Meaning Less

By Brad Oates

Languishing in a dystopian corporate hell-scape, Jeffrey Boggs struggles to find meaning in a world that' s left him behind. His apartment is empty, his future is grim, and each day working in the terrible black tower of SALIGIA Inc. plays out like an ill-humoured assault on what scarce dignity remains to him. As the brief summer begins to fade into a bitter Edmonton winter, Jeff is haunted by memories of better times long behind him. Desperate to find a purpose in life, he turns to his new co-worker, Janice, hoping to use what he' s taken years to learn to help her cope with the degrading daily grind at SALIGIA. Time and again however, Jeff fails to find what he needs. His colleagues compete for favor, his supervisors conspire to get him fired, and Jeff plots to find a way out on his own terms. When a gathering snow storm promises to end the brief reprieve of summer, Jeff makes a final play for control in his life. But there' s no secret meaning to life beyond living with meaning, and as he chases it in all the wrong places, each day begins to mean a little less...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sands Press
• Release date: May 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781990066214

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This book is dedicated with love to my parents, Leonard and Elaine Oates. For inspiring my love of literature, my curiosity in life, and my passion of spirit, I am forever grateful.

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This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales, are intended only to provide as a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the authors’ imaginations and are not to be construed as real.

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Chapter 1

The Day it Started to Rain

A cold rain battered the streets of Edmonton, Alberta. It slammed down in great unrelenting cascades onto the pothole-ridden pavement, and assaulted the foggy windows of the #4 Bus which carried Jeffrey Boggs. He’d caught the transfer from the LRT station near the university—a tedious journey from his claustrophobic office at SALIGIA Inc. downtown to the dingy and dark confines of The Black Dog on Whyte Ave.

At least it isn’t snow, Jeff thought. Positive affirmations were an important daily habit, he’d been told at some point, by somebody he didn’t care to recall.

Still, Edmonton didn’t get very much as far as summer goes, and rain felt like a terrible waste of the season’s final days.

Today was as good as over the moment this bullshit rain started. He recalled hearing the downpour even above the wailing demands of his alarm clock, and how he’d seethed the moment he realized he’d left his patio window open the night before. A panicked run to his living room revealed a long, sour-smelling wet spot on the mangy carpet. The landlord will love that. Oh well, not like I was getting my deposit back anyways.

After only five minutes awake, Jeff had already been miserable.

Maybe tomorrow will be better. He forced a sharp smile across his long, aquiline face. He didn’t really believe it though. It was already mid-August, and 2026 had been a grim, cold, and disappointing year thus far on all fronts. Save for a brief couple of weeks back in May when the sun had shone bright and warm and all the world seemed right, little else was worth remembering so far.

Sometimes, it seemed every year was a little bit worse than the last. Fewer worthy stories, worse weather, and more bad news. To top it off, each one passed a little faster. That was inevitable, of course, when each day was so similar to the last. The dark clouds that hung so often over his city were fitting companions to the dreary days—always the same cycle, always the same disappointments. Jeff woke up wishing he was asleep, dragged himself into a job that noticed him only when there was blame to dish out, and then went home to wait for it to start all over again.

On lucky days like this one, he stopped by one of the many bars near his apartment for a few drinks with a friend. Sometimes, I think my reliability is becoming a liability, he’d quip. That or something like it. All the complaints blended together over the years, and what sharp wit Jeff might have pulled off in his phrasing was dulled by overuse.

That’s okay. It’s important to get it out once in a while. It was another useless platitude he’d picked up somewhere along the way.

Sometimes, people would advise Jeff to quit. Friends, therapists, strangers at bus-stops…the opinions always went the same direction. But Jeff knew what they didn’t—the world was changing, and the corporations were the only gods left. It hardly mattered which one he served, his fate would be the same. SALIGIA, as awful as it was, could at least afford to pay a competitive salary.

