The Courier

The next morning my eyes pop open in a panic. I jump up when I feel dampness between my legs, thinking Margery visited me in my dreams and made me piss all over myself again. Then I groan when I realize it’s milk. I fell asleep eating Fruit Loops last night. There are colored rings spilled all over my lap, the couch and the floor. It’s a freakin’ mess.

The DVD player reads 4:40 A.M. The same time I woke up yesterday morning. This can’t be a coincidence.

After taking a long hot shower, I exit the bathroom rubbing a towel over my head and notice a new instant message window up on my computer. As I get closer to the screen, I see it’s from Nina.

Nina’s a friend and we worked together over a year ago at a health insurance company as software testers, testing the code that screws people out of extra premiums based on their health history. She still works there, but I got laid off with five hundred other people. What’s ironic is that I was doing Nina’s job and mine while we worked together. I hate to admit I’m still doing her job, but Nina’s a really hot blonde and when I imagine her pleading green eyes.

The message on the screen asks, “Barry Bear, you there?” Calling me Barry Bear means she’s flirting, and Nina only flirts with me when she wants something. I really miss working with her in the same office. When she needed something back then, she’d come into my cubical wearing a short skirt and sit on my desk beside me. She’s wave her shapely legs and ask for a favor. She could of asked me to kill the boss and I’d of had him dead in fifteen minutes or less. So, I’m afraid to respond, thinking of Margery’s wrath if I’m late for work.

My heart skips when another message from Nina pops up. “Barry Bear, you there?” Now I can’t avoid her. Okay, more like I don’t want to avoid her.

I type back, “Yep.”

She sends, “Where you been?”

I avoid her question and ask, “Why you on IM so early in the morning?”

She replies, “Software install. Still waiting to test.”

“Bummer,” I type and send, although I’m jealous. I’d give anything to be in her shoes, stuck in a cubical waiting to test a software upgrade.

A new message pops up. “Well??? Where you been???”

Damn, she’s not giving up.

“Started a new job,” I send back.

“What happened to your old one?”

“Outsourced.”

“Bastards,” she sends. Right after, she sends another message asking, “Where’s the new job?”

“OTG Courier Services, off Arapahoe.”

“Like it so far?”

My fingers start to type “My new boss is a demon,” but then I hit the delete key and remove the text. Instead I send, “Hate my new boss already.”

“Call in sick and take me to lunch...I wish. Will probably be stuck here for days.”

“Running late. Gotta go,” I send.

She sends back a frown. “Bye. Miss you! IM me tonight.”

We never IM at night. She’s usually out on a date or busy with her girlfriends, or so she says. Now I can only assume she needs a huge favor.

I watch Nina go offline and realize, for once, she’s a genius. I’m dreading another day on the road and Margery won’t let me quit. I might as well call in sick.

Where’s my cell phone?

At first glance around my messy living room, it’s nowhere to be found.

Where did I last have it?

Must be in my car.

Can’t find my shoes, so I head downstairs from my second floor apartment, barefooted, strutting like a pigeon over hot coals. When I reach the car, I peering through the window, and just as I suspected, my cell phone sits beside the gear shifter. Luckily the car door is open because I also left the keys in the ignition. Too bad someone didn’t steal the old clunker.

I lean in, collect my phone and flip it open. No messages, as usual.

All at once it rings and buzzes in my hand, causing me to jump and drop the phone.

Crap. Don’t be broken.

It rings again, and when I lean over to pick it up and see it’s Margery calling. On the third ring, I hesitate, but answer, “Hello.”

“Barry, are you on your way to the warehouse yet?” At least her voice is cheerful.

“Actually, I was just about to call you.” After a long pause, I say, “I’m sick.”

“Honey, I’m so sorry to hear that. What’s wrong? Got the flu?”

“Yeah. The flu.” My stomach churns.

“Tell me you don’t have the diarrhea? I hate the diarrhea.”

“Been up all night with it,” I say then regret it when I feel sharp gas pains.

“Well, honey, I tell you what. Come on in to work and I bet your flu goes away in a hurry.”

“I don’t know. I’m feeling pretty bad.” The cramps worsen as I pass a wave of long silent gas that burns and turns damp.

“Are you sure, honey,” she says followed by a howl of laughter.

“Damn it Margery!”

Now losing control of my bowels, I run for the staircase as fast as my aching bare feet will allow. Up the risers I climb, two steps at a time, cursing to myself. The bitch! I’ll kill her if I don’t make it.

I reach the door just as my elderly neighbor exits her apartment. The poor woman is taken aback as my bowels explode with flatulence beyond description. I turn and apologize, then disappear into my apartment.

I hear Margery’s voice through the phone. “Barry! Honey! You okay?” Instead of answering, I throw my it across the room and rush to the bathroom to clean up the mess she’s obviously created.

Speeding toward the warehouse, all I can think about is wrapping my hands around Margery’s neck. I wonder what her black demon eyes would look like if I squeezed them out of her head. Yeah, that’s it. Kill her to get out of my contract.

I’m a crazed driver, weaving through traffic, my imagination going wild as I dream of ways to murder the bitch. I see myself driving through the office entryway, running her over repeatedly with my car. Images of me, with the Buck knife in my trunk, carving out her heart are just as gratifying.

The stoplight ahead turns yellow and I force the gas pedal to the floor, although I have no chance of making the light. At the last minute, I chicken out and brake, coming to a rest nearly half way into the intersection.

While I wait for the light to turn green, taking in a few deep breath helps to clear my mind of horrific thoughts. What am I doing? Is the contract causing this rage?

If I go after Margery, she’ll only make my life more miserable. There’s got to be a better way to get out of driving and destroy her without destroying myself in the process. Especially since my digestive system can’t take much more of her sadistic pranks.

