In the beginning there is clarification. When you suspect the next blink of your eyelids will reveal a world in which you are substiantially embarassed, you are desperately looking for some sort of relief, an explanation not thought of.
But alas, you come to find that indeed, you did accidently throw your bosses favorite pen into the garbage. It’s not around the other side where you can’t see it, and your boss is not kidding when she says she wants it back right now.
Up until this point it is mildly funny; sometimes when the worst of luck hits it seems inappropriate to simply get mad, after all, who is there to get mad at? It is not your bosses fault you threw out her lighter. You picture yourself on a sitcom; the audience laughs and then we fade to a commercial.
The commercial doesn’t come; and you find yourself slowly bending down towards the wastebin. Forces of gravity and the atrophied clutches from the collective stare of co-workers swirl about you. Go too slow and it’s unbearable; go too fast and you’re a desperate loser in the trenches of vanity. So you find a spot right in the middle, tentatively sorting through the waste;silent fingenail motions across a chalkboard of universal resent.
Major life choices flash about your mind as you struggle to stay on task. The pen still eludes you and suddenly you are questioning your faith.
And then it comes into view. You grab it and, standing up, you give it to your boss.
Even though the wastebin was only shredded paper you spend the rest of the day trying to get rid of the stench that permeates your personal foundation. Trying to recover from the 1:32 seconds of self made hell.