He looked out the window at the evening sky. There were just a few scattered clouds, and the reddish hues of a great sunset. A beautiful end to another miserable day. Watching that amazing sunset, he wished he could just reset his brain, make it turn silent and stop obsessing over every word that had been said, every email, document, or schematic involving work. But no matter how hard he tried to stop the madness, his brain carried on internally and silently all the arguments he wished he could have had with Bob McIdiot, his infuriatingly irrational boss.
Quentin wished he had the power to walk out of that building for good, slamming the door in the bastard’s face on his way out. He fantasized for a minute or two how that would feel. It would feel great for a second, and then what? Unemployed, without a fat bank account, without a serious job prospect, who knows how long it would take him to get back on his feet? Maybe in a few days he’d end up regretting his sudden departure, regardless of how great it would feel for those few moments. Nope, he couldn’t do that… His exit strategy needed some well-conceived tactics, like finding a new job first.
Reaching that decision, he tried to relax, to idle his overactive brain. But the darn thing had a mind of its own and went instantly back into obsessing over arguments he could have made with his boss, things he could have said but didn’t.
He weighed his options for a little while, then decided to find a friend online and talk about it. It always helped.
He logged on to Rat Olympics and smiled recognizing some familiar names present in the chat room.
DespeRatt: Happy Friday, folks.
LostGirclass="underline" 2U2, dear Ratt.
Slave19: How have you been, my man?
DespeRatt: Ahh… don’t even ask. Just another day in paradise.
LostGirclass="underline" What’s on your mind? What happened?
DespeRatt: Nothing out of the ordinary. Same shit, different day. But today I can’t turn my brain off for some reason.
LostGirclass="underline" Why? What’s going on in there?
DespeRatt: Just thoughts… What I should have said and done instead of what I actually said and did. How it would feel when I’d finally be able to resign and get the hell out of there to never see them again. What my idiot boss meant when he said this and that… Pure insanity!
LostGirclass="underline" Sounds like anxiety to me… racing thoughts and all that. Are you suffering from anxiety?
DespeRatt: N — no, I don’t think so. If they leave me alone for one day or so, it completely disappears. So I guess the answer is no.
LostGirclass="underline" Sounds like you may be heading in that direction anyway, you know. That’s how it starts. Welcome to the club, my friend. Soon we’ll be exchanging our experiences with anti-anxiety meds instead of having our regular bitching sessions.
DespeRatt: Oh, I hope not! I just need to get my ass in gear and get that new job you’re recommending, LostGirl. That’s what I need to do.
LostGirclass="underline" Go for it!
Slave19: Why is it worse for you today?
DespeRatt: I’m agitated, but also very angry. You see, this is my time, this Friday afternoon, my time off away from work. And what do I do with it? Obsess over work, over my idiot boss. I obsess and waste my free time on them. And that makes me incredibly mad… I could smash stuff right now. And I can’t turn this stupid brain off, no matter what I try. And don’t tell me about meditation, ’cause then I’ll really start smashing stuff.
Slave19: LOL, no I won’t, don’t worry. I was wondering what’s making it worse today out of all days. Is it because it’s Friday? Or did something happen today?
DespeRatt: I think it’s because it’s Friday, but you’re right, something did happen. Today it felt personal, my argument with him. Usually, it’s just technical… we argue over specs, blueprints, solution design, that kind of crap. Today it was more personal. He picked at the way I do things, my interactions with people, that kind of stuff. Oh God… how I hate this shit and what it does to my brain!
LostGirclass="underline" Ahh… screw him! Just imagine him sitting on the toilet and running out of TP or something.
DespeRatt: LOL, that might actually work, thanks much for that visual!
Slave19: Hey, what are you planning to have for dinner?
DespeRatt: Haven’t thought about that yet… I’ll order some pizza, I guess.
Slave19: Here’s the deaclass="underline" if you tell me where you order it from in the next half hour, I’ll cover your tab.
DespeRatt: Whoa… are you stalking me or something? Sorry… paranoid here, but creeps are everywhere.
Slave19: nah… no stalking, you’re not that pretty. I didn’t ask for your home address or your name, just the location where you order your pizza. Put a code name on the order, say… My Free Dinner.
DespeRatt: Sounds reasonable enough… all right, you’re on! With my many thanks!
Slave19: Cool! Where do you order from?
DespeRatt: From Pie in the Sky, it’s close to where I live.
LostGirclass="underline" How about me? I’m just as hungry, pissed at life, and anxious as the Ratt is.
Slave19: How about this: I’ll buy you dinner next Friday — same deal.
LostGirclass="underline" You’re on! Thanks!
DespeRatt: I just placed the order, thanks again! You must be making some really nice coin, treating strangers like this. How can I repay you?
Slave19: No need. Just be happy, do what’s right for you, and enjoy your pie. And pay it forward someday, help someone in need.
DespeRatt: That I can do.
Slave19: Just called in and covered it — enjoy. Gotta sign off now, have an excellent weekend everyone!
LostGirclass="underline" See you next week, 19!
Quentin closed the lid on his laptop and leaned back in his chair. His anxiety gone, he decided to sacrifice the entire weekend to his newly fueled desire to find a new job. He had a résumé to finish, references to organize, a job search to conduct, and several recruiters to contact. All that considered, he should be done before Monday.
He couldn’t hope for immediate results, but it was definitely better that sitting idle, obsessing over an idiotic boss who wasn’t gonna turn any smarter, revenge fantasies that were never gonna come true, and a new job that wasn’t gonna just materialize by itself.
…29
Zane Pemberton was always first on the flight deck, and always mad at his wingman, who made a habit of being late. Not by a whole lot, not enough to get them in trouble with the commander. Just by a minute or two, enough to fuel Zane’s irritation and get them both a preflight jogging session to avoid getting canned.
Zane paced the empty briefing room, watching the antiquated wall clock’s hand move, second after second. Voodoo was pushing it this time, that reckless asshole. Zane had left his helmet— printed with his call sign, Zombie, in gold lettering over colorful flames — on a table nearby, so he could repeatedly slam his right fist into his open left palm.