Post by Meira on Jun 18, 2010 11:59:52 GMT -5
7:50 am.
She is going to be late.
Sharon is sitting in traffic, cursing every other car on the road between herself and her office. Twelve cups of coffee, arranged in three cardboard carriers, are stacked precariously in the front passenger seat of her economy class sedan. Twelve carefully prepared reports are nestled in a seat in the back, and she is going to be late for her presentation.
But Sharon cannot be late. If she is late, then they won't notice the color coordinated layouts or the carefully plotted charts. Their coffee will be cold and they will only remember the unpleasant film it will leave on the roofs of their mouths.
7:55 am.
The only space in the parking lot is far from the door. Sharon has to balance the cardboard coffee carriers as she reaches for the twelve reports. She has to shuffle these things in her hands to press the lock button on her remote. She has to trek across the parking lot with these things in her arms. She has time. She can make it.
7:56 am.
Sharon's heart sinks. The sun is high enough in the sky now to be caught in the glass of the doors to her office building. The reflection is dazzling. Sharon cannot see inside. Instead, she sees herself, hair slightly frazzled, and the parking lot behind her. What stands before her is not the entrance to a building. All she sees is an impenetrable wall that mocks her overburdened arms. She will have to set something down. She will have to bend over in her new suit to pick that something back up as she holds the door open with her hip, or a leg.
She imagines disaster. She will break a heal on her shoe, or spill coffee over the reports. She is going to be late. She will be chastised by her manager, who went out of his way to set up this time for her to present to the board. They will shake their heads at her tardiness and then turn up their noses at her coffee stained reports. She will be fired.
7:57 am.
"Sharon?"
It is Dennis. He is holding the door open with one hand while the other, holding a pastry, waves for her to come in. Dennis is chubby, balding, and has a red jelly stain on his white shirt. But in that moment, as Sharon comes rushing through the door, he is the most handsome man she has ever seen in her life. He is Superman. He is Brad Pitt. He is Jesus in a blue business suit. She would marry him in Vegas. She would have three children with him and they would live in the suburbs. She would care for his aging mother. Sharon knows that she will never love a man as much as she loves Dennis in that moment.
8:00 am.
Sharon is not late. The coffee is still warm and is well appreciated. Sharon's reports are being passed around the table. Already there are nods and mumbled approvals of the formatting. Sharon will receive a promotion today. She will smile and wish Dennis a good evening as she passes him on her way to her car in the back of the parking lot.
She is going to be late.
Sharon is sitting in traffic, cursing every other car on the road between herself and her office. Twelve cups of coffee, arranged in three cardboard carriers, are stacked precariously in the front passenger seat of her economy class sedan. Twelve carefully prepared reports are nestled in a seat in the back, and she is going to be late for her presentation.
But Sharon cannot be late. If she is late, then they won't notice the color coordinated layouts or the carefully plotted charts. Their coffee will be cold and they will only remember the unpleasant film it will leave on the roofs of their mouths.
7:55 am.
The only space in the parking lot is far from the door. Sharon has to balance the cardboard coffee carriers as she reaches for the twelve reports. She has to shuffle these things in her hands to press the lock button on her remote. She has to trek across the parking lot with these things in her arms. She has time. She can make it.
7:56 am.
Sharon's heart sinks. The sun is high enough in the sky now to be caught in the glass of the doors to her office building. The reflection is dazzling. Sharon cannot see inside. Instead, she sees herself, hair slightly frazzled, and the parking lot behind her. What stands before her is not the entrance to a building. All she sees is an impenetrable wall that mocks her overburdened arms. She will have to set something down. She will have to bend over in her new suit to pick that something back up as she holds the door open with her hip, or a leg.
She imagines disaster. She will break a heal on her shoe, or spill coffee over the reports. She is going to be late. She will be chastised by her manager, who went out of his way to set up this time for her to present to the board. They will shake their heads at her tardiness and then turn up their noses at her coffee stained reports. She will be fired.
7:57 am.
"Sharon?"
It is Dennis. He is holding the door open with one hand while the other, holding a pastry, waves for her to come in. Dennis is chubby, balding, and has a red jelly stain on his white shirt. But in that moment, as Sharon comes rushing through the door, he is the most handsome man she has ever seen in her life. He is Superman. He is Brad Pitt. He is Jesus in a blue business suit. She would marry him in Vegas. She would have three children with him and they would live in the suburbs. She would care for his aging mother. Sharon knows that she will never love a man as much as she loves Dennis in that moment.
8:00 am.
Sharon is not late. The coffee is still warm and is well appreciated. Sharon's reports are being passed around the table. Already there are nods and mumbled approvals of the formatting. Sharon will receive a promotion today. She will smile and wish Dennis a good evening as she passes him on her way to her car in the back of the parking lot.