where to go. The office didn’t open for another fifteen minutes, but there were afew early arrivals floating around and she could hear the distinctive ting-ting-ting of the overworked industrial coffee pot coming to life. She flipped her badge to the guard and headed in and almost didn’t stop when he called to her.
“Are you talking to me?” Ellie turned to the guard who had shouted to her, wondering if everyone who didn’t get high had mornings this complicated. “What do you want?”
“I need to see your badge.” The guard was big, and Ellie couldn’t tell if his army crew cut was blond or gray. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember if he was new or the same guy she passed every day. She came back to his post and held up her badge.
“Is there some kind of problem?”
The soldier compared her face to her badge but didn’t look her in the eye. “You are to show proper identification upon entering all government buildings.”
“Yeah, I did. Nobody ever looks.”
Finally he met her gaze. “Well, we’re looking now.”
“Oooh.” She snatched the badge back. “I bet you’ve been waiting all morning to use that line. Did you practice in the mirror while you shaved?” She spoke over her shoulder as she moved on. “You might try curling your lip a little bit and maybe reaching for your weapon. Or maybe throw in the word ‘punk’ once in a while.”
She looked back when she reached the stairs and saw that he was still watching her, his face unmoving. This crap she did not need. She paused on the bottom step, knowing she was under surveillance, and turned back. As she cut down the cubicle aisle for Bing’s desk, she saw the guard perk up and head her way. Grinning, she waved her badge in the air, the bold red type visible from across the room,and mouthed the word “clearance.” Her clearance for the records office gave her clearance for the entire building, a little detail that occasionally irked Bing, who did not have the same badge. Why anyone in charge thought she was more responsible than Bing was a mystery to anyone who bothered to think of such things, but at the moment her presence irked the army guard enough. She took her time sauntering down the aisle, swinging her hair in her best impression of a pageant walk, and just before she sat down at Bing’s desk, blew the staring guard a kiss.
She let out a breath as she disappeared from his sight. It had to be the explosions last night that were putting the soldiers on edge. Now more than ever this was no place to be without smoking a nice fatty, and Ellie knew Bing had to keep at least one emergency bag somewhere in his cubicle. She sat back in his seat, ignoring its trademark screech of protest, pulled up to his desk, and tried to think like her paranoid and complicated friend.
Corporate cubicles were strange places, even within government quarantine chemical spill zones. Ellie remembered her days in the cubicles in Chicago and the pleasure she used to take in piecing together the secrets of her coworkers by the things they did and did not display in their little white work spaces. She had never sat in Bing’s chair before, had never been in this space without him, and if it hadn’t been for the personnel label on his inbox, she wouldn’t have been entirely sure this was his space at all. There were thick binders of government forms and protocols, requisition records, manuals, and other mind-numbing bureaucratic paperwork present on nearly every desk in the room. A computer sat sleeping in the corner; stapler, tape dispenser, stickynotes, cup of pens. A little yellow monster made of silicone crouched beside the mouse holding a sign that read “Bite me,” and on the installed bulletin board, amid the forms and phone lists, Ellie saw one photo of a grinning black Labrador wearing a bandanna.
As far as Ellie knew, Bing did not now nor had he ever owned a dog. She was pretty sure he was allergic to most animals; she smiled at the
“Are you talking to me?” Ellie turned to the guard who had shouted to her, wondering if everyone who didn’t get high had mornings this complicated. “What do you want?”
“I need to see your badge.” The guard was big, and Ellie couldn’t tell if his army crew cut was blond or gray. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember if he was new or the same guy she passed every day. She came back to his post and held up her badge.
“Is there some kind of problem?”
The soldier compared her face to her badge but didn’t look her in the eye. “You are to show proper identification upon entering all government buildings.”
“Yeah, I did. Nobody ever looks.”
Finally he met her gaze. “Well, we’re looking now.”
“Oooh.” She snatched the badge back. “I bet you’ve been waiting all morning to use that line. Did you practice in the mirror while you shaved?” She spoke over her shoulder as she moved on. “You might try curling your lip a little bit and maybe reaching for your weapon. Or maybe throw in the word ‘punk’ once in a while.”
She looked back when she reached the stairs and saw that he was still watching her, his face unmoving. This crap she did not need. She paused on the bottom step, knowing she was under surveillance, and turned back. As she cut down the cubicle aisle for Bing’s desk, she saw the guard perk up and head her way. Grinning, she waved her badge in the air, the bold red type visible from across the room,and mouthed the word “clearance.” Her clearance for the records office gave her clearance for the entire building, a little detail that occasionally irked Bing, who did not have the same badge. Why anyone in charge thought she was more responsible than Bing was a mystery to anyone who bothered to think of such things, but at the moment her presence irked the army guard enough. She took her time sauntering down the aisle, swinging her hair in her best impression of a pageant walk, and just before she sat down at Bing’s desk, blew the staring guard a kiss.
She let out a breath as she disappeared from his sight. It had to be the explosions last night that were putting the soldiers on edge. Now more than ever this was no place to be without smoking a nice fatty, and Ellie knew Bing had to keep at least one emergency bag somewhere in his cubicle. She sat back in his seat, ignoring its trademark screech of protest, pulled up to his desk, and tried to think like her paranoid and complicated friend.
Corporate cubicles were strange places, even within government quarantine chemical spill zones. Ellie remembered her days in the cubicles in Chicago and the pleasure she used to take in piecing together the secrets of her coworkers by the things they did and did not display in their little white work spaces. She had never sat in Bing’s chair before, had never been in this space without him, and if it hadn’t been for the personnel label on his inbox, she wouldn’t have been entirely sure this was his space at all. There were thick binders of government forms and protocols, requisition records, manuals, and other mind-numbing bureaucratic paperwork present on nearly every desk in the room. A computer sat sleeping in the corner; stapler, tape dispenser, stickynotes, cup of pens. A little yellow monster made of silicone crouched beside the mouse holding a sign that read “Bite me,” and on the installed bulletin board, amid the forms and phone lists, Ellie saw one photo of a grinning black Labrador wearing a bandanna.
As far as Ellie knew, Bing did not now nor had he ever owned a dog. She was pretty sure he was allergic to most animals; she smiled at the
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