Читать книгу The Kingfish Way - Rob Wood - Страница 3

“Some people are so fond of bad

luck they run half way to meet it.”

~ Douglas William Jerrold

The blaring of the alarm clock startled Phil out of his slumber, sending his heart racing. He groaned, never bothering to open his eyes as he rolled over and slapped his hand fruitlessly in the direction of the noisy alarm. Knocking over the lamp, he eventually managed to silence the offending appliance. “It can’t be Monday already!” he lamented to the empty house. He lay in the dark for a few minutes staring at the ceiling, delaying the inevitable. Sighing, he rolled out of bed and immediately tripped over his shoes, colliding with the nightstand and sending the lamp the rest of the way to the floor. “Damn it!” he shouted, gingerly picking his way out of the broken glass. “Why does this always happen to me?”

Phil sighed as he stepped into the shower. He was barely aware of the warm water on his skin as pending projects ran through his mind. He was behind with the accounts payable project, even though he had worked on it for four days last week. Every time he thought he was finished, his boss wanted to make another change, or discovered some data he had forgotten to share with Phil. “Every day a pain in the ass,” Phil sighed to himself, shaking his head as he dried off. “When I get that job in the front office, things will be better.”

An hour later, finishing his morning routine, he was ready to leave for work. Phil looked on the night-stand for his keys but didn’t find them. Scratching his head, he picked through the broken pieces of the lamp, expecting to find the keys hidden in the wreckage on the floor. He glanced at the clock and groaned. “Friggin’ keys!” he screamed. “I’ve got to find a spot to keep my keys!” Searching frantically, he realized he was going to be late if he didn’t find them soon. Phil picked up everything on his desk, looked under books and in empty coffee cups, even checking the trash can. In a rage, he glanced down at the desk, his eyes lighting on a book. “Organize Your Life: Never lose anything again!” The title taunted Phil. “Organize this!” Phil screamed, picking up the book and heaving it at the wall. The book bounced off the wall and knocked over an old coffee cup on the desk before it hit the floor. Coffee dripped down the side of the desk and onto the carpet. Phil groaned again, turning his back on the mess, and reached into his pocket for his cell phone. He decided to call a friend for a ride. Flipping through the numbers on the phone, he glanced up and noticed his pants from yesterday crumpled in a heap next to the bed. He hastily reached into the pants pocket, closing his hand around the keys and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and smiling. Moments later he was in the car.

Glancing at the clock, Phil thought he would make it to work just in time. As he turned out of his driveway, he realized he had forgotten his briefcase. “Damn it!” he screamed through the open car window, “Every day a pain in the ass!” He swung the car around in the middle of the road, cutting the corner of his driveway and running over the flowerbed his ex-wife had planted years ago. “Damn flowers just keep coming up every year,” he grumbled to himself.

Rushing out of his driveway for the second time, Phil narrowly missed his neighbor, Mrs. Gumby, as she crossed the road with her little black dog. Phil shook his head at the sight. “Crazy lady treats that dog like a baby,” he grumbled under his breath. When Phil had moved into the neighborhood ten years ago, Mrs. Gumby brought him a pie and offered to help unpack. He had never returned the favor. In fact, he hadn’t spoken to her since that day.

Phil punched the accelerator and glanced at the clock. “Please don’t let there be any traffic this morning,” he snarled, gripping the steering wheel tightly. If he took Main Street instead of the highway, he might be able to miss rush hour traffic. Pulling onto Main Street, he immediately came to a dead stop. “Do you people think this is a parade?” screamed Phil at a car full of “Blue Hairs” out for a morning ride. “Throw some candy out, why don’t ya?” Phil leaned out the window, shaking his fist at the car. The car full of seniors pulled slowly out of the way, apparently unaware of the problems they had caused. “There should be a law to keep these old biddies off the road!” Phil fumed.

It was eight-thirty, and Phil was late. He slunk into his office and found his desk covered with messages. He sighed, setting down his briefcase and reached for the first note.

“Phil!” Phil jumped at his name, and returned the note to the desk, looking over the top of the cubicles to the end of the row. Steve waved, hurrying down the aisle between the cubicles toward Phil, obviously eager to speak with him. Steve had been at “Winder Auto Deliveries” much longer than Phil had, almost his entire life. He always talked about jumping on one of the delivery trucks and finding something better. Just as soon as he saved enough money, he always said, he was gone. Steve had been there thirty years, and everyone was used to his whining. Phil thought it was sad, the man seemed so miserable, but never did anything about it. There was no way Phil would ever live his life that way.

