I knew it was a bum gig from the start.
Oh sure, the boss had tried to make it sound good. "Lots of opportunities for advancement" (read: lousy pay at the start, way too much work if you move up). "Flexible hours" (no hours, and of course you're only paid for the hours you work). "Great people" (meaning people who are just as broken as you will be within a few weeks). The whole bit. I knew it was bad, but I needed the money. So I figured what the heck. I could be doing something on the other side of the law.
Which would be more dangerous, but at least it would be more interesting.
And so began my career as The Paper Grunt.
What, you ask, is The Paper Grunt? Well, I am the one who everyone sees but nobody notices, I am the one who can go anywhere, who can pass through doors and boundaries. At least within my little corner of the universe.
I am not the lord and master of my domain. That's the stock clerk's job. I'm not even some secret indispensable position that keeps this place up and running. I'm just a forgotten legacy filler.
What do I do? Well, like I said, I'm The Paper Grunt. I work for a giant multinational in an office that's way too big, and I deliver paper. I push a cart around loaded with unopened reams of all sorts of paper-8 1/2x11, 11x17, posterboard, index cards, address labels-anything that can be shoved into a printer. I meander through the cubicle farms, refreshing the workgroup printers as needed, stopping in on the executives that have their own personal printers, reloading the big poster printers and the high speed ones we use for mass mailings.
And that's it.
Like I said, my job is a legacy. Apparently the company founder's kid was on the slow side, so he put him to work doing something he could understand: distributing paper. The kid moved on, made a bit of a life for himself, so I heard (guess he wasn't that slow), but in a fit of complete bureaucratic oversight, the position remained.
And it fell to me.
I have no interesting stories to tell. No rumors, no salacious photographs taken from a hidden camera of executives and secretaries in compromising positions. I just push my cart, load and unload my paper, and go home.
No, wait, that's not entirely true.
I have one story, brief as it is.
It wasn't too long ago. Maybe a week, maybe three or four days. I lose track of time easily. I had pushed my cart into one of the higher up's offices; vice president of something-or-other. Probably nice enough lady, and I could probably find her pretty if I cared enough to. Which I didn't.
So anyway...I pushed my cart in, unloaded a few reams of standard size printer paper into her printer desk, and was about to go on my way. She was talking on the phone, and didn't bother saying hello. It was probably better that way anyway. Wouldn't want to cost the company any extra money by fraternizing, right? Right?
And there it was, wedged right between the trash can and the desk. A crumpled, but very serviceable fifty dollar bill. I reached down and picked it up. She didn't notice, and in that instant worlds of possibilities became open to me.
That's a day's pay for me, maybe two days if you count the taxes. It's a lot of money, and I could do so much with it. A day in the country, out in the green. Maybe call up a lady I always wanted to ask out, and take her to a nice dinner. Maybe I could have a really lucky day at the casino, or buy a lot of shares of just the right stock. Maybe just buy some ice cream and a few DVDs, and kill my brain in a different way for a change. It's like I've got the whole universe before me. I'm in control, and it's different.
I rather like it.
"Excuse me ma'am, but I think you dropped this," I blurt out, rather timidly and completely unexpectedly. "Huh-? Oh, thank you. Gotta go grocery shopping tonight. I doubt the kids want peanut butter and tortillas-again." We both have a good, quick laugh at that. She says thank you again, and I excuse myself, and she goes back to her phone call.
She acknowledged me. She smiled at me. Someone else here said something to me. Imagine that. Imagine what could be next. Maybe, well...
I am The Paper Grunt.
And I can dream too.