The Tallest Skyscraper With the Best View

A story of Larry Merle, an ultra capable man on his first day as a free agent after being given the opportunity to leave his job of eleven years.

Sitting on a bus stop bench in the early afternoon sun. That is what I had been reduced to. Sitting next to a man who smelled vaguely of sardines, and not in a good way. Not only has my car been in the shop for a week, but I had just been fired. Nobody has ever been fired as wrongly as I had been.

Mosquitos kept buzzing in my ear as soon as I was starting to feel comfortable. Why do they keep going for the only part that can hear them? Maybe they're buzzing all around and I can only notice the ears because I can't hear with my feet or nose. They're likely too small to have a smell.

I was sitting at that bus stop, furious about being fired. Couldn't keep my mind focused at all. I was trying to decide how to break it to my wife, Sara. She blows off the handle about everything. She once found I had taken the last of the peanut butter and didn't talk to me for weeks. Would barely look me in the eyes.

Oh, but about the firing. The morning started like any other. I came into the office and filled up a cup of this watery brown stuff they call coffee and sat at my desk. It only had one drawer in it and a massive computer they bought nearly a decade ago. I had a large stack of papers to work through, but thought I would take my time and look at the news online. It's amazing how quickly they report things these days.

For eleven years I had come into the office, rarely ever sick. New employees came and went, but I was a permanent fixture of the cubicle area. Called Bennet Corporation, we occupied the thirty-eighth floor of a very beautiful and tall building gathered among many other tall buildings. I imagine we were quite successful as we found time to establish dress codes, codes of conduct, rules on how to properly sexually harass someone, and designated lunch breaks. After looking at the news, I moved onto some funny videos involving dogs playing frisbee, and then played some solitaire until I was rudely interrupted.

"Mr. Larry Merle?" an old, wrinkled blonde woman named Cheryl asked. She should have well known who I was, as we had worked together for years.

"You can put any papers you have in the pile," I said, pointing at my stack. I really didn't want her to mess with the groove I had going. Five won games in a row.

"You missed your appointment with Mr. Thornton. You received an email about it this morning. Please go to his office right away," she said, walking away stiffly.

She was right. I found many emails I hadn't read. But it's not all my fault. I'd been really backed up and couldn't be expected to see every email I received.

Nobody liked to be called in to see Mr. Thornton. He was this big cow who needed a special chair ordered, but he still overflowed outside its arms. His red, bald head glowed like a police siren and you could see your sad face looking back when he talked to you, perspiration building on his forehead. Just behind him on the wall was a giant portrait of Pope John Paul II. I'm not even sure if Thornton was Catholic, but he sure wasn't a good one unless his priest forgot to mention the perils of gluttony. I always imagined that lingering image of the pope was hung there to boost his own image of authority. Mr. Thornton and his good friend, the pope, both infallible in all they do.

When I was buzzed in by his secretary to see him, he held up his plump finger to me to be quiet while he was finishing a phone call. He had the secretary call me in, knowingly on a phone call that I'm sure was very important. I wondered if he ever got out of that chair. Maybe when it was first ordered it fit him perfectly, and he just grew into it.

"So sorry to be so rude," he finally said when he hung up the phone.

"Yes sir. I won't take up your time and will get back to work. It's just piling up on my desk. I know you're very busy too."

He furrowed his thick brow, the only hair on his round, stop sign of a face. He started talking about the state of the company. Something about needing hungry employees ready to learn new things and jump on new technological challenges and opportunities. I was so uninterested that I kept staring at the pope and feeling which of my fingernails needed trimming. It didn't feel like I had cut them very well the other day. But he did catch my attention at the end. He claimed I was a habitual liar and exaggerated everything. That I wasn't ambitious. I wasn't "Bennet material" and should look for work elsewhere. He had become so cemented to his custom throne that he couldn't see a valuable employee who had helped bring the company where it was today.

My hands tightened on my briefcase, imagining the banana I brought for lunch with was a gun. That I could pull it out and look at the instant regret he had in firing one of his greatest workers. I had a few surprises in me. But I had not brought a gun with me, and never had shot one before. All I had was a banana.

