Apex
by Alex Kipp
“Ughh,” Leo thought, as the sound of the alarm clock carved its way through his head. “Morning already?” Lately, the clock had become the only way he could keep on schedule. “Windows would've made it easier,” he mused with a little resentment. But Leo also cherished his privacy in his off hours, so really the cavernous bedroom suited him well. The thought made him feel better about the room, but didn't relieve the resentment, just pushed it over to another topic.
“Totally fucking arbitrary,” he fumed. What was the point in getting up and starting at the same time every day when the work could be so spotty? Leo sometimes waited for hours for the first client to arrive, but had to spend all of that time in full performance mode, as if he was being observed.
“It's not 'as if', dipshit,” Leo said to himself, admonishingly. It was true. Every moment in the field was being observed by the executives on Twelve. (Leo was pretty sure they weren't ACTUALLY observing EVERY moment – they were probably too busy coming up with new policies to fuck him over – but there were cameras everywhere. Rumor had it that the cameras fed directly to a wall of video screens in a sort of open lounge area for the executives on Twelve. Rumor also had it that most executives chose not to visit it because the organization was in an “austerity” period and anyone seen in the lounge would be viewed as “lounging” and therefore redundant. But the point was that they could be watching at any time. And all it took was one moment of lying down on the job, or seeming to, by the people on Twelve, and boom! another reason for them to turn the screws, or have another interminable one-on-one about “goal alignment”, or, even worse, bring in some very well-meaning outside consultant to humiliate the staff with yet another team-building workshop.)
“I'm just not set up for this,” Leo thought. It wasn't without guilt, but it wasn't also the first time that Leo had felt that the 40-hour work week was not for him. Again, the word that jumped back into his head was, “arbitrary”. Left to his own devices Leo felt he might sleep twenty hours a day. That seemed crazy, but why did it seem crazy? Because the people on Twelve expected something else? Because some little claque of Robber Barons who simultaneously lived lives of incredible power and privilege off of passive income, but also lived inside the heads of every living thing on the planet, needed to maximize everyone's productivity? Honestly, Leo thought, he could probably give a lot more to the customers if he only had to deal with them four hours a day. It might not even feel like work, then. More like a really fun time. A chance to work on craft. To make each moment count.
“Quality was never the goal,” he thought with a resigning yawn, the only act of rebellion he could muster at the moment. He'd had thoughts. Violent fantasies, sometimes, where he'd be face to face with a some smug man in Brooks Brothers shirtsleeves, with a little button that said “CEO” on it. Just as the man turned to explain Leo's “authentic work” to his gawking, similarly-attired friends, he'd have trouble finding the words. Because his head had been severed from his neck and his face would be sliding down Leo's gullet.
Leo shuddered at this act of wish fulfillment, frustrated as much with its lack of originality as its pointlessness. Tony, an old grouch of an acquaintance, had mumbled this fantasy for years. “Fucking authentic? I'll give you something authentic!!” Everyone thought it was funny, if a little tasteless. Until the day he actually went through with it.
God, the blood was everywhere. On the ground, on the wriggling body of the CEO, on Tony, who, it must be said, looked more satisfied than Leo had ever seen him. The screams seemed to go on forever, most annoyingly from people who were much to far away too have been materially affected or even seen the event. The whole place was shut down for a week. Everyone was interrogated and “goal-aligned”. Tony was never seen again. But within six months things were right back to where they had been, complete with a new CEO in Brooks Brothers shirtsleeves, who, understandably was more of a delegator in his particular management style than his predecessor had been.
The thunder of rails came overhead. Leo suddenly felt a pang of hunger. He sniffed around his dark room for some morsel, anything. The hunger started to quake in his belly. It drove him to the exit and into the daylight outside where, atop his reserved spot, a meal had been placed as if by magic. It was the same thing, as always, but so meticulously arranged. “Presentation is everything for these fucking people,” Leo thought, as he lumbered over.
Leo took his perch and chewed into the first bits of flesh, immediately basking in the massage they gave to his digestive system.
“Mom, it's the King of Jungle! He's an apex predator!” Leo heard a fascinated eight-year-old exclaim. Leo marveled at the modern education system, which seemed to have drilled “apex predator” into every single eight-year-old's head. The boy watched for a moment. Leo ignored him and chomped another big serving of flesh.
The boy's attention waned. “Where's the petting zoo?”
“Hold on for a second, Michael. Maybe he'll give us a roar,” his mother said.
Leo yawned and continued to eat.
Alex Kipp writes funny things, some for performance, some for print, some for social. He works in the Big Apple (the Manhattan you've probably been to). He's from the Little Apple (the Manhattan you've never heard of). He lives in Brooklyn, like every other smart-ass from Kansas who thinks he's hot sh*t. Alex wrote a mockumentary pilot about an idiot running for Mayor that won some awards, called "Man of the People". He wrote a short story about a terrible place to work called, "Better! Faster!" which recently placed as a finalist in the Roadmap Write Start Competition. He wrote a short comedy screenplay called "Options" about a man and his double, which was a Blue Cat semi-finalist. Alex used to be a Clown (theatre-type, not the f***ing birthday-type). Now he does ethics for money. More than once, he has been in a promising local band. His portfolio can be seen here: www.alex-kipp.com