm hungry. Let's shove food into our mouths. That sounds fun. We don't get to do that often." Marcus slurs out in his usual manner. Chris laughs. "Why do you do that?" "Why do I do anything I do?" "I don't know. Wanna just order some food?" "Yes, please."
"Regret. Deep, seeding regret." Marcus groans, rubbing his stomach. Chris laughs, causing the people seated around him to turn and glare. He silences himself, curling into the neon red chair. He pulls out a large wad of one dollar bills, and lays them gingerly on the table. "It's money, not glass." Chris shoots him a look thats tainted with fright, but quickly turns it into a playful smirk.