Office Chronicles

By Irene Lapidus

CIRCUMSTANCES OFTENTIMES PREVENT US FROM LAUGHING IN THE MIDST OF THEM. THIS BOOK OF FICTION ALLOWS JUST THAT WITH THE HELP OF A CERTAIN CLAIMS DEPARTMENT AND THOSE WORKING IN IT.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Feb 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781475976915

Irene Lapidus

IRENE LAPIDUS IS CURRENTLY WORKING AS A MEDICAL BILLER AT A LOCAL HOSPITAL, AND IN MARCH WILL CELEBRATE HER 25YEARS OF SERVICE ON THIS JOB. SHE ALSO WORKED IN TWO OTHER OFFICES BEFORE FOR ABOUT 9 YEARS. SHE IS A LONG TIME WRITER AND THE FIRST TIME PUBLISHER. SHE RESIDES IN PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA.

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Copyright © 2013 by IRENE LAPIDUS.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-7690-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-7691-5 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013902873

iUniverse rev. date: 04/05/2013

CONTENTS

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Let’s Be Human

Do You Mind?

The Cleaning Day

The Meeting

Employee Of The Month

Confession Of A Workaholic

Greener Pastures

Pastry Shop

Pastry Shop

A Firm Grip On Reality

Arrival

Out With The Old

Shuffle

Chaos

The Key To Everything

Memo

28702.jpg DEDICATION

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO MY FAMILY

28704.jpg ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

A special thanks to my dear friends

Cathy Gulden, Hyacinth D. Williams and Judy Dohany

for never ending support and prayers.

28706.jpg LET’S BE HUMAN

Doris, the cleaning lady, came in as usual… Bright light was burning above the entrance, illuminating the reception area. Beyond it stood the work floor, cloaked in darkness. Doris lingered, taking in the familiar surroundings. It was always quiet here after hours, and that’s what she liked the most about this new job.

She went to the maintenance closet, hidden in the alcove, just to the left of the reception desk, filled an aluminum bucket with hot water and cleaning solution, and leaving her things inside, returned with the bucket; a small roll of beige paper towels, stuffed in the pocket of her dress along with a white plastic trash bag, and a big yellow sponge she brought from home.

The cleaning solution smells. She thought, lugging her cargo onto the work floor through a set of open double doors. The reception area light, reaching the floor, exposed a couple of feet of its beige carpet and a desk on the left, and as Doris halted in its path with a bucket and sponge, enveloped her as well, casting a giant lumpy shadow of her against the brightness of the carpet, at which she stared as if seeing it for the first time.

Somewhere on the wall, to the right of the double doors, waited three light switches. Doris usually flipped them as soon as she’s walked in. Only today, for some strange reason, this part of the routine never even entered her mind. Slowly, she took her eyes off the carpet and set the bucket down. A light smile touched her lips and cheeks—in a couple of hours she’ll be back home, sitting in a comfy lounger with hot tea and biscuits, watching her favorite detective stories on Late Night Mystery Theatre.

The smell is gettin’ to me. Doris lost the smile and stretched her neck over the bucket. Inside, was a murky sudsy water, glazed over with a thin iridescent film. Goodness!! It stinks like a swamp in here!! She quickly averted her face for the fear of choking. Now… I don’t know what this muck is they left me with, but it had better clean good… the label on that bottle sure looked funny. She hesitated and dunked her beautiful new sponge, knowing beyond a shadow of doubt, that it will have been ruined by the end of her shift.

Suddenly, in the quietness of the hour, her ears picked up a strange noise… It was too faint to be identified and seemed to be coming from some distant part of the floor. Doris let go of the sponge. But it can’t be… She whispered eyeing the darkness. I thought they were all gone for the day. This never happened to her before. Who or what else could be here?

To her relief, the noise stopped. Moving her eyes quickly, she measured the distance between herself and the front door, in case she would have to make a run for it (of course, grabbing her pocketbook and jacket out of the maintenance closet first), and draped herself over the bucket, trying to concentrate on her job the best she could, with the nasty smell going up her nose.

Thump!!!!! Hit the air like a fired cannon. Doris jerked, barely saving her tongue from being bitten. Almost immediately, the air conditioning system turned itself on, and after issuing a heavy sigh, proceeded to force icy air out of the vents in the ceiling.

What’s the matter with these people?!! They never left the air on before… Doris complained shivering. Do they expect me to shut it off at the end of my shift?! I don’t even know where the darn thermostat is… She turned her head every which way as if looking for the thermostat. And if I don’t find it, the air will be blowing all night?!! She rambled angrily. She had to straighten up. The pain in her lower back was getting out of hand from all the stretching and bending she was doing over the bucket.

