The Man Who Hated His Job
Once, there was a man who hated his job. “I hate my job,” he said to himself, and then he stopped typing and screamed, right there in his home office. It was Friday night. An urgent email had just made its way into his inbox, and it would take hours to resolve. The room was blue with the light from his screen.
There were fast footsteps downstairs, then up the stairs, and his roommate burst in.
“What happened?” the roommate said, “Are you okay?”
“I hate my job!” the man said.
“Oh. I thought something bad had happened.”
“This is bad!” the man said, “I spend like 60 hours a week working! Every week! I help companies find better procurement solutions! Because of me, businesses save a little more money! How can this possibly be all that my life is?” He waved his arms as he spoke and almost clipped the side of his standing desk.
The roommate tilted his head to the side. The man kept going, “And I always get stuck with the hardest projects and I do them anyway and I put in way too much effort because I can’t stand to look bad, and I never get recognized and I’ve tried pushing back and that never works and I just don’t know what to do!”
“Well, is there something else you wish you were doing?”
“I don’t know!”
The roommate took a step back. “Well maybe you should figure that out then.”
“That sounds hard.”
“Well then don’t?”
“That also sounds hard!”
The man turned back toward his computer for a moment to read an email. When he turned back toward the doorway, his roommate had already gone. But the man kept thinking. He scrolled through job postings. There were listings for sales associates and project managers, and even one for a ‘dynamic go-getter with a can-do attitude.’ He sighed. If only he had enough money to never work again.
On a trip downstairs to get some water, he passed his roommate and stopped. “I still don’t know what to do,” he said.
“Maybe you should talk to someone about it?” said the roommate.
“Like a monk or a guru or something?” The man lit up. He thought of every comic he’d ever read with a white-bearded wizardly man with great wisdom. He’d never had a guru or a sage in his life before. Maybe that’s what he needed.
“I mean, I was thinking more like a mentor or a career coach —” said his roommate.
And that just wasn’t going to cut it. “No,” said the man, “I want a guru, and I want one tomorrow.” The man already had his phone out and was searching online. There was a guy who lived on a mountain nearby, complete with a flowing white beard. And this guy had very good reviews on Yelp.
“An unorthodox life-changer!” started one. The man started to nod. “I feel so full of purpose now, worth every step of that hike,” said another. “I can finally go to work with a smile now. I am new,” went a third. The man nodded extra hard at that one. He clicked through the guru’s website, and there was a picture of the guru grinning with teeth the same color as his beard, and orange robes flowing. “Mountaintop discernment. Your trajectory: redirected. Your spirit: realigned. Cash only. $500 per guidance.” That sounded like a lot of money, but then again, the man knew he needed some redirection. And this sounded like just the guy.
…
In the morning, the man stuffed money in an envelope, and packed his backpack with trail mix and a water bottle. He hopped in the shower and made sure to really give himself a good scrub. After all, he would be redirected today, and he wanted to look tip-top for when his new life began. He put on a clean shirt and laced his sneakers and walked to the door. Then, his phone buzzed. Someone had responded to one of his emails from the night before. He paused in the doorway, huffed, and typed out a reply.
Once it was off and sent, he called an Uber, and minutes later, he was off! The car rolled through town, past frowning shopkeepers in storefronts, and office buildings where every parked car meant at least one person was working, even now on the weekend.
The car zoomed onward. High-rises turned into low-rises. Low-rises spread until the sidewalk disappeared and they were in the country. And then, soon enough, they were at the foot of the mountain. That was fast, he thought.
There was a little signpost by the trailhead. ‘Guru peak: 12 miles.’ The whole mountain looked bigger up close too. A lone dusty trail snaked up through gray brush toward the peak, until it vanished from sight altogether. Little blips of people dotted the path, and eventually disappeared as it went higher too.
The man shrugged and started power-walking right on up the trail. He swung his arms with extra-large swings. But within minutes, he was huffing. His muscles burned. His calves, his hamstrings, even the weird little muscles around his ankles that he hadn’t thought much about before. Typing at his desk all day wasn’t exactly doing him favors in the hiking department. Soon, he was going in more of a walk, with substantially less power.
But he wanted this. He needed it. Maybe it wouldn’t be so pleasant, but hey, he had plenty of practice doing things he didn’t like.
Up ahead, someone had set up a refreshment stand, and had little Dixie cups of Gatorade set out. Dollars per swig. A line of thirsty-looking people waited. The man took a sip from his water bottle and kept on going. He passed more people, heading both up and down. Some trudged down, defeated. “Quitters,” thought the man. Others took careful steps down with gentle smiles on their faces and peaceful faraway looks. He thought of making that walk down himself, how good he would look, smiling and tranquil.
The sun rose in a gentle arc. The man trudged. It hit its peak. The man continued to trudge. It started its descent back down toward the horizon. The man kept on. He was covered in sweat, and his shirt had a big wet mark over his sternum like a target. He gave his pits a smell. Not great. He considered turning around, maybe coming back on a less-sunny day when he could arrive in better form.
He grimaced at the thought of having to wait, and kept trudging. His left leg began to cramp, and he paused. He nibbled on a little trail mix. And then he started hopping up the trail on his good leg.
