Really? - M.J. Garrett (english readers txt) 📗

Chapter 1

They say life is supposed to be easier. With my wife and two kids moved away and nothing but my job to keep me occupied, I bought into the rhetoric. I wish that this story could be more exciting and keep you on the edge of your seats...but I'm completely the opposite. I'm boring, lonely, and the only friends I have are the ones that pop in every once in a while to fulfill their self-absorbed curiosity and nostalgia.

I guess we could start from the beginning. Well, not the very beginning, but you know what I mean. So, who am I? My name is Abraham. I am a boring person. I don't like people, I don't like excitement, and I definitely do not like surprises. I find life fulfilling when there are none of the above listed dislikes.

I'm sure you are thinking to yourself that this is going to be a boring story with a predictable outcome...and you may be correct, but let me tell you about how I became the person who thinks it's important to tell this story.

“Abe?” she looked at me with confusion written all over her young pale face. “I don't know an 'Abe'. Maybe you have me confused with someone else?” She shook her head and cracked a sarcastic grin. If I was to describe her, I would say she's about 25 years old and average height. Probably about 5 feet 5 inches tall, but with her cheap plastic high heels, she stood about 5 feet 8. She was very skinny and very pale. She would probably be considered sexy by most men standards, but her long sleek legs and perky ass didn't waiver my opinion.

I stood there looking at her with a dead stare of disbelief. Me and my dumpy physique; covered by an old ratty T-shirt and jeans that should have been retired before I bought them for 90% off. My shoes were all white with Velcro straps. I should have gone with black, but the sale on the shoes was too good to pass up. All in all, I guess you could say that I am about as boring of a dresser as I am a person. Either way, the way she looked at me so dismissively was a shock. We sat next to each other in these cubicles for 6 months now and every day, she asks me to top off her coffee.

“Yes, Abe.” I tilted my head down and looked at her with my eyebrows raised in disbelief. “I sit right next to you. You like your coffee with as little coffee as possible and more sugar than any natural human being should have in a daily dose.”

“Wow.” She dropped her eyelids to half-mass and pulled her thin pink lips close together. Looking at me with a sense of anger, as if she questioned my audacity, she asked me the one question I could never answer. “And why would I remember you?”

Great question! I guess, it could be considered rude by me to think that some 25 year old girl, who was given this job on the merit of sex appeal and lack of intelligence, would have the depth to remember a guy that gets her coffee every morning. I think maybe my expectations would have been way too high if I would have told her that she was an ignorant bitch who doesn't look near as good as she thought...and she had a general acceptance of my new revelation. Yeah, expectations are definitely too high.

All I really wanted to know was where she put the coversheet for the fax machine. She turned around and walked away, ending the awkward exchange of mutual disgust for each other; which, in a way, made me feel all the more invisible. I moseyed over to my desk and sank into my worn cloth chair as I looked at the computer screen.

Taking a deep breath, I move the computer mouse and see that I have a new email. I open the email up and immediately see that it was accidentally sent to me.

“Last night was amazing!! Love, Marla.” My eyes open up wide as I quickly looked around to see if anyone was around or if someone was playing a practical joke. Not knowing what to do, I deleted the email and smiled. I thought that it was actually kind of nice to know that someone in the world was having a good time. As I leaned back, another email appeared on the screen. “It wasn't good for you?” Sitting there, I pondered who this was that was sending me these messages. I leaned close to the screen and buried my face into my hands. After a couple of seconds, I sent a message back to them. “I'm sorry, but I think you have sent a message to the wrong person.”

“Who is this?” the message returned.
“Abraham.” I quickly responded.
"Abraham?”
“Yeah, Abraham...you don't know me, I'm sure.”
“Well, describe yourself.” the message read.

A chance for me to lie and say I'm some sort of ruggedly handsome stranger with dark black hair and a chiseled chin that women fawn over, or should I be truthful and tell Marla that I'm just a normal man with a normal life. How boring!