They sure like to waste money ’round here. She continued, rubbing her back with both hands, unknowingly smearing her dress with the questionable cleaning water. Between this hurricane and the light they left burning in the reception area, I wonder what kind of electric bill they’ll be paying next month. The place is in shambles. I’ll just wipe their desks down quickly and leave. I don’ t want no problems.

As soon as the last word jumped off her lips, a noise started up again in a distance. Doris froze. It had to be that same noise she heard earlier on, she was sure of it. Only, now she could make out the sound within the humming of the air conditioning system. It’s a motor! She announced, barely comprehending the meaning of it. What’s happening here?! Thrusting both hands in the cleaning water, she grabbed the sponge and pulled it out so fast, she almost lost her footing. My… oh my… what am I gonna doooo?!! She sang, clutching the sponge from which rivers of water cascaded back into the bucket.

Get a grip!! She suddenly scolded herself in a weird deep voice. You know what happens when you get like this?!! But it was too late for crazy ‘self-talk’—the world of Doris Jones was already turning upside down.

Still forgetting to flip three light switches, mounted on the wall, to the right of the double doors, Doris plunged into the darkness, leaving the bucket behind. From one thing to the next. She muttered shuffling on the soft carpet. Moving at a slow pace she advanced down the main hallway, holding the sponge in front of her with both hands, trailing cleaning water on the carpet. The air-conditioning system as if on purpose, kept on spewing icy air out of the vents above her, maybe hoping to turn her into an ice sculpture. Is this stupid thing acting up or what? Doris growled. I hope it breaks down for putting me through a mess in this place.

The farther she moved inside the large floor, the darker it felt around her. She could no longer detect her hands or her surroundings but still pressed on risking to slip and fall or bump into a stationary object. Somewhere on her right was a partition, beyond which waited several rows of cubicles and three executive offices. She was supposed to start cleaning there but never brought the bucket over.

The air stopped blowing. And there it was, the MOTOR, just as she thought. A brick could understand that another human was operating some kind of machine. What if she were attacked? She swallowed hard. She had nothing but the wet sponge to defend herself with. She imagined beating the rascal (had to be an idiot) off with it, while the smelly cleaning concoction oozing out of it, smeared his face hair and clothes. Serves him right for coming here!! She gloated, picturing the loser run for his life, leaving his machine behind.

But what if it all ended differently… She remembered her cozy apartment, her comfy lounge chair, and her old television set on which parts 4 and 5 of the Killer’s Revenge were supposed to be shown tonight on Late Night Mystery Theatre. She wanted so much to find out what happened to the dashing Detective Brown after the shootout he had in the bar with the hoodlums. That’s all she’s been thinking about, ever since she’s walked on the floor. But instead of her apartment, she’ll be stuck here, fighting for her life? What if she never comes out of this place?

The outcome of this scenario smacked Doris on the head like an invisible frying pan. She glanced behind her—from a distance, the reception area looked like a beacon. She could still reach it in no time, only… the dreaded motor kept on going, making her feet walk in its direction. I best not be entertaining wicked thoughts. She figured, moving along as quietly as she could. She knew she was safe for now—hearing the motor going, meant the intruder had to be standing close to it.

But, in the midst of this safety, darkness was already playing tricks with her mind… She was at the point of no return when something or rather someone flashed before her eyes. She stopped. It was Detective Brown from the Killer’s Revenge, he was suspended in mid-air. Blink… Blink… What’s he doing up there? Doris would have been less surprised if she saw a green visitor from another planet.

The fictitious brave Detective wore everything of an unknown dark color, had an angry face and was holding up a gun. "There are buttons missing on the slob’s shirt . . ." Doris noticed, blinking profusely and feeling a bit bothered. Wasn’t this man supposed to only exist inside her television set?

Detective Brown suddenly expanded—his clothes and shoes with him—and floated up to the ceiling resembling a balloon, shaking his gun from there. Doris’ lips began to tremble. She could have sworn, the man was mouthing angry words to her. What are you shaking your gun at me for? She whispered, barely standing on her feet from fright. She no longer cared about this man’s fate, she wanted him gone. Why don’t you fly away and scare somebody else, I am not the riff-raff you usually catch. Shoo!! To her relief Detective Brown vanished. Good!! I thought I was losing my mind. This is your entire fault… She whined at the noise maker hiding on the floor, whose motor kept on going. I wouldn’t be in this mess if you went away before I came in!!

