My last day at work.

In the booming metropolis of London Canada, people live together. They work, they talk, and they play. Tensions rise with the different tides of the stars in the night sky and the smell of despair in the air. Men wake up at the same time every morning, eat their breakfast of corn flakes and coffee, get in their cars and speed down the road to downtown where they work in an office for eight hours. The air conditioning doesn't work. Co-workers say the same shit to each other, same as the day before that and the day before that. Middle management and lowly office peons talk about their reality T.V. shows like "Who wants to club a baby seal?" and other nonsense. Buttoned down and iron pressed shirts and pants with matching black shoes, these men are dressed for success, always winking at each other, pointing at each other, checking out the girls behind as she walks on by, and why not. They are winners. Graduating at the top of their class cum Laud. Winners at work, winners at life. There I am buried deep inside this monument to mans hubris built of steel, glass and fire-resistant materials. I have the mouse in my right hand and I'm lost in the glow of pictures and words broadcasting from my computer monitor. I tell myself how this is where I want to be, with all these fighters and warriors of the corporate war. I have a leader I think. He (she?) is upstairs on the next floor doing god knows what. I wonder if the leader is secretly watching me. Is he looking at the websites I'm looking at. Can he see that I just did a google search on how to break an addiction to mothballs. Lately I've become deeply enchanted with their smell and I can't get enough of them to make me happy. They remind me of when I would find them in my grandmas closet near the back next to her shoes and boxes of old bills and the vacuum cleaner.
Now in the present, I'm worried I won't be able to break this addiction and I'll end up going to some sort of rehab where the doctors aren't allowed to laugh or make faces. In my small cubicle of solitude, I feel secure, at least, that I will not have to deal with problems I have at home. Nausea starts to creep in as I see Mr. Zigler my supervisor (and a winner I might add) make eye contact with me and start walking to my door. For a moment I wonder what his love life is like. Then he ask me to go to the board room for a meeting with all the other winners and cool people. After he walks away, I start to pack my things into my briefcase. Then I open my drawer and take out two large garbage bags and put one inside the other for extra strengh. I close the door and start tossing as many things as I can steal into the bag; pictures that aren't bolted to the wall, office supplies, Kleenex boxes (3 of them) my computer mouse, as many CDs as I can find and then I throw some big books with hardcovers out the window and hope for the best that if they kill anyone on impact, it won't be traced back to me. I hoist the garbage bag over my shoulder like Santa Clause and head out the door with a twinkle in my eye and smile at every asshole I see. I think its been such a good day so I head on home in my PT Cruiser and catch up on my soaps.