Flash Fiction: 5

I’m late. The gate is rusty. Work sucks. I have to kick the gate for it to open and it scrapes the floor. The law office door feels like it’s made of cereal boxes and I have to be careful not to break it as I come inside. He sees me.

“Hey boss,” I said in something between a mumble and a whisper.

“Sit down,” he said.

Fuck. Why do I always end up on this side of the conversation? I’m never in the power position. Why do I even bother coming in. I fuck up and end up sitting in this chair at least once a week.

He finishes up a letter he’s dictating through his mustache into a tape recorder. Something about a motion to blah.

It’s always the same here. I hate this job. I thought I would be inspired by working here. I thought it would lead me to want more from the legal trade. I even took paralegal night classes. I enjoyed the law research a little. I simply have no follow up skills. If I have a week to work on something I will complete the work in the last 4 hours of the last day.

He stops the tape.. “Toma,” he says handing me an envelope, “you have potential… but you will never develop it here.”

If it’s what I think it is, it’s my last check. I only worked half a week or less so it can’t be much. Neglected bills rapidly come to mind.

“I still want to work here boss, I hope it’s not…”

“It is your last check. I don’t want you here no more. You’re smart but you’re lazy and you’re always late. You live six blocks away cabron y no puedes llegar a tiempo.”

He’s right there. I live just up the hill and I never get here on time. 15 to 30 minutes late every day. I hate mornings. I can’t even argue. I just stare out the window.

“Look,” he looks right at me, “you have the mind of a dreamer. I know you don’t even like this job. The only thing keeping you here is the cute receptionist. Pobrecito. She’s not into you. Go find what you want in life.”

Her name is Lisa and fuck him. He’s right.

I wonder if I have a flash drive to remove some personal files from the computer.