Dealing with Detective Brown, resulted in a major hot flash… Doris was glad for the cold air blowing on her again, but still, where was that glass of cold water when she needed it? She found a tissue inside one of her sleeves, blotted her face and neck, and stuffed the tissue back. Nobody takes me for a fool… She squeezed through her teeth… I am not going back, I am going in…

Soon, her right shoulder touched a cold hard surface. It was that same partition behind which she was supposed to start cleaning. How did I get so close to it anyway? Doris wondered. I must have gotten off the track. She freed her right hand, and touching the partition, walked on until it ended. Good riddance! She barked ; the motor sounded louder now, coming from not so distant right. It would stop and start up again, as if it’s operator was taking extremely short breaks. It’s a chain saw!! Doris heard herself say. She wrinkled her face and her eyes bulged, unable to process the news.

Determined to get to the bottom of things as soon as possible she made a right turn.

While combing the air with her right hand she found another hard surface—this one was covered with coarse fabric and was very short. Someone’s cubicle… She mumbled, moving away.

She thought she was now in the back hallway but could not swear to it. But even if that was so and she managed to locate the bunch of light switches mounted on the long wall here, she would not turn the light on for any money in the world—staying quiet and invisible was what she had to maintain. She only got so far before her outstretched right hand collided with yet another cold hard surface—this time it was the real wall. She followed it around the corner and stopped…

Before her was a strange, dimly lit corridor without a carpet. Standing, end to end along the left wall were three vacant desks. Beyond them was the source of dim lighting; the only office housed here with the light turned on. The glass door was open half way. Not only was the light coming out of this office but the machine noise as well.

This gotta be the place, Personnel told me to stay clear of. Doris remembered. What do they keep in here anyway, industrial secrets? She took a moment to collect herself and tiptoed to the door.

Sitting behind a big brown desk was a white haired man in a shiny grey suit and glasses. In front of him towered a pile of papers that looked like it was about to shift. Quickly taking pages off the top, the man was feeding them to the giant shredder standing on the floor.

This is what made the motor" noise . . ." Doris thought, slightly relieved. And who is he?

There was no name plate on the side of the door, to suggest that the office was occupied. Judging by the man’s attire, however, one could assume that he was a highly paid executive of this place, working late in a deserted office. Only this scenario, as implausible as it was, appeared too sly to Doris.

He is definitely an intruder. She concluded, silently moving her lips. "I suppose he turned the air on too… couldn’t do his dirty deed without it. But… how did he know where to find the thermostat? I guess, he searched the floor like a lot of them do."

She kept watching…

He sure looks creepy… And I’ll bet these are important documents he is shredding, why else would he pick this hour to be here? She checked the interior of the office. What a mess he’s made. This was unacceptable. She shook her head in disapproval of the mess. Being a cleaning woman, it was understandable, while her eyes fell on her watch—6:50 was barely visible on a tiny face.

My leg is wet. Doris looked down. Water, still dripping a little from the sponge, was hitting her stocking. As if hypnotized, she ignored the occurrence and looked inside the office. The man suddenly looked up, he must have heard something… Doris got away from the door.

I’ve seen this crooked smile before. She thought. "I know . . . this creep is a gangster!!" This was brilliant but terrifying. She closed her eyes and leaned heavily against the cold wall. "This stupid wall feels like the North Pole. Where is that hot tea with lemon when you need it?"

The air stopped blowing. Doris opened her eyes and looked in…

The man was done shredding what was left on the desk, filled a large black plastic bag to the top with shredded paper and tied the handles.

It’s a lot of stuff he is throwing away, Doris mouthed. What if that’s not enough? What if this wicked man decides, just for the heck of it, to mess the place up good? I’ve seen plenty of hoodlums do this kind of stuff on TV. She gasped quietly. I have to get out of here, before something terrible happens. But, what about the cleaning? She suddenly remembered why she was on the floor. I can’t run back now, cleaning or not. I don’t know how the heck to get back to the front of this dark floor, without causing an accident.

When she looked inside the office again, the man was standing in front of the file cabinet, dumping its contents on the desk. Oh my… what a nasty grin he’s got… and a gun in his pocket, I am sure… . Was it a regular gun or one with a silencer? She remembered seeing both kinds in one of the early installments of the Late Night Mystery Theatre.

Meanwhile, the man sat down on the chair and started shredding papers from the file cabinet. Doris noticed scissors on the left edge of the desk. What does he want with another weapon??!! Jerk!! She had to cover her mouth for the fear of screaming.

Watching the gangster operate, Doris completely removed herself from reality… Her mind, saturated with detective stories from Late Night Mystery Theatre, just like her sponge, saturated with chemical waste called the cleaning solution, was producing one ugly picture after another…

People with guns were trashing a manufacturing plant in the middle of the night, looking for secret papers worth millions, and the gangster sitting inside this office was not only mixed up in all this… his was their Boss.