"This will seem unfair," Mr. Thornton said, perspiring and itching his inner thigh. "You will be escorted out of the building. Please do not overreact or talk to anyone on your way out. We have more meetings to hold before the day is out. Thank you for your service at Bennet."

Two thugs were waiting outside the office and led me out by the arms. They must have lifted out a dozen other canned losers beforehand. Their hulking, bare arms were uncomfortably moist.

That's how I got to the bus stop, in the squelching heat and not wanting to go home. They could've at least fired me a few weeks ago when I had my car. I sat and wondered what I would tell Sara when I got home. She would be worried when I arrived so early, and even more worried when I told her I was fired.

"What are we going to do?" she would say, holding her face in distorted horror, like she always does. She would sulk around the house and make a dry casserole for dinner. Then we would choke it down together in silence.

"This is really tasty." I would say, reaching for some water.

And she would nod.

The man next to me that smelled of sardines had just woken from a nap, uncovering a newspaper from his face. He didn't look homeless or anything though. Unless he was newly homeless or some kind of privileged homeless type.

"Hi," I said when his eyes met mine.

"What? What time is it?"

"About two," I replied, glancing at my phone.

"Damn buses take forever some times." He said gruffly.

"How are you today?"

I was only making conversation. I didn't really care.

"Oh, I'm here."

"Well, I know that." I replied.

"Say what?"

"I know you're here. Otherwise I wouldn't be here talking to you. I don't get why people don't just say how they are. Good or bad."

I had a really good point going. I can talk for hours about things that don't matter. He didn't seem amused, but I kept going anyway.

"Why can't someone just tell me they're having a horrible day, and they're fighting every urge to jump off the 23rd floor of their office building to a beautiful, grisly death? At least we would have a little honesty going."

"Maybe it's none of your damned business how I am," he said and turned away.

He had a good point. It's likely not my business how every man who smells of fish is doing in this town.

I sat quietly and thought a bit longer. About my life and future. So much was going for me, I knew I would bounce right back. I could be a great chef. Maybe start up a restaurant. Or make it big on stocks and retire comfortably in a quiet area in the mountains. But Sara wouldn't see it that way. Married for eight years and she still couldn't see all my qualities and talents. She had mentioned in the past that she never knew how I got a job at Bennet. I decided right then I needed a plan, and some time to think of this plan before I came home and saw Sara. I sent her a text.

"Sorry Sara. Boss says need to stay late to work on account. Phone is dying. Forgot charger. Don't call. See you when get home."

I turned the phone off and smiled. I would come home later tonight. But not with a sad story of being fired, but a triumphant one of how I stuck it to Bennet and was now paving our future together with a new career. A wave of clarity and energy filled me. I hadn't felt that kind of renewed focus since the day I married Sara. But this would be better. It would be all me.

"Take this sir," I said, tossing four quarters at the sardine man. "Get yourself some coffee when the sun goes down so you won't get chilly. I won't need it!"

"You b*****d!" he said as I strutted away. Even his toxic aura couldn't keep me down.

The streets were filled with people wearing sunglasses and talking without ceasing into their cell phones. The really flashy ones wore earpieces and used their hands when they talked. If only the person on the other end could see their emphasis and enthusiasm. I started to wonder if some of them were faking conversations to look important. Maybe Mr. Thornton had also been faking a call when I walked in that morning. Maybe it would help if I started talking into my own phone to look more worthy of hiring. But I didn't have any sunglasses. Having visible, naked eyes didn't look quite as impressive. Almost clueless and awkward.

A big break came early when I saw a building that read "Employment Center." I could go in, tell them of my years of experience at Bennet, and they would send me to an important desk job in an even bigger building on a higher floor with a better view than I had ever seen. I walked up its steps, hearing the clicks of my shoes on the pavement. The sound of a successful man of resource.

Inside the front lobby was a large, empty space devoid of people and filled with the echos of every effort. At a small desk at the far end sat a tiny woman who wore glasses entirely too big for her head. Each step to her echoed ten times in the cavernous room.

"Hello, do you have an appointment?" she asked without looking directly at me.

