City Storm
Raindrops the size of cats hit the windows and sluice down the walls in grey sheets. Margo watches the streets below her as the world seems to be drowning in a biblical deluge. “Um, Boss?” she says. “Don’t you think it might be a good idea to pack up for the day?”
Ned Sandler looks as her as if she has just suggested that they disembowel their best client. His eyebrows rise so high they are hidden in the fringe of his bangs. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “It’s just a small rain shower.”
“But everyone else in the building has already evacuated…”
“We—are not everyone else.”
Margo watches rats, riding floating debris, drift down the curbsides and pass the building out of sight. Why she doesn’t just grab her jacket and umbrella and leave is beyond her. It isn’t as if she actually needs this job. Her husband has been after her to quit and leave Ned Sandler – Creepy McCreeperson – behind for a long time now. But Ned has hinted at a promotion and her vanity has kicked in as she pictures the title VP on her business cards.
Jagged bolts of lightning suddenly fracture the sky, fragmenting it into pieces. Then the lights die. Not just in their building but across the entire city skyline. The emergency lights flicker on and bathe the room in a sickly green light. Her gaze skims around the office: the colour makes everyone look as if they have suddenly come down with a case of Montezuma’s Revenge.
John, Bill, Allan, and Beth hurry to pack their belongings and leave. It is definitely time. But then Ned walks up to her desk and places his hands onto his hips and a scowl onto his face. “And where exactly do you think you are going?” The icy wind of his disapproval crystalize the humid air.
“Um…Boss…no power,” Margo says.
“Since when does a little lack of electricity mean that we have to pack up and leave?” he asks.
Bill shuffles his feet before gaining the courage to speak. “Well…all our work is done on computers. Over the Internet,” he says. “No power means no Internet.”
“Everyone sit back down. Pull out your old fashioned pens and papers and keep working,” Ned orders. “No one will be able to say that Ned Sandler’s shipping company shut down because of a little storm.”
Margo’s gaze is drawn back to the window as more fat dollops of rain sheet the glass. She can no longer see the ground, let alone the rats on their rafts of trash. Black clouds and rain block out the late afternoon sun; darkness descends over the soggy city. She stands up and is about to grab her trench coat and umbrella when Ned calls her.
“Margo can I see you in my office.” It wasn’t a request. He holds the door open for her and when she enters he closes it behind her firmly. With the power off the silence in this small space seems thick with sinister possibilities. “It looks like I will have to let everyone go early today. So I wanted to get the announcement out of the way. I’ve decided that you are going to be the new VP in charge of trucking.”
Once again lightning and thunder rent open the skies. Margo would have felt more satisfaction with Ned’s announcement had she not been concerned about her life. “That’s great, Mr. Sandler. Thank you so much. You won’t regret this. I’ll let everyone know and we can start heading out.” She begins to walk toward the exit.
Behind her she suddenly hears the distinct sound of a zipper being pulled open. “Before you go,” Ned says as she turns to face him. “I thought this would be a good day to start with your new duties.”
***
“What was that thumping in there?” Bill asks.
“Oh nothing. I was just helping Mr. Sandler move some furniture,” Margo says.
The building is deathly quiet after the group has left; only dust mites and an unconscious man with a bleeding nose remain in the empty rooms. When he finally wakes Ned can’t understand what went wrong with his new VP. She seems to have a bit of a temper on rainy days.
Image Credit
“Sydney CBD Rain” by Alexander Kesselaar. flickr.com. Some rights reserved.
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