Progressively Worse

I got to the parking lot of my office and my spot was taken.

Normally, I’d try to not let this bother me, but my name was on this spot. I worked hard all year for the promotion to assistant regional manager, and in addition to the slight pay bump, the parking spot next to the office was the only other benefit.

I’d find out who parked their silver matted Mercedes in my spot.

I had to park two miles down the road despite having my own spot because the company decided it was a good idea to hire more employees then they built parking for.

It took me forty five minutes to get to the office, and I walked at a brisk pace, too.

I marched in the office and asked where Fred, the manager, was.

Then I marched into his office.

“Hey Jim. How can I help you today?”

“First off, it’s John. Second, some asshole in a silver Mercedes took my spot. They need to move, before I have their car towed,” I grumbled.

“Ok, Lenny, look, that’s my car. I’m the manager and I can park in whatever spot I want. Today I needed to use the restroom and was running late for a meeting, so I took your spot. In addition, you were late and expect to walk in here and lecture me? That’s not how this works, Larry. Sorry,”

“First off, my name is John. Not Jim, not Lenny and certainly not Larry. Second, I was only late because you took my god damn spot. Please move your car or I’ll have to call corporate,” I shouted.

“I’m sorry, Bill, but your fired. You can’t disrespect a manager like that and expect to continue working here,” Fred coolly said.

“It’s John, you prick. And you can’t fire me, I just got promoted! I’m a manager too! Get out of my space, NOW,” I shouted and tossed everything off his desk.

“Assistant manager,” Fred said.

“Move your damn car,” I shouted.

Fred picked the phone off the ground and called for security.

They came in and I tried to explain I was the assistant regional manager and I told them what to do. They dragged me out anyway.

“Bye, Henry,” Fred loudly said and waved.

“It’s John, you asshole. JJJJOOOOHHHHNN,” I shouted again as I was being dragged away.

I refused to get in the elevator, holding my arms against the door, so they dragged me to the stairs and tossed me down.

After hitting the bottom, I slowly got back up, rubbing my hands against my face.

I went to Fred’s silver Mercedes. I’d have my revenge. I found a rock in the parking lot and threw it at the car. It bounced off and hit my nose. It started bleeding. I looked up and noticed a camera watching me. Crap, they were probably all watching me do that and laughing.

I lethargically walked another hour back to my car. I was tired, so it took longer.

When I got to my car, my shirt now covered in nose blood, some punk was tagging it.

“Hey, get out of here. I’m in no mood, asshole,” I shouted and shook my hand at him.

He turned and started to shout a profanity, took one look at me, and ran off. Could it have been the fact that I was covered in my own blood?

He wrote a derogatory word across my car. Great, now people would think I was a bigot. Damn punk.

I unlocked the car with my keys and the engine caught on fire.

Of course it did. The kid probably got some spray paint in the gas tank and the mixture sparked. I took out my cell phone to call the fire department, then my car exploded.

I dropped my phone, got on my knees and began to cry.

I would have called a cab or Uber, but no longer had a job, so decided it was best to save money.

I tried hitchhiking but nobody stopped.

I finally called my mother, and the whole drive back home I got a lecture about how stupid I was for never being able to keep a job. What was the use of paying for Harvard business school if I wasn’t going to make an effort? I would have reminded her I was there on scholarship, but I couldn’t get a word in.

I was finally home and my mother drove off, thank god.

I called the insurance company to replace my car only for them to tell me my policy had been cancelled. I apparently paid one day late.

“But I paid…” I begged. They hung up.

I searched the internet and the classifieds for a new job. Nothing I could do. I’d try again tomorrow.

I crawled into bed. I needed some rest. I laid down and the bookshelf landed on my head, cracking my skull.

I called for an ambulance, and when they got here the EMT asked for my health insurance information.

I was insured by the company.

“Can we take care of this after you fix my skull so I don’t die?” I asked.

“Sorry sir, unless we get paid, you don’t deserve to live. Welcome to capitalism,” the EMT said.

I took out my company card to show him.

The EMT made a phone call to the number on the back of the card.

“Sorry sir, this is invalid. I guess you don’t work for the company anymore. We have to go. People with money are dying, they’re the ones who deserve to be saved,” the EMT said.

“But I’ll die if you leave?” I said.

“Not our problem,” he shrugged, got back into the ambulance and left.

I grabbed some bandages from my drawer and wrapped up my head before laying back down.

I’d call my mother, but she’d only lecture me on why I wasn’t making more of an effort to live.

I prayed I’d wake tomorrow.