He hopped and hopped, making progress in little slow lurches. And then suddenly, the slope leveled off. He was there! He could see his city in the distance, but it looked so tiny from up here. Just a series of boxes and blips in the distance. On the peak, there was a little wooden bench amid the brush and small dusty stones, with a person-shaped lump covered by a blanket.
The man fell to his knees in front of the bench. “Great guru,” he said, “I need your help. I hate my job.”
The blanket shifted, and a bearded face peeked out. The guru blinked a lot. He yawned. “Welcome traveler.”
The man handed him the money envelope, and then fell back to his knees. The guru counted it and slid it beneath his blanket. “Thanks man,” said the guru, “Got any snacks?”
The man reached into his bag for the trail mix, and handed it over. The guru plucked raisins between his fingers and flicked them off the mountain. Finally, he tipped the bag up and dumped the rest into his mouth. A cloud of peanut dust settled in his beard. “Anything to drink?”
The man passed the guru his water bottle. The guru chugged. Little droplets slid down his robe and pitter-pattered into the dust beneath the bench. The guru handed the bottle back, empty. “Thanks,” he said.
“So what should I do, wise guru?”
The guru laughed. “Beats me,” he said, “Got any cigarettes?”
The man’s jaw clenched. “Listen here,” he said, “I think you’re ripping me off! And I’ve wasted a whole day on you and my calves are killing me and I’ve just paid you a lot of money!”
“Okay,” said the guru. He grinned, and the man could see all of his teeth. They were perfectly straight and shiny veneer-white, just like in the pictures.
The guru pulled his blanket back over his head, and rolled over on the bench.
The man waited a beat. And then he screamed, “Are you fucking kidding me?” His voice echoed off into the distance, and set off some rustling in the brush nearby. “Give me an answer or give me my money back.”
“No,” said the guru.
The man’s eyes went big. He let out a nervous laugh. “You’re really going to make me take my money back?”
“Sure,” said the guru. He laughed too.
The man stepped forward and ripped the guru’s blanket off. He grabbed the guru by his robe. The man started to lift him up in the air. “Listen here, you stupid fraud-ass fake guru —”
At that moment, the guru struck the man right in his sweaty sternum. The man staggered backward and sprawled among the gravelly stones on the mountain peak. The guru walked toward him with slow footsteps. His teeth glinted in the sun and his beard flapped in the wind.
The man tried to get to his feet, but his leg was still a little cramped. He wobbled. But the guru was already there, and he swung his leg and kicked the man in his ribs. He fell back down and dug his fingers into the dirt.
The guru stooped down toward the man. His grin was now inches away from the man’s face, and his cheeks stretched and stretched, wider and wider. He lifted the man up by his collar, until the man’s feet dangled. The two men made eye contact. The guru nodded, still grinning. Then, he threw the man with a great great force, straight back down the trail. The man went flying. He was airborne for several seconds. And when he hit the ground, he began to roll.
He tumbled side-over-side down the dusty trail. Little stones jabbed at him. His shirt snagged on pokey brush branches. And he rolled down, back down past fellow hikers and past the little Gatorade stand and then further and further down until he landed in a heap at the very bottom by the trail sign.
“Ow,” he said. He was covered in dirt. His pants and shirt were torn. He definitely had a bruise or two forming. And he was very very dizzy. One of his shoes had disappeared partway down the mountain and his phone was gone too and that meant no Uber.
The sun was beginning to set now, and it was getting dim as the man swayed and hobbled back along the road toward town. He stumbled along the dirt path on the side of the road until it turned to sidewalk. Then past offices with lights still lit and stores with open signs flickering. As he passed through the city center, someone said, “Sir,” to his side. He turned. A stranger held out a dollar. The man stared at the money, then shrugged, and took it.
And then he trudged back home. It was fully night now. The moon was probably somewhere up in the sky. The man opened his door and went upstairs and sat on the shower floor. He turned the dial. Water poured over him and came off tinted brown.
“Yo dude,” came the voice of his roommate from outside the door, “you okay?”
The man didn’t respond.
“Uh, what happened?” went the roommate.
“The guru was a bust,” the man said.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry dude.”
“What the fuck am I even doing?” the man said. “In what world was some Yelp guru on a mountain going to fix all my job bullshit?” He started to cry. “And this guy took my money and tossed me away after I’d given him everything I had. Just like everyone does.”
“Uh,” said the roommate,” that kinda sounds like an overgeneralization.”
“Whatever,” said the man. He squeezed his eyes shut, and he fumbled around with one hand, looking for the bar of soap.
“Maybe you just need to find —”
“But even if it’s not everyone it’s a dang lot of them and they just take and take and take from me. And maybe it’s time I started taking things for myself too.”
“Oh?” said the roommate.
“Not like from you,” he said, “but like from my work or something.” The man was still fumbling around looking for something to clean himself with. His hands closed on his roommate’s thing of body wash. He gave the nozzle a pump, and gel filled his hand.
“Hm,” said the roommate, “I don’t think that’s really what I was going to say.”
“Maybe I’ll call in sick on Monday.” The man chuckled to himself. “Or maybe longer. These sicknesses can sure last a while.” He sniffed the dollop of body wash and began to rub it into his pits. Then, the man grinned, and he felt his cheeks begin to stretch.
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