Like most he hated his boss, the guy with the office at the end of the hall who loved to find a reason to ruin everyone's day just to feel the power he held over them, but just like everyone else Joe stood by and took it.
Mike was his name, Micheal Beaumont, and he loved to screw with Joe most of all, Average Joe, Mike always called him, 'Average Joe, what do ya know.'
Today the firm had to let go an entire division which trickled down the line as everyone else was left to pick up the slack, just so the company could save a few extra bucks and increase their profits, Joe knew Mike would be coming down his way any minute to blow off some steam.
Joe pushed the thought aside and tried to stay focused as he hammered away at his keyboard without really thinking about what it was he was doing.
He thought, for a moment, about all the time lost down that rabbit hole of habit, that black void of nothing that took a huge chunk of everyone's lives... Worker bees, all of them, working away on nothing of consequence while people like Mike...
"Hey Average Joe, whadda ya know?" a voice from behind startled him out of his trance.
"Oh! Hey Mike," Joe managed a reply, "Just working on these reports you asked for, hopefully have them done in about twenty minutes."
"Yeah, about that A.J.," Mike seemed to let that hang for a moment, "we should step into my office and have a little chat, what do ya say?"
Joe's fingers slipped a little causing a huge typo on an important line of the document, "Okay Mike," he said through gritted teeth, "I will be right over."
Joe pushed his chair in and turned to leave his cubicle when it caught his eye, a poster at the end of the hall had begun to change; letters shifting and turning, some vanishing altogether until the only words that remained were, 'Hey Joe, whadda ya know?'
Joe removed his glasses to rub his eyes when he heard Mike clearing his throat down the isle, 'Today would be amazing... A.J."
Joe's eyes began to twitch slightly as he turned toward Mike's office to find a sign in the process of changing, 'Average Joe, movin' so slow!'
"Do you see that?!" Joe cried with a finger to the sign directly behind Mike, "Is this some kind of joke?!"
Mike had turned to the sign, "Just a name plate," he turned back to Joe, "can we hurry this up please, I have a meeting at three and I like to get there early for some coffee and doughnuts!"
'Small potato Joe!' Another sign read as Joe slowly backed down the isle, "Not a name plate! Don't you see it?! Not a name plate!"
Mike stood for a moment turning from the name plate back to Joe, "There's nothing there but my dusty name plate, dammit!"
'A.J. whaddya say!' The name plate shifted again.
"YOUR name plate! You! Its' all you!" Joe screamed as he rushed forward haphazardly crashing into Mike, "You and your fucking high and mighty office! With your window and your trees!"
Joe bounced Mike's head off the floor as if he were trying to drive a basketball straight to hell, "Average Joe! Spineless, brainless, expendable Joe! Whadda ya know!" he screamed over and over like some kind of rabid mantra, laughing hysterical, wide eyed, but completely present.
He felt complete in that moment, free, unhinged and unhindered, as though the entirety of his mind, his being had exploded revealing something new and unique, truly unique.
He felt his arms restrained, 'that's okay, you have feet Mr. Stinton,' a voice in his head suggested, to which he began kicking Mike's head like a soccer ball as the group of restraining arms attempted to drag him away, "Spineless, brainless, Average Joe! Whadda ya know!" he screamed.
He kept flailing his feet about even as Mike's body seemed to grow smaller in the distance, writhing, snarling, screaming and ranting until he felt a hard thud, followed by lights, then everything went black...
***
"So let me get this straight, Mr. Stinton," the Police Officer sat stone faced directly across the table from him, "You saw some posters that made fun of you, and your Boss put them there? So posters made you do it?"
Joe had been roused to consciousness several hours ago to find his hands cuffed to a steel table in a dark interrogation room with two very large Cops and a dull headache that made it hard to focus on anything, let alone the endless questioned barked over and over, but for some reason he really didn't care and actually felt amused.
"Yeah," Joe grinned, "for the hundredth time, that is how it happened."
"So how do you supposed your boss did it?" The other Cop asked, lumbering from behind his partner, "Mind control? Telepathy maybe?"
"Yeah," Joe seemed to be giving it serious consideration, "Mind control... Had to be." He locked eyes with the second cop, confusion giving way to clarity at the Cop's mocking suggestion.
"You have got to be kidding me," The second Cop turned to his partner, "This guy is bat shit crazy Dave, he must have had one too many cups of free office coffee!"
The seated Cop seemed to study him for a moment, "Like I said," he turned to his partner, "open and shut one way or another."
"Hey guys," Joe interjected, "The coffee really wasn't that bad, but I would certainly like a glass of water please."
"Mr. Stinton," The seated Cop turned back to face him, "do you realize just how much trouble you're in here? Is there anything else you want to tell us?"
Joe was well aware of the situation he was in, but for some reason he simply did not care, he was having a great time, like those Cop movies.
About ten minutes into the interrogation he had mentioned something about a bomb in the building, which seemed to put them on edge, something had, indeed, snapped inside him, something had set him free and shown him the way.
"Look," Joe said, "I told you if you listened to my story I would tell you where the bomb was, right? So here's the deal, part of the deal, I would like a glass of water, please."
The seated Cop sighed and signaled the two-way mirror to his right, "Bring this piece of shit some water please," he barked, "you want ice with that as well Mr. Stinton? Maybe some lemon and a little umbrella?"
"An umbrella and ice would be great," he replied, "and please... Call be Average Joe."
***
The man sat back in the dark observing the exchange in the interrogation room, hours had gone by, no request for a Lawyer, just endless and meaningless requests bordering on the ridiculous and a yammering mad man talking about shape-shifting posters that he knew the Cops would never buy.
He felt compelled to come down himself when the mad man had mentioned a bomb, 'That was never part of the program,' he had thought to himself upon receiving the initial report, 'are we losing control of this thing?'
This was the fifth case this week, but the only one that had displayed any sort of behavior outside what was initially intended.
He had to discover the interfering factors that lead to this, but hours of observation had revealed nothing outside what he already knew, and he knew most everything this man was going to say, everything, and he knew every word of it was true.
"What do you think Director?" His colleague asked from his right, "Do you think there actually is a bomb, or is he just fucking with us?"
The man studied the subject for a moment, taking in his motions, his mannerisms, his tone and inflection, the way his eyes darted around the room and could not seem to find focus on much anything for more than a few seconds.
"No," His reply broke the silence, "while the mention of a bomb does seem to indicate a slightly higher level of independent thought than the other subjects it is just that, a slight percentage... No, there is no bomb."
"So then we are a go with phase two?" His colleague asked.
"Mix the formula and have it distributed to sight seven," The Director said, "the usual method, mix it with the coffee."
"What about this guy?" The colleague asked.
"Ship him off with the others for disposal," The Director said as he turned away from the interrogation, "it would seem Average Joe is just Average Joe after all."
-End-
