Something Not Exciting

I was essentially a mailman just confined to a smaller area. Though my ride was not as upscale as a truck. The one cart we had—the other two broke by accidents I cannot not talk about (I pushed them down the stairs) because I signed a non-disclosure agreement—was small and rusty, something from the fifties that should have stayed in the fifties. It creaked and squeaked every time I came out of the elevator, which then lead to everyone in the cubicle infested room to look up with excitement that something different was coming. But their faces were disappointed by the sight of me so I just kept my head down.

I made my way down the aisles, leaving behind a chunk of processed tree on every desk that called for it. They didn’t notice me so they didn’t stop not doing their work. I knew more about them than I should have.

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