"Oh, I'm sorry no. But I'm looking for a job. In management, if possible."

"Usually people have appointments here. Would you like to talk to one of our consultants? I can see if any are free."

"That would be very helpful, thank you." I said. Hopefully she would set me up quickly with a new job. One that paid well, but without too many of the trappings so many jobs could have. Long work weeks, bad hours. Working on holidays. These things were for people with less experience or talent.

"Please sit in one of our free chairs and we will call for you as soon as possible. What was your name?"

"Larry. Larry Merle."

I was worried because she didn't seem to be writing anything down. But I sat down anyway. I'm not sure why she needed to specify to sit in a free seat, as they all were. Person after person walked in. They each had appointments and walked right in. People who looked unable to hold any kind of job. Some of them wore stained clothes. If this place could find them work, I would be their easiest work of the day. They could even hire me here. Some addict would walk in, not know how to tie his own shoes, and I would make him president of some huge corporation.

The woman at the front desk called me up and let me know they had fit me in with one of their advisors. She let me into the door behind her and told me to walk to the left to room 216. There were only about eight rooms down each hallway. I knocked quietly on room 216 and hear a deep voice call me from within.

"Welcome Mr. Merle. Please, sit down," a man said when I walked in.

He was a middle aged black man, bald except in the back and side of his head. He had a mustache that was at least as thick as his nose. I'd always wanted to grow a mustache but didn't think I could pull it off. If I started getting balder, a mustache might even out the lack of hair.

"Have you ever used our services before?" he asked.

"No sir, Mister...."

"Mayberry."

"Yes, Mr. Mayberry. I just lost my job at a very important business downtown and am looking for how to fill my newfound free time with a worthy cause," I said. I knew I sounded very professional and worthy of a great job.

"That's marvelous. Where did you work?"

"Bennet Corporation. I was with them for eleven years."

"I'm not familiar with Bennet. What is their business?"

"Well, I always thought it might be insurance. Or real estate. Something like that."

"You don't know what the business you worked for eleven years did?" he asked suspiciously.

"I never really thought to ask."

"May I see your resume please? I would like to see what kind of job you would be qualified for."

"I'm not really sure what that is," I replied. This Mayberry guy seemed to ask too many questions.

"I don't understand. You worked for years in an office but don't know what a resume is? May I ask how you got your job there?"

"Oh sure," I continued. "In high school I started working in their mail room. My dad had worked for the company when he was alive and said I needed to learn some responsibility. I was there only two years when I had been promoted. I think they were impressed with my innovative mind. I had even suggested they start an Employee of the Month program. Sadly, the mail room adopted that program after I left so I was never awarded it."

"I see." Mr. Mayberry said. "I'm not really sure how to respond to all of this. What kind of skills can you offer?"

"I've always been excellent filling out paperwork that needed done. Other employees would also come to me often to help them operate and fix heavy machinery."

"Do you mean working on company vehicles? That would be very useful."

"No, more like fax and copy machines. Everyone always had that thing jamming up on them all the time. Or they'd not realize the cords weren't plugged in all the way after they smacked it around. I am also very proficient in using the internet. So you could say I'm a bit of a technical wizard."

I kept hoping he would send me to some kind of computer job. Something very high paying. Sara would be smiling ear to ear when I got home to tell her and unable to keep her hands off me.

"I have openings for some temporary jobs that may suit you," he said, looking through his computer.  

His mustache continued to intrigue me. Man, I wish I could pull that off.

"I have an opening at the DMV. They wouldn't pay much, but that would be good experience for you. I also have several restaurant openings in the area. A server position would be very helpful, as good service would give you the opportunity to make very nice tips."

My arms about dropped out of their sockets. This morning I had my own cubicle with its own computer and receptacles for ingoing and outgoing work. I was not going to start serving people burritos with big smiles, hoping for a few extra dollars.

"I don't understand, Mr. Maybody."

"That's Mayberry," he replied angrily. "I don't see anything in your experience that would qualify you for higher paying work. If you were more qualified, wouldn't you have sent your resume around to competing firms instead of coming somewhere like here?"

