'You have to understand, it was the kind of place where misfits came to die and the unemployable came to work. Alone in a cubicle for hours on end with only your thoughts to entertain you, it was a hell on earth for me.'�
'Maybe it wasn't really that bad, but I've always had a flair for the dramatic. You see, for me that place was the loneliest spot on earth. I've never done well in those situations. I need something, anything to keep me busy. Sitting in those awkward chairs with a computer monitor constantly looming over you, often the only thing I could do to stay sane was to watch, mostly people. Not in a creepy way, I was more curious than anything else.'�
'Take Robert for instance. He hadn't been there long when the incident occurred. He was older than most of the employees, or maybe like had just been especially rough on him. He had long, gray, stringy hair and wide, bulging eyes that made me think he was either crazy or sleep deprived (I knew that feeling). Judging by his cloths, which always looked second hand, he was not doing well financially. But then again, no one at that place was in the money; if they were they would not be working there.'�
'He talked with a slow deliberation, as if he was savoring each word as it slipped from his lips. This often made him sound as if he were retarded or mentally challenged, whatever you want to call it. When I watched him speaking to others, his face would always droop into a mix mixture of confusion and defeat; he couldn't speak very well and at a place like that, you need to speak well, to defend yourself from the surroundings. He won't last long there, he's too fragile.'�
'Then there's Steven. He'd been there longer than anyone could remember, years. He had short brown hair which hung lopsided on his head as if it didn't really know where to go. He wore the same blue jeans and grey sweater every day; he never looked dirty though which I found strange. It was Steve's eyes that interested (or scared?) me the most though. They stared out from behind a pair of black rimmed glasses, always watching the room, like hawk looking for prey. He seemed to understand everything. Someone once told me he memorized endless amounts of trivia cards and would quiz himself while sitting in front of his computer while at that place. I guess it was his way of staying sane, or was it the other way around? The way he welcomed that place made me think he had lost his grip on reality, I doubt he was aware of the world of the living anymore.'�
'I would watch him a lot while at that place. I'd wonder if I could be like him and accept and embrace that hell. Someone once said; 'he who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.' I think that's what he did. I didn't want to be like that.'�
'I wonder what his story is, why he's there . . . that doesn't really matter right now. Right now I need to make you understand.'�
'When you look around that place you see a lot of sad faces and I know it's cliché but you really are just a number there. I know what you're thinking; the whole 'I'm just a number' thing has been played out in every angst filled teen mind, but I'm serious! It's all you are there! 30717, that's me, or was me when I still had a job. 30717, 30717, 30717! That was me! A source of man hours, it was a depressing thought.'�
'I constantly thought of quitting; how I would do it, what would I tell them, everything about it. But every time I'd begin to be carried away by these thoughts logic would come back and remind me that I needed this job. I needed the money. Maybe I could get another job? No. This was the place where misfits came to die and where the unemployable came to work. I hope I wasn't the misfit awaiting death (Robert was), but I was beyond a shadow of a doubt the unemployable. I'm Lazy, weak, anti-social, unkempt and very rough around the edges. This was the only place. This was a depressing thought too. I was stuck.'�
'Like I said before, those cubicles were a hell on earth for me. Trapped and isolated in a tiny soundproof cell. With an ever present monitor ominously watching over me like Big Brother himself. Ensuring 30717 did his job right, making sure I stayed in sync with every other prisoner.'�
'In my mind that cubicle became more of a cell every day I was there. With every passing second the cage door closed a little bit more. Closed a little bit more on all of us (it was closing on Robert too; it had already closed on Steven). I had to do something, something to stop it, even if it only slowed it down. I became claustrophobic. I was anxious and worried all the time. There had to be something to stop this process, I would tell myself.'�
'Then it finally came to me, It seemed crazy at first but it began looking better every day. It just might save me I thought (maybe not Robert, his door seemed to close a bit faster). This was going to be a solution! You understand? This was going to be the way out, see?'�
'So I did it, I had nothing to lose at that point. That place was swallowing me, I didn't care about the consequences, it was self preservation really.'�
'Now you understand, don't you? Under those circumstances, what I did was not all that unlikely. I'm sure you would have reacted the same way, wouldn't you? What I did was perfectly reasonable.
Right?
Hello?'�




-END-

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