This is where I start typing. I'm now describing a man that I've seen on romance novels and cologne commercials. I don't know why, but I just keep typing. My dumpy, balding, bland self is just typing away like I actually have a chance with this Marla. I'm still typing! According to the email, I'm not only a beautiful man with long luscious hair that all men envy, but I'm also a wealthy investor that spends my summers in a house in the Hamptons.

“Oh? Wow!” the message quickly responds. “Can you give me a couple of minutes...BRB!”

I again lean back in my chair, this time I'm smiling at the thought of making this Marla happy. I could be this guy. I could get in the gym and workout....by summer (3 years from now) I could be him. Well, minus the money and long hair, but it was definitely worth the shot....right? Smiling and waiting, trapped in this ridiculous cubicle, I swivel back and forth just ready for the message to return.

“Hey! Marla!” A man's voice said behind me. “How are you?” Surprised by the coincidence, I turn around and see John from accounting talking to this woman that is about 5 ft. tall and probably 5 ft. wide! Her large fat breast trapped and screaming for air behind this blue silk shirt that was probably more fitting for someone that didn't have a glandular problem. Her fat feet shoved into open toe sandals while the skin on her feet looked like the top of cupcakes as her skin started to roll over the top. From her ankles to her knees, her pale cellulite covered legs looked more like Christmas hams. Her hair seemed to favor the likes of your everyday trailer trash balled up into a bun that reminded me of a dirty ball pulled out of the shower drain.
John, who I was sure was being nice, turned and looked at me. “Hey there, Abraham.” Then he walked off leaving this large woman standing there looking at me as if her biggest secret has been revealed to the entire world.

“Abraham?” She looked at me with lightening shooting from her eyes. “I guess you cut your long luscious hair...you ASSHOLE!”

Shocked by this bold reaction, the 25 year old bitch, leans out of her cubicle and asked me to get her coffee. Looking at her and then Marla, all I could say was “Really?” as I got up and grabbed the dirty coffee stained cup and headed to the break room.


Chapter 2

What the hell was I thinking? This is why I don't do spontaneous. It seemed that everyone in the world is allowed to do something off the wall and crazy, but as soon as I do one thing out of the ordinary, I get busted and humiliated.

The thoughts kept running through my head as I sat there with my pants dropped around my ankles. With my elbows digging into my knees and my hand pressed against my face, I just sat there with my bare ass getting cold from the restroom air. Most of the time, I was only wasting time. One good trip to the restroom meant 15 to 20 minutes away from the entire world. A moment of peaceful reflection on a life that most would consider forgettable.

I hope that Marla was able to forget our awkward moment. Hopefully, she didn't make too much out of it. After all, who was she? Was she going to walk around the office and spurt out all the things I said to her? She wasn't a catch worth keeping, well, not in my eyes. If anything, it would be embarrassing for her to even mention that she was sending messages like that to anyone while at work. I'm sure she was going to hold silent, but putting stock in my luck...I'm sure I'll have to explain to someone.

With time escaping the day, I took a deep breath and leaned back on the toilet. My knees sporting 2 big red dots and my feet falling asleep, I figured it was time to end my break and head back to the grind of pushing papers and retrieving coffee for some self-absorbed bitch. Shaking my head in disgust, I reached down and pulled my pants up, when the door opened up and filled the restroom with conversation.
“So, did you hear?” the males voice asked. “Apparently, these messages were sent to everyone in the department! Ha! What moron does that?”

“Who is he?” the other male voice asked in response.

“I don't know...some guy who probably isn't going to be an employee too much longer.”

“Poor guy, I hope he has a good lawyer.”

Oh, shit! I thought to myself that there was no way that this situation would ever really need a lawyer. I didn't do anything. I just replied to a fat girl looking for some sort of reaction that would make her smile and feel like she was worth a moment. Shaking my head, I could hear the door close as the room went silent.

Stepping out of the stall, I turn the corner and head for the door. “Dude, aren't you going to flush or wash your hands?” a voice called out across the bathroom. “Who does that? Takes a shit,