Donald endured the walk of shame silently back to his cubical, gripping his temper at 10 and 2, remembering the basics – Right. Left. Right. Left. – trying not to steer off course. His eyes traversed the manufactured grain of the cheap blue checkered carpet, passed the coffee stain that looked like a middle finger, passed the nicotine gum trampled into the carpet fibers by an assortment of feet, and passed the familiar cluster of the loudest granola crumbs west of the Mississippi.
His shoulders hunched over his inadequate cardboard box. How could they expect him to just file away the last five years of his life and carry it somewhere else? On second thought, glancing at his collection of Hershey kiss wrappers and assorted empty picture frames reading insert loved ones here, he couldn’t fill the box if he tried; so he didn’t.
Donald ogled beyond his cubicle at the sunny shores of theMediterranean, until the proud owner of the granola crumbs interrupted his view of that taunting poster across the hall. He amused the idea that the corner office was to blame; a wolf in sheep’s clothing that enabled his day-dreaming habits, possibly the key to his demise. He wished for that poster, the walk of shame, everything, to only be a ‘day-mare,’ but the pinch of unemployment ensured he was conscious.
“Bummer, buddy. At least you got severance, right?” Donald’s sapphire eyes snapped out of their dull longing gaze, crawling back into focus upon his co-worker’s hidden grin.
“In theory… I’m planning on drinking it all tonight.”
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