Melvin Harvey
Melvin Harvey sat behind the pearly maple desk neatly decorated with paperweights, and pictures of his wife and three children. The sun coming through the big scrubbed windows made his shadow seem much more demeaning on the floor than Melvin actually did. Melvin sat in an oval shaped room; in front of him was an arrangement of very expensive furniture including several couches and plush chairs.
There came a knock at the oaken doors at the back of the room. Melvin gave the two guards that were situated on either side a nod to let them know it was okay to open the doors.
A tall, neatly dressed man entered the room. He was probably in his late forties, early fifties at the most. There was an excited bounce to this mans step that made him appear excited or happy, but his face showed quite the contrary. Nervously Melvin pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose farther. The man ran his hands through his balding head before extending it towards Melvin.
“It is good to meet you, Mr. President,” the man said with a heavy Russian accent showing through, “I am sorry this is on such short notice, but as you know this couldn’t be delayed.”
“Of course,” Melvin responded.
“Now, down to business.” The Russian man continued, “We are moving the community printer to the west corner of the building.”
“What?” asked the confused Melvin.
The Russian sneered “Would you like to share something with us, Mr. Harvey?”
“But I thought we were meeting today in order to combine our troops forces! Not about moving a printer!” Melvin asked confusedly.
Suddenly Melvin started shaking uncontrollably, his head rolling from side to side. The Russian man started to back away from him, panicked and ran to the doors. The Oval room that Melvin had been facing faded from his sight and was replaced by several concerned looking faces.
“Harvey!” Melvin’s grouchy boss said in the annoying way that he usually did, making “Harvey” sound more like “Hare-Vay”. “Have you been sleeping with you’re eyes open again?”
“Uh, no sir I wasn’t sleeping,” Melvin stuttered, “I was simply confused that we’re moving the new printer because uh….” He gave up and trailed off.
The boss looked exasperated, “Harvey,” he said as if speaking to a dim child, “you can’t taste the difference, that’s the point.”
“Oh, sorry” Melvin apologized. But Melvin wasn’t really sorry. It was Melvin’s 6th year of working here, and he was sick of the endless days under florescent lighting and paperwork, sick of his job and his unbearable boss. What he wouldn’t give for a better job, but Melvin could never bring himself to do it, and the severa
“Melvin,” His bosses nasally voice pressed, “this isn’t the first time we’ve had you sleeping on the job.” And it wasn’t, Melvin had to give him that. But Melvin was tired, and he was working sometimes 10-hour days for this place. In the background Melvin could hear his boss reprimanding him about sleeping on the job again, but he wasn’t paying attention. It wasn’t like it was the first time he had heard this.
Sometimes Melvin wondered why he still even bothered working here. It was obvious to Melvin that he did not want this job forever. Melvin hated his job – it was exhausting, boring and his boss would not ever give him a break. Melvin had taken this job in the middle of college when he needed the money, some six or seven years ago. Melvin had always dreamt of being somebody important, maybe a CEO of a huge company, even the president of the United States.
“Melvin!” His boss waved the notes he was holding in Melvin’s face. Melvin flinched back, “Wow Melvin, cat got your tongue?” some of his coworkers snickered from behind him.
“Now, I will ask you one last time, did you collect the reports from last week?” asked his boss, smirking.
“Uhm no, not quite all of them,” Melvin responded, trying to keep his composure.
“Well, I expect that you get those done quickly before I become irritated, do you understand?” But Melvin had stopped listening. The room seemed small, cramped even though it was quite a large space. Melvin needed to move, to go somewhere, do something.
Before Melvin really understood what he was doing he was at the door, putting on his hat and coat to shield against the cold winter air. And as the door swung shut Melvin could dimly hear his boss yelling threats or accusations of some sort at him. Melvin didn’t know what he was going to do next. He didn’t know how he was going to pay the bills or feed himself but Melvin didn’t care, he was free.
