Career Change

Bernie Grindle stared intently down at the ledger sheet before him on the makeshift work area designated for his assistant-managerial duties but his mind was far from his work. In fact his mind was barely present at all as he groped for focus, vestiges of clarity dissolving into anxiety. Although not at all warm, he perspired lightly inside his nylon blend business suit, determined not to break his pose of purposeful diligence.
On the short walk from the parking garage to the side entrance of the Clearview mall he had barely been able to breathe. In short halting spasms his chest released the parched mid-January air as his strides quickened towards the warmth of the interior mezzanine. The veneer-thin soles of his summer-weight dress shoes radiated the asphalt's chill up through his shins and carried him past the merchandise windows of a Crate & Barrell store, the artfully displayed kitchen wares taunting him with promises of cozy prosperity. He had known that dropping by MJ's room on his lunch break was a bad idea, but he rationalized that a beer or even two on a Friday afternoon wouldn't be such a crime, as dead as things were at the store that day. But it was the two lines of coke and three turns at the bong on top of the two beers on an empty stomach that had left him in his current state of heightened inebriation.
"Mr. Grindle," asked Jim Kiley over large tortoise-shell glasses sitting not quite halfway down the bridge of his nose, " Is everything alright?"
His breath caught momentarily before he managed, "Of course. Sure." Had his boss noticed his paused response and stiff posture? Were his eyes as bloodshot and obviously stoned as they felt? He braced himself for humiliating exposure.
"Are you," Kiley paused leaning closer with raised eyebrows, "in love?"
An instant of silent relief relaxed his shoulders. "No," he answered with

exaggerated incredulity, perspiration spreading to his hands.
"Well, you look different somehow. Are you sure you're OK?"
"Absolutely. Fine," Bernie responded quickly, striving for a clear-eyed tone and turning back to stare importantly at his paperwork.
"Well," snorted Kiley with practised condescension, "I can certainly see that if there is something up with you you're not ready share it with your boss, now are you, Bernamundo?"
It was all he could to stop from kicking Kiley in the shins when he referred to him as 'Bernamundo'. One day, Bernie resolved, when his path to stardom was set in stone before him, perhaps he would do just that.
"Keep up the good work, Bernamundo!" Kiley piped as he wiggled off around a ceiling-height stack of shoe boxes.