I don’t want to be involved in anything shady. I only came here to cleeeeeean. Doris thought in horror. Another hot flash came on like a tidal wave. Leave me alone!! She yelled without a sound. Forgetting about the overused tissue she stuffed in the sleeve of her dress, she blotted her face with a sleeve instead.

Her nose suddenly caught a whiff of the smell, coming from the sponge in her hands. "Goodness . . . I forgot about the stink. I must have blocked it out while dealing with everything else. What if the man smells it? What if he runs out of this office to investigate it . . ." Doris swallowed hard. She knew, if she were found out, her cleaning career and everything she held dear, would be over at 59. "I am going to faint . . ." She promised, seeing herself in a trunk of the gangster’s car, with duct tape over her mouth, hands and feet tied with rope, driven to some dump site outside of town. She squeezed the sponge, hard, sending more cleaning water down, this time missing her stocking. Fortunately for her, because of the noise of the shredder, the man never heard the water hitting the hard floor.

I know… If he finds me here, I’ll pretend I am looking for my bucket and act real dumb, Doris whispered. She searched her mind for another weighty excuse, to add to the stupid one she concocted; nothing else was coming to mind. Her bottom lip quivered… Not that long ago she stood in the reception area, admiring this stupid job… that was now suspended until further notice.

The gangster already filled the second plastic bag with the rest of the shredded paper, crammed in it the trash scattered on the floor, and tied the handles, and when Doris dared to look in again, he was moving around the office, checking every nook and cranny for anything he might have missed.

"He is getting ready to leave . . ." Any second now, everything bad Doris was imagining and dreading for the past untold hours, could be coming to life. This was all she could take—heart thumping like a drum, she got away from the door, hesitated, looking around, and then ran towards the middle vacant desk standing along the wall and dove under it.

Sitting there quietly like a mouse, she started wiggling her nose—the yucky smell, persistently emanating from the damp sponge in her hands, mixed with dust, was trying to get up her nostrils. She shielded her face with the free hand but the assault continued, through the fingers. She heard the air conditioning system’s thump as it turned itself on again. I am about to have the biggest sneeze of my life or choke in here and give myself away she whined, ticked off that the air coming out of the only vent in this corridor was not reaching where she was sitting, to take care of all her problems.

Fortunately, the sneeze never happened but the shivering started, on account of the front of her dress being damp. Doris lifted the sponge off it and moved it to the floor next to her. You don’t want to be causing more problems ’round here… She hissed. Stay there till I fetch you… She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to keep warm and yawned. Despite all the excitement, weariness and slumber were upon her. She mumbled something unintelligible, leaned against the side of the desk and lost touch with her surroundings.

She found herself in a quaint tea room, behind a white-clothed table by the window. I’ll have an almond pastry and a cup of hot tea with lemon… She told the waitress. Gazing at the sunlit street, she noticed a strange man lurking behind a tree. He is up to no good… She watched closely. I’ve seen him somewhere before: white hair, glasses, shiny grey suit… It’s him! She suddenly recognized the man. It’s that gangster!! He was shredding documents at that posh business place I clean on Thursdays…

Doris stirred and woke up. She was under a strange desk. "I fell asleep . . ." She rubbed her eyes and yawned.

The gangster was not in the office anymore because it was pitch black everywhere.

What’s happening? Where is he? Doris heard a faint jingling in the distance. A sick feeling came over her, The bucket!! He tripped on it… I knew it!! She dug her fingers into the fabric of her dress. Now, he knows I am here… and will come back looking for me, to commit a real crime, You stupid, stupid fool!" She scolded herself, wishing to cry. No hot tea with lemon and no cold water could help her now, even if she had them. She sat under the desk, expecting the worst, saying good-bye to everything and everyone she remembered… The floor was quiet.

After what seemed like eternity, she decided to leave her hideout. She reached for the sponge but all she found in the dark were damp chunks of it—the sponge conveniently self-destructed on the floor. I never saw anything like it in my life… Doris barked, crawling under the desk, picking up the pieces. She stuck her hand inside the pocket of her dress to get the plastic trash bag—only the roll of paper towels remained there, the plastic bag must have fallen out while she was diving under the desk. She quickly took the hand out and patted the floor. The bag slid all the way to the wall. She snatched it, opened it after a short struggle, and shoved the chunks in it. Oh, how much she hated this sponge, all three of them really—the ruined yellow, and two orange ones at home. Cheap rubber. No wonder it fell apart—3 for a $1. I ain’t never going back to that discount store again…" She got herself up and started dancing around, to get movement and circulation back into her limbs.

Somehow, she found the way back to the reception