We find Oliver (Oly to his friends) travelling down 77 South, nonplussed and road-raging.
He was having one of those days. He had felt exhausted as soon as he had torn himself from his pillow and he had already had a long day before the Eastern Time Zone reached 9:00 A.M.
He was annoyed with the sun in his eyes. He was annoyed with the inane radio show hosts. He was, above all, annoyed with his fellow motorists crawling down the expressway. Obscenities and fossil fuels filled the air as impatient drivers fought bumper-to-bumper traffic in a doomed attempt to make it to work by 9.
"Just my luck," he thought aloud.
Oly dreamt of having a job to which he could be late, and, accordingly, was en route to a job interview at an IT start-up. It was not the most prestigious job opportunity in the world, but it was significantly more prestigious than the burger-flipping he had been doing for the decade since his high school graduation.
As he checked the clock frantically, he felt the opportunity slipping through his sweaty fingers (he is a nervous sweater). He inched along until he finally reached his exit, only to be greeted by detour signs. Orange cones and barricades stood in between him and his future. Alanis Morissettes's Ironic began to play on the radio. He screamed a little as he swerved and found his way to the next exit.
The clock read 9:14. Exiting the expressway a mile south of where he wanted to be, he punched the gas pedal of his '97 Chevy Camaro and pushed it for all it was worth (which wasn't much at this point in its career). The traffic jam from the expressway had spilled over to the city streets as his fellow motorists were as equally rerouted. Thankfully, Oly was the king of the back roads! He honked and swerved and executed perfect rolling stops at every stop sign he found.
Oly's dangerously-bald tires squealed as he entered the parking lot at 9:32. The start-up was located in a small office space that lay beneath the shadows of taller, more established businesses. He parked abruptly and jumped out of his car, straightening his zipper tie as he ran towards Suite E. As he approached the simple structure, he noticed a crowd gathering.
"Great," he thought, "now I'll never get in!"
As he drew closer, he saw the revolving lights of police cruisers bouncing off of the skyscrapers. Uniformed officers were unrolling crime scene tape as detectives in plain clothes implored the crowd to disperse. Paramedics stood around listlessly.
"What happened?" Oly asked no one in particular.
A grim-faced old man replied, "Nobody knows for sure. We heard gunshots about a half hour ago. Nobody's come out of the building since."
Oly stood there silently, the color instantly draining from his face.
"What's wrong, son?" the old man asked.
"I...I was supposed to be here for a job interview at 9, but I got caught in traffic."
"Well," the old man said wryly, "it looks like you chose a lucky day to be late."
He was having one of those days. He had felt exhausted as soon as he had torn himself from his pillow and he had already had a long day before the Eastern Time Zone reached 9:00 A.M.
He was annoyed with the sun in his eyes. He was annoyed with the inane radio show hosts. He was, above all, annoyed with his fellow motorists crawling down the expressway. Obscenities and fossil fuels filled the air as impatient drivers fought bumper-to-bumper traffic in a doomed attempt to make it to work by 9.
"Just my luck," he thought aloud.
Oly dreamt of having a job to which he could be late, and, accordingly, was en route to a job interview at an IT start-up. It was not the most prestigious job opportunity in the world, but it was significantly more prestigious than the burger-flipping he had been doing for the decade since his high school graduation.
As he checked the clock frantically, he felt the opportunity slipping through his sweaty fingers (he is a nervous sweater). He inched along until he finally reached his exit, only to be greeted by detour signs. Orange cones and barricades stood in between him and his future. Alanis Morissettes's Ironic began to play on the radio. He screamed a little as he swerved and found his way to the next exit.
The clock read 9:14. Exiting the expressway a mile south of where he wanted to be, he punched the gas pedal of his '97 Chevy Camaro and pushed it for all it was worth (which wasn't much at this point in its career). The traffic jam from the expressway had spilled over to the city streets as his fellow motorists were as equally rerouted. Thankfully, Oly was the king of the back roads! He honked and swerved and executed perfect rolling stops at every stop sign he found.
Oly's dangerously-bald tires squealed as he entered the parking lot at 9:32. The start-up was located in a small office space that lay beneath the shadows of taller, more established businesses. He parked abruptly and jumped out of his car, straightening his zipper tie as he ran towards Suite E. As he approached the simple structure, he noticed a crowd gathering.
"Great," he thought, "now I'll never get in!"
As he drew closer, he saw the revolving lights of police cruisers bouncing off of the skyscrapers. Uniformed officers were unrolling crime scene tape as detectives in plain clothes implored the crowd to disperse. Paramedics stood around listlessly.
"What happened?" Oly asked no one in particular.
A grim-faced old man replied, "Nobody knows for sure. We heard gunshots about a half hour ago. Nobody's come out of the building since."
Oly stood there silently, the color instantly draining from his face.
"What's wrong, son?" the old man asked.
"I...I was supposed to be here for a job interview at 9, but I got caught in traffic."
"Well," the old man said wryly, "it looks like you chose a lucky day to be late."
Unexpected ending! Made a worthwhile read!
ReplyDelete