One Minute Story: "Desperation"

He couldn't get rid of the feeling that there was so much left undone. It gnawed at his stomach, souring the fluids where he supposed his brain floated, untethered from his mind.

It was all very juvenile, really. Stack the boxes on the shelf. Check to be sure that the labels faced the aisle and like products were grouped helpfully together.

And the crates were empty and the labels were grouped, helpfully, and faced the aisles in a stunning display of All-American plenty. And yet, Jonathan sat on the floor and clutched his stomach, thinking of all that was left undone.

A cart peeked around the the aisle, followed by the slow shuffle of an older lady seeking Matzo ball soup mix, which was nearly invisible amongst the more gentile offerings. Then a boy of five or so rounded the corner, laughing. He stopped and ran back the way he came, his voice echoing across the aisle: "There's a grown-up on the floor over there. He has brown skin."

"Is he OK?" a woman asked.

"He's just sitting," the boy said.

"OK...you know, it really doesn't matter that he has brown skin, Jason."

"I know," Jason said.

But it does matter, doesn't it? Something has to matter, or nothing does, he thought. He thought about what his manager said that morning, when Jonathan asked him why his manager's new boss was arranging interviews with each employee.

"He wants to get a feel for morale. And productivity."

"Why?"

"Because that's what managers do."

"I'm not going to be here much longer," Jonathan said. "Can I skip this?"

"You've been here nine years. Where are you going now?"

"I've got a plan...there's so much..."

"Left undone...yes, I know. Look -- this job is what is it is and you are what you are..."

"What is that?"

"A very good stockboy."

"Don't you call me..."

"I know...it's the title..."

"I know...

"Do you want my job? You can do my job..."

"I don't want your job...thanks, though."

"It is what it is, you know?"

"You keep saying that. You know it makes no sense."

"I know, but it keeps you going, you know."

"Yeah, I know." Jonathan paused. "I'm going to go finish up now. Then I'm going to quit this job."

"Yeah?"

"For real."

Jonathan finished up. It took him two more hours. Then he punched out, took a deep breath of cool evening air, confirmed his schedule for tomorrow, zipped his coat and walked to the bus stop.

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