It was a bleak way to look at things, but he’d been lucky to land the job ten years ago, and nothing since then gave him any hope of the market improving. The demands got heavier, the overbearing bosses grew more cruel, the alleys filled up with those who’d lost their grip, and the desperate need to hang on to whatever semblance of control was left to him became the only thing that pushed Jeff out of bed in the mornings.

In his thirty-six years of life, he still recalled with crystal-clarity the best moment he’d ever had.

He’d been eight years old, attending elementary school in a quiet neighbourhood on Edmonton’s south side.

It was lunch recess—the longest and best recess of the day—and he was out playing tag with his classmates. Freeze-tag in fact, which was certainly a fitting choice in the festive white chill of the Canadian December.

Jeff could still hear Katie’s screech when David snatched the toque from her head and sprinted with it to the far end of the tall, red, sliding board.

Give it back! screamed Katie, and took off after David like a bullet.

She grabbed the slide’s handrail to anchor her turn, flying around the corner as she reached with her other hand for the bright, red-and-white maple leaf hat carried by the retreating David.

David, recognizing he could never hope to outrun the lithe young Katie for long, extended his arm and launched it forward in a wide arc.

The maple-printed wool sailed through the chilly air—suspended for a moment as if in a dream amid the sparkling crystals of ice and snow dancing down to the playground—before it was caught up by Imran.

Pig in the middle, pig in the middle. Katie is the piggy! yelled David, and a choir of laughter accompanied the song as it was taken up by the rest of the wild young boys. Pig in the middle, pig in the middle. Katie is the piggy!

My mom gave me that. It’s mine! Give it back! Katie raged, and through the polished white steps of the sliding board, Jeff saw tears trembling in her brilliant, brown eyes. A drop just on the edge of her eyelid hung for a moment, and shone like a sun amid the pinprick stars of the falling snow.

Piggy, piggy! chanted the boys. The wool hat flew from Imran, to Scott, to Liam, and back to David. Katie’s tears flowed freely now, and her pursuit began to slow.

Piggy, piggy! Again the hat took flight, high over the top of the sliding board, and down into Jeff’s own hands.

Piggy, piggy! the others chorused, and Jeff balanced on the balls of his feet, a terrible trepidation seizing his fragile young soul. Even then, with the eyes of all the boys—and Katie—on him, he felt clearly the import of the choice he had to make. It was heavy and hot, like the old quilt his mom would wrap him in when he was sick.

Throw it to me, called David. Let’s get it up on the roof!

Slowly, Jeff rounded the slide, turning away from the boys and coming face to face with the angry yet utterly flabbergasted Katie. She was taller than they were, and her dark hair cradled her face in a way Jeff never could quite forget. Katie had stopped running by then, and stood trembling with broken fury. Her hands clenched into little pink balls, and she stared wildly at her attackers with eyes like daggers. They stabbed back and forth between the boys, then finally lowered and held upon the cold, frozen ground as Jeff approached.

Here. He felt the warm wool caress his young hand as he held it out to her.

As Katie slowly lifted her eyes to his, he saw the veil of her tears draw back, and somewhere deep within the onyx lakes of her pupils, a sacred white fire sparked to life.

Jeff felt it flicker up in his own eyes too—he remembered it all so clearly even now.

Her pink hand brushed his as she took the hat, and she smiled as she pulled it eagerly down over her red-tipped ears. Then, out of nowhere, she threw her arms around Jeff, and all the world was them, the hat, and her warm tears on his cheek.

You’re my best friend, she said. Jeff knew that it was true.

That was the best moment of his life—when the world seemed fair, and what he did mattered.

He recalled it vividly as he listened to the bombastic torrents of rain beating like war drums on the tired old roof of the bus. It was long ago, but he thought about it often. Things were so different now. Nothing he did at work meant anything, and the rest of his day was no better. He got by, and he kept his head above water, but there was no great purpose behind any of it. Nobody really cared, and nothing really mattered.

Not like it used to.

Has the world changed since then, or is it something else that changed?

It took a stranger ringing the bell for his stop to shake Jeff out of his fruitless reverie and haul him moaning back into the drudgery that was his daily life.

