Rat Race

For Kristi :)

The harsh electronic buzz of the alarm rings in your ear. You blindly reach for the snooze button and tumble back to sleep. You repeat this 2 more times but you should have left 30 minutes ago. Now not only do you have the buzz of the clock in your ear but also the barking of an anxious woman (we know how bad that is) and the wailing of a child, as well as 4 eager hands pushing you out of bed. This makes you fall onto the ground and see bowl of mouldy cereal under the bed; reality hits; responsibility hits; it sucks. You’ve made your son late for the 3rd time this week and he’s gonna get a detention, which means he’s not going to talk to you for a couple of days, perfect.

You bolt out the door, tie half mast and toast hanging out of your mouth, the jam sliding down your chin and coagulating in your thick stubble. The birds chirp merrily as to encourage your inarticulate juggling act to the car. You rush back in because you forgot to grab the house keys, and again because you forgot the car keys. By now, it’s 8: 45am and young Jim is already 15 minutes late for school.

“Aaand welcome back to triple Q radio, totally not a rip off of triple j”. As you skip from lane to lane on the freeway, the phone goes off. It’s Mr Mazelli, your new boss. He’s wondering why you are 5 minutes late for your 1st day at your new job, and why he is even chasing you up. Maybe because he liked your jokes and how you complimented how his fashion sense accentuated his rugged looks. You couldn’t help but snicker at the thought of it, the bald fart. Before he could tell you off, your wife is shouting down the other end about how Jimmy is getting bullied at school. The cars zoom by you as you struggle to get to grips with the situation. “Screw etiquette” you say and turn off the phone without saying goodbye. You weren’t in the mood. Jimmy was still in the car, dammit. You watch in the back mirror as he just puts his face in his palm and shakes his head. It was pleasant to hear nothing but Queen blasting through the radio anyway. You cruise along in your Lamborghini Galado as “Don’t stop me now” blares though the empty roof and through your hair. Except it isn’t a sportscar, but a v6 KIA minivan with the sunroof panel slid back. Pretending is kind of nice sometimes. But it wasn’t pleasant to have a brooding and angst teen in the back; hmm trouble.

You’ve arrived, Parktree High. You double park and drop off Jimmy, you know it’s ok because all the eager parents had dropped off their children 40 minutes ago. You wish him a nice day and how you’d talk to him after school about his ‘bullying problem’. You don’t even face him as you know he’s too mad to respond right now. You start to feel kind of guilty but then you look at your watch. The gruilt instantly disappears.

Now back to the freeway, zooming to work. You call Mr Mazelli and apologize, trying to justify your cause with the beautiful excuse of having to talk to your son. Works every time. You rock up and he asks who are you and your name. For a moment, you think of all the things you are; a father, a husband, a shrink, an accountant, a chauffeur, a lazy couch potato, a teenage enemy, a nuisance, a careless and clumsy twit; but you feel loved. You reply “I’m John, John Smith, the new guy”.

You are assigned a sterile white cubicle among 20 identical others. You sit down and disappear in it. You look at the fat stack of work that squats on your to do tray; and the emptiness of the “done” tray. You hate it already. You lean back and day dream, thinking about the hell you’d have to go through when you got to go back. Being stuck in the 6pm jam on the road, being told off by the wife and the kid, eating the same mediocre dinner, retelling the same wise words your parents told you when you were in the same situation; being a dad. You smiled and looked forward to it. People asked you what you were smiling about, you replied “Nothing”. They turned away and melted back into their cubicle, their white shirts acting almost like camouflage against the bleach coloured wall. You proudly and gently place a family photo in the corner of the table, knowing exactly where to find yourself in a sea of faces; standing behind Jimmy and next to your wife in the 3rd row. More importantly, you focused on how stunning you looked in that pinstripe suit. You revelled in the triumph of knowing and having something your colleagues didn’t. You have a stupid smug look on your face as you lean back in your chair to assume your position as king of the world but then you tumble backwards. As you lay on the ground, half conscious and head throbbing, a thought drifts into your head.
“Stop dreaming kiddo, and get back to work. The boss is coming over and he’s pissed.”