pm break

16.27. I go to the office pantry to take a break from doing nothing. Iced coffee sounds nice. I check, no clean glasses. Ok, normal coffee then. Black No cream, lots of sugar. I sit on a stool by the window, enjoying the warm respite from my ultra-cold spot directly under the overhead AC. I look to my right, at the condiments all lined up neatly, courtesy of our utility guy who shares my surname. I think, given time, I could really finish that entire bottle of iodized salt.

Clouds move in and cover the light streaming into the window. An officemate walks in. “May tao (anyone inside)?” he asks, pointing to the bathroom beside the sink. I shake my head and smile. He goes in, probably wondering what I’m doing in the pantry. Because no one hangs out there alone unless he or she is waiting in line for the bathroom, right?

I say to myself, no one in this office really knows me. They “know” me – my name and what I do and the general perception of me, but not much else. They don’t know that I like to drink coffee black no cream with lots of sugar, or that I can spend an hour sitting and drinking coffee alone, staring at the sky. And surely they don’t know why.

There are probably two or three people here who do know me. They’re the only ones I’d actually consider inviting to my wedding. I think weddings not because I’m having one myself, but because as one grows older you realize it’s one of those events where you really think about who you want to surround yourself with, people who share your truest, deepest joy and understand the meaning of that special glitter in your eyes. Not just anyone. Not just because you’re obligated to tack that generic wedding invitation on the office bulletin board, and then guess who will actually be attending.

Two or three people are enough, maybe. But it goes to show how, despite the fun times, the laughter and the friendly bickering, talking about work and movies and politics, that the office is still such an impersonal, almost manufactured environment.

Except that I hear my officemate pissing in the bathroom, which is such a…personal matter.

Before he opens the door and is embarrassed at the sight of me, I stand up, place my cup in the sink and make my way through our red maze known as cubicles.

Back to my cold spot.

Back to looking like everyone else and thinking how f*cking delicious it would be to break free.

Who knows, maybe that’s what they’re thinking, too.