Hopping through the middle door of the bus, he landed with both feet in an ankle-high puddle—immediately soaking through his shoes and down to the flesh. Damn it, Jeff yelled, then grimaced as a mom with one arm around a small child hurried by with a scornful glare. Sorry, he called after her.

He doubted she heard, or would have cared even if she had.

The pouring rain brought out the smell of the dying grass and fallen leaves in the gutters. This mixed with the ubiquitous smell of weed that hung constantly over Whyte Ave to create a dizzying potpourri. Jeff took it in gladly, thinking back to times long gone as he hurried along under the dripping eaves.

The Black Dog was only just ahead, and Jeff shook his sopping feet as the rain pressed down upon him—promising that the rest of his body was more likely to match their wetness than his feet were to dry.

Once inside, the familiar smell and creak of each step warmed him from within. Jeff always preferred these smaller, independent bars—the ones with sticky floors and crusty regulars. They were few and far between these days. Most bars in the city were giant corporate sports lounges with hockey on the screens, jerseys on the walls, and cheap, piss-tasting beer in the taps.

He spotted his friend, Edward Slane, already sitting at the long, narrow stretch of table which gazed out the open windows onto the busy stretch of Whyte Ave. He had one beer in hand, and another set out beside him. Eddie was a good friend.

Hey, said Jeff, taking a seat beside Eddie and grabbing his beer.

Hey, bud! Eddie looked him up and down with a wry smile. You appear especially Lennon-esque today, he said, and ran a hand through his own well-combed hair.

Jeff laughed. He was business casual as usual, but at this point he’d untucked his shirt, and his shaggy hair and relaxed posture meant Eddie’s assessment was fair.

So, how did it go with Marcy? asked Eddie.

Jeff grimaced. Marcy was Jeff’s direct supervisor at work, and one of his least favourite people anywhere. Lately, he’d been complaining—to Eddie primarily—about her near-comedic inability to understand even the most basic details of a project’s timeline. Regrettably, she was also rigidly enthusiastic about piling on more work in answer to even the simplest question. It was like the end stages of a long Jenga game, Jeff had told Eddie two nights prior. A few drinks later, he swore to confront his manager, Nadia, about the situation.

It didn’t go quite how I was hoping, he answered sadly.

Remind me what the problem was again? asked Eddie.

Jeff sighed, and took a quick sip of beer. He tried not to complain too much, and even focussed on being grateful as often as he remembered, but his job had a way of getting to him sometimes.

It really boils down to a failure of communication, but Christ does it get annoying. Get this—right now I’m working on two major projects. The first is called The Liveable City Initiative. We’re being contracted by a major condo developer who wants the entire city to know about the new developments they aim to have for sale next spring. It’s a full engagement project—which means busses, billboards, park benches—you name it, they want their info there. It’s my job to guide the initiative team along and make sure they meet the developer’s goals, while respecting SALIGIA’s own interests along the way.

Fantastically dry, said Eddie, but it sounds simple enough.

One would think, Jeff agreed.

So, what’s the other project? asked Eddie.

That’s just it. My other major project right now is The Clean City Initiative, which comes from the City Council. They want to reduce the clutter on our park benches, busses, and highways, and create a less ‘ad-driven’ city.

Shit, said Eddie. He raised his mug in an empathetic toast.

Yeah, said Jeff, and met his glass with a solemn nod. "Marcy’s been riding me about both projects. When I’m successful at one, I’m obviously falling behind on the other.

To make it even worse, SALIGIA’s time-tracking computer system needs a stated initiative topic for every meeting and every minute—so Marcy will only ever talk to me about one initiative or the other, never both. Jeff ran a hand through his wavy brown hair.

Eddie laughed long and hard.

There’s no way to win, Jeff lamented.

It’s almost Tartarean, said Eddie.

What?

Tartarean…of or pertaining to Tartarus. It was my class word of the day today.

You’re depraved.

Yet you’re the one trapped in this cyclical nightmare.

