Duty Bound

Once a month our boss assigned Clarence

and me to cross-check numbers on some

stupid special report which had something

to do with inventory and purchase orders.

We went to a small conference room, plopped

down a stack of papers on the desk and began.

Clarence went first, Part number, 136-12234,

quantity, 504. Part number, 136-12234, quantity

504, Check, I replied. And the first in a long line

of several thousand numbers had begun.

Part way into the pile of crap we were sifting

through, I started to nod off. Couldn’t help

myself, numbers bore me, besides Clarence,

an older man, had a low, drone voice which

could put a savage, hungry beast to sleep.

I really didn’t care much for Clarence either.

He was a numbers man, never said much and

always did what he was told. Nodded his head

a lot instead of saying, yes. Boring.

I hated my job as a material planner in the

purchasing department, thousands of small

electronic parts, thousands of numbers to

identify and classify for inventory.

I hated the routine, 8 to 5, an hour for lunch,

one 15-minute break in the morning, another

15-minute break in the afternoon. Same faces,

same parts, same routine, number after number,

the same over and over again.

Seven years I stuck it out for family sake. Was

brought up to be grateful and satisfied with

steady employment and a modest get nowhere

except pay the bills wage.

I hated my life, didn’t get along well at home with

the wife. I hated weekends, mow the lawn, change

the oil, wash the car, shop the grocery store and

mall, take and pick up the kids from events and

friends.

Most of all, though, I hated Clarence. I was afraid

that in a few more years if this shit kept up, I’d be

as boring as he. So boring that I would put a much

younger man than I to sleep. Clarence nudged me,

Pay attention, he said.

                                -30-

Chris Hanch 6-26-2020