"You mean a job store like this doesn't exist to get people good jobs? That's why I came here. So you could find something worthy of my years of experience."

Coming here was a waste of time. I had a man sitting at a desk withholding jobs from people he disliked. He probably had no life outside his job. His desk was filled with pictures of people that I bet weren't even his real family. They came with the frame, and he goes home and sits alone in his one bedroom apartment reheating hot dogs he had the night before.

"I'm not going to stand for this," I said, standing up. Which didn't seem to go along with what I had just said. "I can get a good job on my own. Where people will respect me and pay me what I am worth. I don't need the help of people like you."

"Sir, if you would just please..."

"Don't "sir" me. I will let myself out of this horrible place. Just be happy it's a banana I brought in this briefcase today!"

I slammed the door as hard as I could and stormed out of the building. The woman at the front counter stared at me oddly when I rushed past her and her useless organization. Already the sun was getting close to setting. So much time wasted getting advised on how to get a fast food job. Fast food, when weeks ago I was still in charge of keeping track of office birthday parties. There was a chart in one of the desk drawers telling me when each one was coming and what everyones favorite cakes were. We would blindfold them and sing, and they would swoon with deep joy.

"Oh Larry! How did you know chocolate ice cream cake was my favorite?"

I would smile and hug them, knowing I had probably done more than their families would. I had made us a family there in the office. Until the time I ordered a cake full of nuts. Apparently my chart said they were allergic to them and I read it differently. They gave someone else the job after that. He only spent a few days in the hospital, so I'm not sure what the big deal was. It wasn't really life threatening.

While walking down the street I spotted a line of people waiting for something. Thinking it may be something good to eat, I walked across the street to them. At the end of the line was a man wearing a cowboy hat entirely too large for his head.

"Is this the line for a sandwich shop?" I asked. A sandwich sounded wonderful.

"Sandwich shop? No, this is for the video box. I have some movies to return and am getting one to watch with the family tonight. Hope it's still there once I get up there," he replied.

"A machine to get movies? That seems so stupid."

"Naw, it's great! I can just get a movie without having to go to some store!"

"While waiting in line about an hour?" I asked.

"Well, sometimes."

"It's people like you that make it so we can't go to a store run by people and rent a movie anymore," I rambled. "Just like there used to be gas stations where someone would fill your tank for you. But instead I have to figure out how it works every time! Then along came the vending machine, and now there aren't any grocery stores to get real food!"

"Sir, there are-"

"I don't need it. I don't need any of these things!"

I turned away quickly, my pants brushing loudly against each leg as I escaped. The buildings were all closing in with no sign of the sun. They were all empty except for the machines that kept working without rest. No one else was needed.

My stomach was making strange noises. Nervousness and hunger overtook my thoughts. I would almost accept a job flipping burgers if they would have just given me one. I looked around for a restaurant but couldn't find one nearby. A nice woman saw my confusion and asked what was wrong. I think she was a prostitute. But maybe not. I tend to think all women in the city are prostitutes. She directed me to a bar nearby called The Blue Owl. 

I resigned to a booth to collect my thoughts. Just have some quiet, except for the horrible country music playing in the background. A skinny, long-haired man with a goatee walked up to take my order. I was really hoping for a blonde with sharp curves. It didn't help that along with the goatee, he wore an apron that looked strangely effeminate on him. He asked my order and I thought it rude to ask for someone prettier.

"I'll take a grilled cheese. No fries. And a whiskey, clean."

"Do you mean "neat"?" He asked pompously.

"Yeah, that."

Whiskey had always been a stranger to me, but with the circumstances of the day, it sounded like the right drink. Larry, a tragic figure. Born to change the lives around him. To be revered with tears of joy whenever his name is mentioned. Talents squandered in an office, now thrown out alone on the street and offered to clean the garbage of those born for less. It would make a great documentary if someone with brains created it.

The long-haired man finally brought my drink and sandwich. Bringing the glass slowly to my lips, I heaved a sigh of resignation. But it's taste erupted on my tongue like acid and I demanded the server back.

"You made this way too strong! Are you trying to kill me?" I snarled.

"That's how it came from the bottle. Can I get you something lighter?"