Oh, it gets better. Last week, I was asking a simple question, and Marcy gave me another new project. The City Branding Initiative is an inquiry into why the City has so little branding. They expect that a significant marketing push will be in order—which will only add to my headache.

‘City of Champions’ isn’t cutting it anymore? Eddie joked.

Apparently not.

So, what did you do? asked Eddie.

I told her I didn’t have time for this with the other two pulling the soul out of each other. Naturally, she told me there was no way around it, because the initiative had already been officially designated to me in the SALIGIA system. Then, she signed me up for a six-hour time management course.

Eddie was in stitches now, and didn’t seem ready to continue for a good while. Jeff drank in sad silence. He watched a wet, hunched man make his way down Whyte, begging for money, smokes, or company—Jeff couldn’t be sure which.

You’re kidding me with all this though, right? Eddie finally managed.

Hell, I wish. So, I finally had enough, and decided to message Nadia about how out of touch Marcy’s supervision is.

And?

Well, Nadia made the call a lot quicker than I thought. I now have a new supervisor.

Eddie gasped. They fired Marcy?

No, Jeff frowned. They assigned me to Francis. I have two supervisors now.

Fuck right off!

I swear it’s true. I wouldn’t believe it either if I were you. Working in a high school must be a breeze compared to corporate life.

Eddie gave Jeff a strange look, but didn’t push the issue.

Wow, I don’t even know what to say to all that. It seemed Eddie was telling the truth, as, for a long while he sat silent, and together he and Jeff stared out the window, watching a few strangers struggle by—too foolish, unfortunate, or desperate to stay indoors.

The bar was slowly picking up, as small trickles of smarter people made their way inside to escape the storm without. The Black Dog had a musty, cool feeling at the best of times, and a wet wood smell that Jeff always maintained should be the chief fragrance of any good bar—along with stale beer and old liquor.

Across the street, an old woman stepped off a westbound bus, directly into the raging water of a swollen storm drain. She nearly fell, but was caught by the man behind her and helped up onto the curb. For thanks, he took an umbrella in the eye as she stumbled once more, and finally stood leaning against the wall of the bistro directly across from Jeff catching her breath.

The scene was a perfect picture of life in Edmonton. Life before the snow, at least.

That’s so messed up, Eddie rejoined after finishing his beer. What are you going to do?

Jeff took a long swallow— his drink was nearly empty too, and he hoped Eddie would stay for one more at least. Well, haven’t I ever told you what my father used to say to me? he asked.

Eddie raised one eyebrow at Jeff, an eager smile pushing at the corners of his mouth.

He’d say to me, ‘Jeffrey, life’s not fair.’ Jeff finished his beer, and set it roughly down upon the long wooden ledge that served as their table.

Is that so? Eddie asked.

It is indeed, Jeff confirmed, happy for the prompt. See, I hated that expression for years—the first half of my life really. Then one day, maybe the third year of university if I recall—

I can scarcely imagine you do, if I recall that year correctly, Eddie interrupted.

Be that as it may, Jeff continued with a chuckle, I was having a particularity awful day at one point, and heard myself thinking about how unfair it was. Then I heard that old refrain in my head, ‘life’s not fair’, and it all made sense. I realized that if things were going to get better, it would be up to me. Complaining and self-pity have never gotten anyone anything besides maybe addictions and an early grave. I solved the problem that day, and I’ve remembered the lesson ever since.

That’s a damn fine outlook my friend—I might test that out on my students. Let me grab us another round, and you can tell me what you’re going to do to change things in that ridiculous tower you work at. Eddie swung himself up from his seat, trotted down a short set of well-worn steps, weaved through the army of barstools littering the floor, and finally leaned up on the long, black bar.

Ridiculous tower, that’s putting it lightly, thought Jeff.

The Edmonton skyline had never been world-renowned, but there had always been a handful of vantage points known to locals where the natural beauty of the city’s long, winding River Valley could truly bring a sense of pride to a prairie-born heart. The SALIGIA tower had changed that to an undeniable degree. Bigger than anything else around by more than half, it was huge, jagged, aggressive, and black as jet. It seemed to grow up overnight, as SALIGIA maneuvered itself into a new market and promptly scooped up the vast majority of media rights and contracts.