Steve spoke excitedly as he walked toward Phil. “Kent came in here this morning looking for you, and he was in one of those moods.”

Phil’s heart skipped a beat, realizing his supervisor was the source of all the messages on his desk. “What now?” Phil wondered.

“He was looking for the deliverables from last month.”

“He knows I always turn those in on the tenth, Steve.”

“I know, but I’m telling you, something’s up. That man’s as busy as a one legged cat in a sand box!” Steve laughed to himself as he continued down the hall toward the water cooler.

Phil took a breath and headed down the hall, dreading the meeting.

Two hours later, Phil returned to his desk. He found a bottle of aspirin and took two tablets without bothering to get any water. He had spent the entire time with Kent, poring over stacks of reports and interpreting data, the purpose of this analysis a mystery. He had never been asked to crunch the numbers to this level of detail, and he felt like something might be wrong. Turning on his computer, he spent the next hour compiling the data into a spreadsheet and then forwarded the document to his boss. Phil let out an audible sigh, hoping that would keep Kent happy for a few days.

It was lunchtime, and Phil made his way to the break room to join his friends. He had forgotten to make a lunch at home, and fumbled in his pocket for a few dollars to purchase a sandwich out of the vending machine. Steve monopolized the conversation complaining about work. Doug, the fleet manager, interrupted Steve, “Is there anything you do like about work, Steve?”

“I enjoy my time away from work!” Steve grinned and they all laughed.

“Well, my life would be much better if everyone would just do their jobs!” said Phil bitterly. “It seems like I’m always waiting on IT or HR for that last piece of data. I swear those guys make me look bad every time!”

“I know!” Steve eagerly joined his lament, “Most of the people here just don’t have our work ethnic, do they?”

“It’s ethic,” said Doug.

“That’s what I said, ethnic!”

Doug rolled his eyes. Keeping these two guys on a positive note today seemed like a lost cause. “I’ve got an idea,” Doug interrupted. “Let’s all quit our jobs and go start another company together.”

Steve snorted. “How about we open a complaint department?”

“I’m serious,” said Doug, “We could start our own delivery service and compete with WAD.”

“Why would I go somewhere else just to do the same thing?” asked Phil. “Anyway, I don’t think I can take that kind of risk…I’m not really the entrepreneur type. I could never do something like that.”

“How do you know?” asked Doug, “Have you ever had a business?”

“Well, no, but I don’t know anything about planning, marketing, raising money, or buying inventory…I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Come on, Phil,” said Doug. “It doesn’t mean you couldn’t learn! Are you telling me this old dog can’t learn any new tricks?” They all laughed, including Phil.

“You don’t understand, Doug, this isn’t the sort of thing you just dive into, it takes years of preparation, and I’m too old to learn all of that stuff.”

Doug shrugged. “Well, it was just an idea.” The conversation quickly turned to last night’s game.

Phil waited for a lull, and then asked, “What about poker this weekend?”

“Can’t,” said Doug, thumbing through his latest “get rich” book.

“Me neither,” said Steve. “The grandkids are in a play this weekend, and the wife said I’ve got to go.”

“You guys never come over anymore,” said Phil.

“Life’s just busy,” said Steve. “It’s hard to find the time, you know?” Doug nodded in agreement and returned to his book. Phil shook his head as he got up, tossing his half-eaten sandwich into the trash on his way out the door.

___

Returning to his desk, Phil found a note from Cynthia, the new account rep in sales. “Phil, thank you for the gifts. You are very sweet, but I’m not ready to start dating again. I hope we can remain friends. Cynthia.”

Phil tossed the note into the trash. “Friends!” Phil spat, “That’s code for ‘You’re a dork!’ What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I get a date?” Phil’s head was reeling. “I’ve got Kent riding me, Cynthia playing the “friends” card, and there’s no poker game this weekend! Every day a pain in the ass!” He reached for last month’s shipment binders, slamming them down on the desk in disgust. “Why can’t I ever seem to catch a break?” Phil sighed, resigning himself to his work.