b8 and 7witch- Insomniatic Walkabout

A haze hung over the street, a misty, vaporous testament to the nefarious southeastern Pennsylvania humidity about to seriously fuck up my day. I took a swig from my energy drink, spilled some on my shirt, didn't bother wiping it off. I hadn't washed my uniform in weeks, the fabric of the armpits stained yellow and worn to cheesecloth, the buttons loose, threatening to fall off at any second. I put my visor down, the sun was seemingly at full bore even though it was still so early in the morning, and steered with my knees as i took another toke from the glass bowl i kept packed in my ashtray. With the windows up and the air conditioning non existent, the inside of my car became a sweaty clambake, how i imagined it would be if i would hang out with some phish loving neo-hippies in a sealed cargo container dropped in the middle of the Sahara. Mixing weed and a large amount of caffeine made my heart feel as if it might collapse in on itself, but at least it reminded me that i was in fact still alive, still breathing. I took a left into the parking lot, backed into the same space i had for the last three years, finished off the energy drink and tossed the nearly empty can into the backseat where it joined hundreds of other nearly empty cans of energy drink, announcing to anyone who happened to glance into the back of my car that whoever drove my heap was evidently nearly always tired, evidently nearly always dead, never really awake, a jittery sleepwalker.

I clocked in and drowsy already, sat at the table in the driver's lounge with all of the other crusty, indignant sleepwalkers and organized my route for the day. My nextel phone chirped, once, and then again, and i sighed. My life seemed to be guided by a series of beeps, chirps, buzzers, rings, polyphonic noise. Cell phones, alarm clocks, the scattered chatter of police scanners, the car stereo, a low volume television set, a computer. I looked at the phone, it was my boss, Ronald. I pressed the rubbery talk button.
“yeah, ron, what's up?”
silence.
“ron, it's chuck, you need something?”
“come to my office.”
his tone was even and cold. The kind of tone of voice that makes your stomach turn, your guts twisting, your ears burning. I was in trouble. For what, i had no idea.
“two minutes.”
“no. chuck, right now.”
The other drivers in the lounge looked up from their newspapers at me, the way you look at the kid who has just been called into an unreasonable principal's office, and i shook my head. I stunk like weed and incompetence, i just knew it.
“probably wants to give me a raise.”
they all looked back down at their newspapers, and i pushed away from the table and drug my feet across the loading dock to the side of the building that housed the suits' offices. I thought about just getting in my car and never coming back, but i needed to pay rent the next week, so i use my key card and started down the hall.

Ron's office looked like the Philadelphia eagles memorabilia monster had vomited violently into it. Eagles banners, eagles helmets, coca cola eagles bottles lined every shelf, signed jerseys hung proudly on the eggshell white walls, eagles paperweights and mylar encased eagles season tickets littering nearly every square inch of ron's plain birch desk.
i stood in the doorway.
“ron, what's up?”
ron looked from his computer screen at me. Ronald was a large gentleman, he looked like the bastard child of baby Huey and a retired, broken down polish boxer. He was fat, but you could tell that beneath the blubber was muscle, beneath his flabby exterior a tiger lay ready to pounce. I was scared and amused by him all at once.
“Did you enjoy it?”
I took a step back. I was high and was not ready for riddles this early in the morning.
“excuse me?”
“sit down, you fucking monster.”
I moved slowly towards the chair in front of his desk.
I kept my eyes on him, he was tensing up as i got closer, but now my interest was peaked and i wanted to see how all of this would play out. I sat and put my hands on my knees. Did he know that i came to work high? Did he know i had been stealing shredded lettuce and selling it to my friends that owned a shitty sub place? Did he know that i fucked his aunt once?
“you disgust me, you know that?”
“ron, seriously, you are freaking me out here. I wish i could answer any of these questions, but you are being WAY too cryptic. What exactly are we discussing here?”
The corners of his mouth turned down, then up into a crooked smile and before i could react he snatched a round eagles paperweight from his desk and tossed it at me, catching me in the corner of the eye, sending me toppling backwards in my chair. As my back hit the ground, the wind rushed from me, and he was around the desk with surprising quickness, too quick for a guy his size. I flipped onto my stomach and he grabbed my ankle and spun me back over. He fell with his knees on my shoulders and the blows came down on me fast and hard. Between punches i looked up and saw tears storming down his cheeks, and i blacked out. When i came to, i propped myself up on my elbow to see several other guys who worked in the offices restraining ron, to little avail because he broke free and kicked me in my side before they could get a hold of him again. I managed to get to my feet and stumble from the office, the vision in my left eye blurry. I could feel blood pouring down my neck onto my chest, and i barely made it through the door into the parking lot. I knew i was going to pass out again, i had a concussion for sure, and as i made my way to my car i took the nextel phone from my pocket and spiked it on the tarmac, electronics bursting into tiny pieces, to chirp no longer. I worked my key into the lock, fell into the front seat, started my car, and peeled out of the parking lot. I didn't bother looking in the rear view mirror, i didn't need to see how broken my face was. I threw up on myself as i turned the corner towards my apartment building and promptly passed out, foot coming off the gas, and rolled slowly into the back of a garbage truck.