The corporation was a goliath, and the rapidity of its growth was well-reflected in the labyrinthian sprawl of its management. Nothing got done without treading through a quagmire of redundant, maddening double-checks, red-tape, and inefficiencies. This was all punctuated by a general disregard for the well-being of its employees beyond their ability to generate profit.

Jeff was just below management, and that made the sight of the tower—which was hard to miss from anywhere in the city—particularly aggravating. It took up every view, reminding him even on days off that it owned him, and would use him up, and leave him a resentful husk if he wasn’t careful.

This should even us up from last weekend, said Eddie, sitting back down and sliding over a dark pint of Guinness. So, what’s the plan here buddy? You’ll have to tread carefully, I imagine.

I will at that, said Jeff. "To be honest, I’m not sure what to do yet. I can’t change the way the office runs, and I certainly can’t hope to find a job anywhere else that pays half as well. It’s tough right now, but it could be a lot worse… or so I’ve been told.

I guess it’s a bit of patience and extra grace I need right now—which, by the way, this Guinness is certainly helping with! Besides, there’s always the principle of regression to the mean. Things are brutal right now, but they’ll even out and get better eventually. They certainly can’t get worse at any rate. Jeff took another drink, set his slender arms along the sticky black wood of the counter, and stared into the tempest outside.

Eddie took a swallow of his own. Well, that’s a more agreeable outlook than I expected. You really think you can keep your course steady and just wait for change to happen on its own?

I don’t know. It’s complicated. A steady job is nothing to scoff at in this economy. I can handle things for now, it’s just… Jeff took a long drink and shrugged, making no effort to complete his thought.

Just what? Eddie pushed. Aborted self-expression isn’t your style. What’s going on?

It’s only 6:00 p.m. Eddie, no need to trawl such depths just yet.

Well, I’m genuinely curious, but you know I can’t stay late on a school night. So, if you’re getting to something...

Well, I guess I always just believed there had to be some underlying sense to all of this. You know, that beneath all the bullshit in this world, there must be some kind of meaning.

Well, don’t we all find our own? asked Eddie.

I get where you’re coming from. You’ve got everything you need, everything you’ve ever dreamed of. No doubt that comes with exactly the sort of meaning I’m talking about. But it doesn’t have to be dependent on others, does it? Families are great and all, but there must be some way to find meaning without finding it in someone else, right?

Eddie sipped at the thick beer, but said nothing.

I hope that doesn’t sound harsh, Jeff went on. I’m not trying to offend. Whatever works—whatever helps anyone get what they need—I support, as long as it’s not hurting anyone else.

Without their consent, of course, said Eddie.

Without their consent, Jeff agreed. I’m pro-just-about-everything, and I think it’s a wonderful testament to our times that there are so many different roads to happiness these days. You know I’d never deny that, right?

Certainly not, Eddie confirmed. They’d known each other since their third year of university, and Jeff knew Eddie understood him in a way few others had ever even claimed to.

Jeff took a moment and finished his Guinness as he stared out into the rain. It showed no sign of slowing. I guess I’m still just waiting to find my own meaning is all, he continued. Maybe it’s not in work. Maybe it’s not in family, or art, or any of those places everyone else seems to find their passions—but it’s out there. It has to be. I can put up with the bullshit at work, don’t worry about that. I just hope that, sooner than later, I can find something that makes all the other stuff worth it. That’s all.

Eddie finished his own beer, and pushed the empty glass up to touch Jeff’s with a gentle clink. I get that buddy, I’m sure you will. You’re a good guy, things will turn around soon enough. In the meantime, can I offer you a ride home? he asked, standing up and pulling a light windbreaker snug against his neck.

Jeff stood and opened the door for his friend. Having no jacket with him, he tucked his hands resolutely into his pockets. It was only seven blocks to his house, and he figured that, despite the awful storm and the growing chill, a bit of exercise and fresh air might do him well. I’ll make it, thanks, he said.