Up ahead I see the coffee shop and an idea hits me. There’s evil brewing inside me, or is it divine intervention. Play the good employee and bring Margery some coffee.

Get on her good side.

Figure out how to break my contract.

Destroy her.

The clerk at the coffee shop greets me with a look of panic. “Margery hasn’t called ahead,” he says. “It’ll be a minute.”

“I’ll wait.”

I back away and lean against the window beside the door with my arms crossed. I watch as the guy drops everything he’s doing to dispense a large cup of coffee from a container behind the counter. He fumbles as he tries to snap on a lid, but instead the cup tips and most of the coffee spills on the floor.

He sees me watching and apologizes. “Just another second,” he says holding up his index finger.

Man, what has Margery done to this guy?

The door rings and in walks an attractive brunette, impeccably dressed in a business suit talking into an earpiece. Our eyes meet and she smiles while she scan downward, checking me out.

Huh. First time for everything.

Just when I build up the confidence to greet her, I feel, and we both hear an escape of the last reminder of the diarrhea. Her smile collapses to an expression of distain as she backs away to the end of the line.

Damn you Margery.

“Here,” says the clerk.

My head turns to meet him and he hands me the coffee.

“It’s on the house,” he says, “and tell her I’m sorry.”

I leave the coffee shop even more determined to stop Margery’s reign of terror.

“Barry! Honey! You made it! And you brought me coffee.” She grins like she’s won another round.

Margery’s sitting at the table smoking with two other drivers I recognize from yesterday. They were the ones with the bad attitudes, standing outside the door smoking.

As I approach, the room goes silent, and I feel the stares of the all the other drivers in the room. Obviously I was the topic of conversation before arriving.

“Honey, give Margery the coffee,” she says.

What I’d rather give her is a flood of hot coffee in her face, but instead, I return a halfhearted grin as I hand her the cup.

“Still got the diarrhea?” she asks, then laughs. The other drivers follow her lead.

Bitch!

Whipping my head around the room, I scowl at the drivers until throats clear and the room returns to silent.

“Lighten up, honey. The other drivers understand your pain?” She points at one of the men at the table. “Vern here faked a migraine his first day. Ask him how bad the migraine I gave him felt.”

Vern gets up and signs. The guy on the other side of Margery follows him. The two men move toward the exit, while everyone else pretends to lose interest in our conversation.

“Stick around,” Margery calls out. “Get your van signed out and come back for an announcement.” She waves me away. “You too.”

I follow the other drivers to the bulletin board and find the clipboard with my name on it. I’m driving the same van I drove yesterday. I sign my name and take the keys, then push my way past the other drivers to return to where Margery is standing, waiting for us.

As I look around, I notice someone’s missing. Tricia, the only driver willing to talk to me yesterday is nowhere to be seen.

“Let’s go. Hurry it up,” calls Margery as the drivers crowd around her table. “It’s getting late and my announcement could take a few minutes.”

I’m standing in the back of the group looking for Tricia, but I still don’t see her.

“This may be bad news for some of you.”

There’s a concurrent groan. I’m hoping for a layoff.

“Our schedule has been tightened,” she says.

“Shit, overtime,” someone whisper.

Margery confirms it.

“You can’t do this to us again Marge,” says Vern.

“Vern, you complain every time and does it get you anywhere?”

Vern lowers and shakes his head. “How many extra hours this time?”

“Double runs, seven days a week.”

The volume of the chatter in the room increases into an uproar.

“Quiet down.” There’s a hint in her voice of her demonic self, and the room instantly falls silent. “I need two drivers for tonight.”

No one volunteers.

“Fine. I’ll pick two of you.”

“Vern. Since you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

“C’mon, Marge.”

She ignores him. “And.”

I put my hand in the air. “I’ll do it.”

“Now that’s what I like to see,” says Margery. “You two see me before you leave. The rest of you start double runs tomorrow. Get on the road, and I’ll see you down in Trinidad.”

There’s rustling and more groaning throughout the room, as everyone shoves their way out of the building.

Vern and I approach Margery.

“Why’d you have to go and pick me for overtime,” asks Vern. He stands beside me, hunched over, shorter and thinner than I remember from yesterday.

“Vern, you’ve been around the longest of all the drivers, haven’t you?”

“Well yeah, which should get me enough seniority to not have to work overtime.”

Margery frowns. “That’s not the point I’m trying to make, Vern. When you talk back, you’re telling the others they can do the same.”

“That’s a crock, and you know it. I’m the one who deserves some respect for putting up with your crap for nearly sixty years.”

“There you go again, Vern, forgetting you’re a human.”

Vern turns to me. “You hear that, kid.”

My eyes widen.

“Don’t ever forget it,” he adds and walks away.

“I’m not done with you, Vern!”

“Too bad. I’m done with you.”

The cigarette in Margery’s mouth falls to the ground and her eyes turn black.

“Go ahead and give me diarrhea or one of your other special gifts. Or just damn me to hell.” Vern throws open the office door, but it comes back at him just as quickly on Margery’s command, smashing into his face. Blood sprays from his nose and all over the door just before Vern drops to his knees.

Margery turns towards me and I back away. “Get on the damn road!”

I rush towards the door, and pause beside Vern, where he’s cupping his hands around his nose. There’s blood covering his shirt, and the mess is getting worse. I crouch down to help him.

“I said get on the damned road!” The door swings open by itself.

I recoil, then look down at Vern, wiping his nose with his hand.

“Go ahead,” he whispers. “I’ll be fine.”

Cautiously I exit, expecting the door to snap back at me, but it doesn’t. Once I’m safely outside, I run towards the vans, but a few drivers are still pulling out of the parking lot, so I have to dodge their exit. Minutes later I’m following them toward the highway.