Home by 6:30 on the dot. Cat fed and dinner on the stove by 7. A quiet meal, alone at the dining table, staring at a beige wall by 7:30. Dessert, on the days when he’s feeling a little naughty or just doesn’t care, by 7:45.
At 7:55 Eugene starts to set the mood in the living room. He lights a fresh linen scented candle, dims the house lights, and settles under his favorite blanket before turning on the television at exactly 8 PM. He watches whatever is on network TV – reality dating shows, minor celebrity circuit stuff, competitions, breaking specials, sitcoms with laugh tracks, inane procedurals, and whatever else has been market tested to maximize viewership from all the Eugene’s spread out across the country. Every night he settles into the practiced rhythm of a man who has a place to be on the television dial. An open invitation and permanent date penciled into the calendar. A tornado could form outside his window and pass without registering the slightest reaction from Eugene. His sole focus is the blue light that swaddles him in audio-visual nourishment. A three hour respite from the pull of duty and obligation and whatever else is required to keep plugging away, pushing forward. At exactly 11 he turns off television and blows out the candle. His cat yawns, bored beyond belief, and runs into the bedroom to prepare for bed. Eugene washes up and joins the cat by 11:15.
The alarm goes off at 6:30. Eugene hits the snooze button and gets up ten minutes later. He showers quickly and eats a nourishing, well-balanced breakfast while listening to talk radio. By 7:30 he’s out the door and into the buzzing beehive of traffic signals, honking horns, anxious tail lights, and hulking metal capsules inching along. At 8:30 he arrives at the office, exchanges the usual pleasantries with co-workers on the way to his desk. By 8:45 he has his head down, in it, digesting information, communicating through various digital channels, receiving an instant feedback loop of yet more information that continues the spiral that comprises the bulk of his day.
At noon he gets pulled into an impromptu meeting. Eugene doesn’t like impromptu anything. He of course attends. He has a deep-seated sense of duty to toe the line and get along, engrained through an early life of some struggle. He doesn’t need to be coached or motivated to work hard. It’s his default setting. Five minutes into the session he realizes it’s going to be a waste of his time. He sits and listens, smiles when appropriate, keep up appearances and maintain a certain level of camaraderie in the office. He likes being liked so he makes a point of tolerating the otherwise intolerable to be part of the crowd, in on the inside jokes that always swirl around the office after these kinds of pointless sessions.
Today, as a co-worker drones on in front of a projected powerpoint, Eugene allows his mind to drift. He thinks about the people who defrauded the government pandemic relief fund. A story that piqued his interest during breakfast. It was strange for Eugene to pay attention to the story and even more strange that he was thinking about it in the meeting. He can’t wrap his head around the fact that there are people out there looking for any opportunity to game the system. There are people who wait to exploit a loophole in a government program, swoop into a disaster with a new business, use division and rage to fleece people, or capitalize on the most anodyne factoid. He wonders if it’s genetic or something people learned. Was there a school or even a book that taught them how it was done? Could he learn to do it too? Did he have the grifting gene?
After the meeting Eugene finishes the day just the way it started: chained to his desk, locked in the flow of information passing through him and returning in due course. At 5:30 he stands and stretches. He surveys the sea of cubicles around him and feels a tinge of joy knowing he’s one of the few still in the office. Eugene picks up his few belongings and leaves the office for the day, whistling a little tune to himself. He gets to the door and tries to remember what he did today. He stops the thought as soon as it’s borne.
Tomorrow is another day.
GLAZ 