With a quick handshake, Eddie dashed off and slid into his car. Pulling away, he waved to Jeff as he drove off down the tree-lined block.

Jeff waved back until he lost sight. Then, he stepped out from the doorway onto the wet sidewalk, joining the rest of the fools, the unfortunate, and the desperate.

Leaning into the cold wind and the rain, he began his long walk home.

Chapter 2

A Day at the Office

How long are we expected to wait? asked Jordan.

Fair question, but the answer should be obvious, thought Jeff.

Jordan was a Team Lead like himself, and had been for only four months fewer than Jeff. Jeff admired his ability to speak out against SALIGIA so openly, although he questioned the effect it would have on his long-term employability.

Still, it was going on sixteen minutes now since the Supervisory Consultation meeting was meant to begin, and there wasn’t a single supervisor to be seen. Everyone else was packed tight around the table, waiting for their bi-weekly opportunity to check in with management and learn what unexpected, senseless new direction their work would take.

Of course, with no supervisors, the meeting was pointless. It succeeded only in keeping them away from the tasks they were assigned, and for which the absent management team would ultimately hold them solely accountable.

We wait as long as it takes. Can you imagine the reaction from ‘the Brass’ if they turned up to find a single one of us missing? answered Rian. As overly-cautious as Rian tended to be, she had a good point.

‘The Brass’ was an old military term which had come into favour among the non-management workers at SALIGIA to refer to their gilded superiors—so often perceived as the puppet-masters of all their woes—who were despised, yet worshipped accordingly. The rest of the team, those who existed in the powerless purgatory below the Brass, were called ‘the Tins.’

Imagine what we could’ve got done in this time, Jordan fumed. Hell, look around and calculate the money being wasted on a meeting whose very purpose is foiled by those who arranged it. Every second week this happens!

Isn’t there something we can do together before they arrive? It was Janice speaking this time. Janice was new, and it occurred to Jeff that he’d never seen anyone—at SALIGIA or elsewhere—try so hard to catch up, yet remain so overwhelmingly behind.

The purpose of these meetings, Janice, is to receive updated statements of direction from management, said Adra. Ever the bootlicker. Jeff did his best to avoid Adra whenever possible. Without that, she continued, anything we try to do right now will be an outdated waste, and if you turn in something that’s not based on current market realities, it can be far worse than turning in nothing at all, because they will rightly think you don’t understand your projects.

Jeff lifted his coffee to his lips, determined by the steam that it was still too hot, faked a sip for good measure, and set it back down alongside his notepad and pen. He could think of a dozen places to jump into the debate, and twice as many strong stances to take on this familiar conundrum boiled below the calm surface of his mind, but his ten years of experience allowed only one thought to bubble up. What’s the point?

Janice scratched her head for a moment, and a deep line marred her freckled face. Adra, you and I are both working on the City Branding Initiative with Jeff, can’t we discuss that while we wait?

Jeff respected the youthful naiveté Janice still displayed on occasion. She’d only been with SALIGIA for two months now, and clung to some desperate belief that sense and logic would prevail if only she worked hard enough.

It would get her in trouble sooner or later, Jeff knew. Janice, before looking at the City Branding Initiative, we have to get Marcy’s updates on the Clean City Initiative. We can’t go forward on either until then, he explained.

What about my Green City Initiative? interrupted Jordan. Francis is going to want movement on that. Hey, isn’t he your supervisor now too, Jeff?

Well, yes, but that’s not really relevant. The Liveable City Initiative still needs confirmation of intention from the condo developers about their plans to build in the River Valley, so those two are at loggerheads. We’ll need to hear from both Francis and Marcy to clear it all up.

I thought Marcy was your supervisor? said Rian.

It’s best not to ask questions like that, said Jeff. Everyone except Janice nodded their agreement. She just frowned, and took a timid sip from her coffee mug.

Reaching the end of his patience already,