I Thought I Was Someone Else #2 - Office Imaginings

I started incorporating changes into my personality slowly at first but, like you always do after dipping your toes into uncharted waters, I soon found myself jumping in.

As often as I could, I found myself escaping into a new reality, a world of my own making, one that existed solely inside of my head. It was a world in which I was Allen T. Watts, kingpin extraordinaire.

Days went by and I imagined myself participating in countless dangerous situations.

Weeks went by and I started to imitate him, when nobody was looking of course. In the work bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror, slicking my hair back with water from the sink as if it was pomade, I began to fuse his mannerisms with my own. I would try out the scowl, the nasally voice, the wild eyes.

My work started to be affected by my constant mental wanderings. Oftentimes at my desk I would sit there, daydreaming instead of working. Instead of collating, laminating or processing I would be off in my own world, shooting, laughing and letting God sort them out. When I got an email from my supervisor asking why my progress report on the Jenkins Company was late, instead of stressing about it I simply smiled. I smiled as I imagined how Allen T. Watts would handle this corporate schlub.

“Reach for the sky, Mr. Patrick. Stay where you are and don’t make any sudden moves. I’m done puttin’ up with your monkey business, see?”

I imagined the look of terror on his face when I would pull out my submachine gun and point it at his pockmarked face. The way he would guffaw at first, then when the seriousness of the situation sank in, he would cry. Oh how he would beg!

“What’s the meaning of this?” Mr. Patrick would ask in his sniveling, pathetic voice. “Is this some kind of joke? Please, I have a family. I have a - ”

“Shut yer yap!” I would shout at him, cutting off his whining. “I’m walking out of here a made man, see? And a well heeled one at that! So let’s go over to the company safe, nice and easy like, and let’s start puttin’ that into bags, shall we?”

Mr. Patrick would cry. Probably wet himself. He would steal one more frantic glance at the picture on his desk, at his family, hoping it wasn’t the last time that he saw them.

“Get movin’ now,” I would warn him. “I’m gonna count to three, and if you’re not movin’ towards the safe by then, then I’m gonna let you have it.” I would then glance at the picture myself, just to intimidate him. Just like Allen T. Watts would. “And then maybe I’ll stop by your house and let your wifey have it too, see?” I smiled at that line as I thought of it. A new wife, that sounded like the next logical step to me. That’s what Allen T. Watts would do.

“Alright,” Mr. Patrick would say, his voice weak and scared and gutless. “Alright, I don’t want any trouble. I’ll help you.” He would then walk to the safe, his hands in the air, sweat trickling down his back and soaking his stupid salmon colored button-up that he wore every Tuesday. And, looking at that stupid shirt, I would decide that he needed to die.

“Three,:” I said. He turned to me, eyes wide. “But, b-but I,” he stammered.

“Two,” I continued. His sweat flowed freely now, cutting salty rivulets down his bumpy cheeks. “I’m helping you! Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?!” Mr. Patrick would yell, desperation dripping off of every word.

“One,” I smiled, squeezing the trigger. Yet instead of a barrage of bullets, I heard a sound like a door being thrown open, rattling the glass curio cabinet in the corner of my office. I looked up with a start, my vision spinning as I quickly came back to the real world. I saw the disapproving face of my supervisor, a yellow write-up slip in his hand.

“Mr. Patrick! I..I..about that Jenkins report…I’m working on it right now, sir.”

He pulled a tight face and, without uttering a single word, handed me the disciplinary form and left, slamming my door behind him. This time, I was rattled right along with the curio cabinet.

I let out a pained sigh. I glanced at the form in my hand and saw my name printed at the top. My real name, not Allen T. Watts. If it was him in this situation, that would have gone very differently.

I crumpled the form in my hand, trying to quiet the anger that was beginning to bubble up inside.