Shades

There are 22 employees in this office, including myself. Some are friends; most are not.

We know each other only through soundbites, nothing more. Our perceptions of each other are based on the unreality of working in a human warehouse. We spew generalities and platitudes as we pass each other in the aisles. Occasionally a commonality will bring us together. A birth. A Death. Life events beyond our cubes. Only then are we human. Most times, not so much.

We talk amongst ourselves; at least those who in close proximity to one another do so. Others drift in and out of both the conversations and consciousness. If we are not actively engaged with each other then we don't exist. We subsist only as silhouettes who lurk at the edge of vision, both needing to be acknowledged and yet not caring if we are.

Here we each chase a shallow pursuit made superficially meaningful because of need. The corporation feeds off the worker who feeds himself with monetary reward given in exchange for pieces of their life. It is a parasitical relationship that is only bearable if it is left behind, locked away at the end of the workday; only to be reopened again the next day. Whatever this is, it is not living.

Work is non-existence; it is a limbo to which we are all consigned.

Here we are all shades.