A Work Ant No More

Such a gorgeous day.

Residents in this city, as always, wake up to the loud beats of an ever-changing work-life rhythm.

A homeless man pulls himself up from a bench, raises his head to feel the brilliant sunlight shining through a thin layer of white clouds. He says a prayer of thanksgiving, seeing no rain is likely in the few hours ahead. A few hours, too humble a number, is the max of what most people can foresee and make accurate predictions of life in this uncertainty-infested city.

**

Issac carefully tucks his tie into the waist of his new dress pants. For some unexplainable reason, he hates loose-hanging ties. His obsession with neatness and organization is well-known and revered at work. He has earned his reputation among his colleagues and is determined to continue living up to it.

Now it's time he tames his increasingly unruly gray hair, both on this head and on his face. He has, many times in his life, seriously considered growing a mustache. Today, he spends minutes standing in front of the mirror, picturing himself with a partially gray mustache, and feels a kind of subtle pride of masculinity humming. Still, he can't come to a decision yet. There must be more in life to prompt someone, as obsessed with a neat look as him, to grow a mustache and care for it every day. More prompts in life are what he needs imminently.

Burying the idea of a mustache, he quickly styles his hair the usual way and leaves the apartment. It is exactly the time when the elevator would come up, open, and welcome him. As usual, the teenage girl from two apartments down walks into the elevator with him. She seems taller today, or her violin case shrinks and makes her look big? No, not possible. Time alone can do a lot.

"Morning, Lucy."

"Morning, Mr. Walter."

Just like that, they remain silent for the rest of the elevator ride.

City people just don't like conversations. Here, both teenagers and grownups are completely satisfied by a polite "hello" and part their ways. City people must keep their private lives a top-tier secret.

"No one needs to know nothing!"

Issac thinks to himself.

He walks out the grand entrance door of his apartment building, turns a corner, and sees a homeless man dragging his legs forward in an aimless way.

"How despisable!"

Issac avoids eye contact with the homeless man and speeds up his pace.

**

As Issac walks into the subway station, a familiar smell quickly surrounds him. He can't describe the smell in words, but it's there, greeting him. Every day, the smell acts like caffeine, boosting his energy and waking up the part of him that is still burdened by fatigue and disillusions. Today, the boost comes a little too strong.

He walks, and walks some more. At some point, he wants to stop, but he fights that thought and wins. He keeps walking until he's on the same platform where he awaits the subway train to take him to work every day.

He stops and listens to the usual buzz from all sides of the subway station. People are holding their phones, busy scrolling or talking to them. Usually at this time, he'll be checking his text messages and emails from work, today he just watches people doing that.

The train comes. The usual roar makes his heart jump a little.

He takes one big step into the train car, cuts off an oversized old lady, and snatches a seat. The lady rolls her eyes. He couldn't care less.

"I'm entitled to a good, long, and comfortable ride."

Yes, after all these years of being at work on time, fighting rain, wind, or heat, Issac realizes that.

**

Issac pushes the door of the coffee shop open, stands in line, and patiently waits for his turn.

"The usual?"

"No, a grande latte to stay, cream no sugar."

He picks a table next to the big window overlooking the commercial building entrance on the opposite side of the street, and sees that many of his colleagues, well, ex-colleagues now, enter the building like ants reporting to their queen.

He used to be one of them, a proud working ant, but not today, not tomorrow.

He was fired yesterday, without notice.

Yet he still wants to come. Work has been baked into his existence, and he simply doesn’t know how to undo it.

Taking a sip of latte coffee, he suddenly remembers the mug of his former mentor. The day he learned that the mentor had died of a private illness and would never come back, he went to his office, grasped his favorite mug, and kept it for himself as a pen holder for years. He didn't take that with him yesterday; he only had 45 minutes to pack everything, and he thought that mug didn't mean anything to him anymore. Yet, at this very moment, this mug suddenly means a lot, and he regrets leaving it behind.

Putting the coffee down on the table, Issac let the tint of sadness freeze him, from head to toe, from the heart in his body to the heart deep in his soul.