I may not have had whiskey before, but I know when someone is trying to put something over on me. It was all over his face. I calmed down and just told him to get some cola to go with it.

A young woman with brown hair was sitting at the bar. She was taking small sips of something tall and orange, looking to be completely in her own world. Just enjoying every moment. It had to be an act to bring men over. I couldn't bring myself to talk to her, however much she desired it.

The cokes kept coming and I kept pouring a little whiskey in each one. Just enough to taste it. With each sip, the days events seemed less relevant. Maybe getting a job at a bar would be a good idea. Mixing drinks and getting phone numbers from beautiful women. Sleeping until noon every day.

The woman at the bar was waiting for me. It was entirely obvious as she practiced appearing aloof. She probably already heard a dozen horrible pickup lines tonight. Smooth and authentic would be my strategy. The drinks had finally worked up their courage in me. Each step was unsteady, but came closer and closer to her. She just sat, waiting for whatever clever things I had to say. My arm finally resting on the bar next to her, she looked at me expectantly.

"I've been watching you. My day has been horrible till I saw you. I lost my job earlier today and apparently have no skills. I'm balding a little and can't play golf. But I'm not like these other jerks at the bar. Can I buy you a drink?"

She looked downward, taking a sip of her fruity drink.

"You're old," she said, rolling her eyes and turning away.

Without realizing it, I was back in my booth, hunched over. I was unsure how much I'd had to drink, but could feel its effects in every part of me. The urge to hit the bathroom came and I nearly jogged to it. Anything to avoid the embarrassment of being turned down by that woman. She was probably a prostitute anyway and wasn't interested since I said I'd lost my job. She thought I had no money. It was the only possible explanation.

Relief and peace were found in the urinal. I suddenly felt so much better, but still couldn't walk very straight. Then I saw him. His bald head and massive torso were unmistakeable. Mr. Thornton, my old boss, was at the sink washing his hands.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Excuse me?" He replied dumbly.

I gave him a shove, knocking him into the sink behind him. His mouth was open and twisted.

"You fired me. I made that company what it is!"

"I don't know what you're talking about! I'm going to have a drink with my wife."

He tried going out the door, but I blocked it and shoved him to the ground. My fists felt like they were going to explode.

Well, this all led to being handcuffed and taken to the police station. They lied and claimed that tests showed I had very little alcohol in me. And it wasn't Mr. Thornton I attacked. It really looked like him. At least in that light. Luckily he decided not to press charges. He only had a few bruises. Poor guy got fired from his job earlier in the month for incompetence. Seemed really nice. If only I had met him some other way.

It became late. Around eleven o'clock. The officer dropped me off at home since my car was being worked on. On the way home he kept laughing and cracking jokes about me attacking that guy. He thought it was hilarious how I "thought" I was drunk. When he drove off, I saw all the lights were out. The house looked like all the skyscrapers in the city. All empty and lifeless. But they were just resting. In the morning they would burst back to life with the sun. People would make toast and drink orange juice as they got ready for work. I stood in silence, eating the banana from my briefcase.

The door creaked open slowly. One of these days I would oil it. Though tiptoeing through the living room with very little noise, I still felt like a clumsy elephant. I stood in the bedroom doorway, looking at Sara. She lay still, and her humidifier was running on the floor. It filled the air with a cool mist and felt good after being in the summer heat. She must have had trouble breathing tonight.

"Larry, is that you?" she asked groggily.

"It is. I'm sorry if I woke you, honey."

"They worked you really late. How was your day?"

Every moment of the day flashed through my mind, making me red with anger. I wanted to talk to her. About every injustice and every horrible thing I had faced. How I didn't know what to do next.

"Okay."I finally said. "It was okay."

Her breathing had become slow and deep, lost already in a beautiful dream. I tore off my clothes, nearly stuck to my skin from sweating all day. Hoping to fall into as deep a sleep as Sara, I collapsed into the bed. And lie there. The window blinds were closed, but dogs were barking loudly outside. Barking at squirrels, passing people, each other, or maybe nothing. Barking loudly because no one was listening and they simply couldn't sleep.