Part 4: Chapter 1
Here we go, the beginning of another mind numbing tedious day; typing away mindlessly into the screen in front over me. Over and over again, finalizing, accepting and rejecting loan requests. This pathetic dead-end job is enough to put a bullet through my head. I’ve been doing this crap for almost five years now. I only took this job as a temporary thing straight out of high school to help pave the way for greater things, ha yeah, well that didn’t happen. So, here I am sitting in this old crumby bank in this old crumby town day in and day out managing bank loans for other people who think they can make it to bigger and better things.
Honestly, I don’t know why they even keep me around, I’m completely terrible at my job. I don’t know what I’m even doing most of the time, I just sit here and type into the blanks all day making it seem like I know something. When I have to meet with people over their requests I’m sure they see right through me. I just sit here and nod at them like I understand, when in reality I’m not even listening.
I have found that as they speak I fixate behind them staring at the old ceiling fan above the office next door as it sways in circles. I stare at it and nod, completely lost in my own little world, I’m sure the customers get pissed off at me, but I really don’t give a flying fuck.
Overall, I think the thing I hate the most about this place is the monkey suit I have to wear every day. Damn thing is stiff and uncomfortable, and don’t get me started on the stupid tie. I hate it, I hate all of it; this place, this suit, this shitty little town. Nothing but nothing happens here, it’s like sitting in an unorganized circle awaiting death.
The town only has a population of one thousand and two people, most of which are retired old people and trailer trash that pass through looking for drugs from the street punks wandering around. The place is dying, the streets are all made of bricks; not new bricks mind you, no, old bricks from like the early nineteen hundreds. Most of the buildings in the so called “historic” downtown are falling down leaving a wreck of brick and wood in their wake.
I stare at the blank screen, pretending to read, the silence of the room makes me insane. The only sound is the slight clicking sound as the fan above me circulates. I let out a deep sigh of boredom, glancing up, I see a short fat man with grease stains on his shirt hobbling my way. What you wanna bet he’s here wanting a loan for a fast food restaurant.
The man plops down hard in the cheaply made chair in front of my desk. You can almost hear the chair screaming in agony under his large body. Sweat trickles down his balding head, dripping from the tip of his nose. I watch the drop splash on the edge of my desk. Nasty ass mother fucker, dripping his greasy ass sweat on my desk. I fucking hate these people.
“Hello, I’m here to apply for a loan.” The man groans.
I choke back a nauseous feeling as a wave of body odor crashes into me. Holy shit, has this guy ever taken a shower?
I clear my throat. “What’s your name?” I ask.
“Bill, Bill Landry.” He states.
“Okay, Bill. What are you wanting a loan for?” I ask.
“I want to open my own restaurant.” He says.
I laugh to myself, I knew it. I type into the computer screen, pulling up all the documents for the greasy man and click print. The printer fires up beside me, spitting out paper after paper. I grab the stack once it has finished and slap a quick staple into the top left.
“Here you go.” I say handing him the stack of papers. “Fill these out and turn them in, once they have processed I will give you a call and we can discuss your loan further.”
He nods sending another drop of greasy sweat flying onto my desk. I can feel my blood boil as it splashes down. The large man struggles as he lifts himself out of the chair and walks out of the room.
“Nasty fucker.” I whisper.
I bend over, opening my desk drawer and pull of a spray bottle of disinfectant. I spray my desk where his sweat landed and quickly cleaned the area. I know I’m a bit of a germaphobe, but either way this shit is gross.
I plop back down in my desk chair, staring at the ceiling fan, spacing off. I really need to get a new job, or at least do something exciting for a change, but what?
I hate that all the walls are made of glass, everyone can watch you, makes me paranoid. My boss can see my every move, she’s always quick to run in and bitch at me if I look like I’m not working for even a second. Bitch even glares at me if I get up to take a piss. She’s always had a stick up her ass, if I ever found a new job I’d tell her where to shove this one.
“Excuse me sir.” An elderly voice says.
I jump at the sound, didn’t even see anyone come in.
I lean forward in my chair and look at the elderly man sitting in front of my desk. The man looks a thousand years old, long withering white hair streams down passed his shoulders. He is wearing a long black cloak with strange golden designs throughout it. His hands covered in multiple rings, and tattoos of odd symbols and writing. He kind of makes me think of a gypsy of some sort, or a cultist, maybe.
“Oh, yes, how may I help you?” I ask.
“I applied for a loan about two months ago for a house, I still have not heard back.” The man says.
He stares at me with a strange glare, one of his eyes is completely white, the other a deep brown.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Maximus Romero.” He says, rolling his tongue with a hiss.
“Alright Mr. Romero, let me see what’s going on.”
I type into the computer and bring up the mans’ file.
“I’m sorry Mr. Romero, but you have been denied your loan due to bad credit and financial status, it also says you are not eligible for taking out any mortgage as well. Based on this information there is nothing I can do for you. You will have to reapply and try again. I also see here that you are in significant debt, this is a big red flag for us. Maybe you should pay off your debt before you try again.” I state.
The man’s face turns red as he stares death at me.
“No, that is unacceptable. Approve my loan now, I know you can do it.” He demands.
“No, I can’t not with your records showing all of this.” I start.
“I said do it, now.” He growls.
“I’m not going to do it, I think you need to leave now.” I say.
The man shoots up from his chair and points at me, muttering something under his breath.
“You will pay for this.” He growls.
“Get out!” I shout.
The man slowly backs out of the office, glaring at me with an unblinking stare. He turns and leaves the building.
“What the fuck?” I whisper.