“There is something about you, and I will find out soon,” Marge Smith muttered under her breath as she passed Stan’s cubicle. He looked up just in time to see her pass by, her snake eyes roaming the office as if looking for rodent prey. Stan glanced at the clock. One thirty, how time dragged its frazzled feet. He hated his job, same thing, day after day. Stan stapled things. He stacked papers. He glared at his computer screen, punched buttons on a copy machine as he reproduced charts, graphs, proposals. Office work-smirk, mind frozen numb. Work smarter Stan Ol’ Boy... It was a necessary evil, that scrawny little paycheck, keeping him churning like snake prey on a wheel. He had no friends, he didn’t want to talk to anyone. He was afraid they would find out, and Stan could never let that happen. He said very little, ate his lunch alone at the unpopular table in the break room, staring at the brightly colored snacks in the vending machines and the red and white cola machines, willing himself to be somewhere else before it was time to return to desk entrapment.
But as long and morbid as the days were, they were still nothing compared to the nights. Those days basking long under the fluorescent lights. When the clock finally flagged five o’clock, Stan put his stapler in its place, he adjusted the papers on his desk and turned off the screen button on his computer. He was supposed to shut it down, but it never would start the next day, so he cheated by turning off the screen. He could escape snake-eyed Marge for a few hours. Her obsessive quest to find out things about Stan. Things which other people should never know. Things he never told anyone. Busy body office people. Why couldn’t they stay in their own cubicles with their irritating kids, dogs and vacation photos plastered randomly, their papers all out of order, and their computers blinking. There was a dark side to Stan, a side that ordinary people didn’t know, the sort of thing that Marge longed to find out.