American Dream

Life was routine for Jacob Abrams. In the morning he woke up, ate
breakfast, put on the same Mormon-like clothes, took the train to work,
and eight hours later he was coming home to his overpriced one bedroom
apartment. Having grown up neither rich, nor poor, he led a very
typical life. High school, then college, a steady job ensued and he was
off into the endless void of the blue-collar worker. Three squares a
day and a roof over his head, the American dream.
On this particular day, Jacob woke up with a strange feeling about
him. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and wondered if he wanted to
get out of bed today. Yelling and screaming was coming through the
paper-thin walls; it must be time for breakfast at the Gonzalez
residence. On the street far below cars honked and people cursed at one
another. In the city, it was always the same day, playing over and over
again. Jacob wanted to roll over and never get up again, but he knew
that would be giving up.
A shower and a shave later sent him out the door of his home. Home was
an apartment building in a less than desirable neighborhood of the
city. The smell of the city was always the same too. Concrete, mixed
with dirty air, and a dash of urine; this was the smell of
civilization. Jacob had to take a train eight blocks into the heart of
the city to get to work. He took his usual route with all of the other
urban zombies to the nearest subway station.
Upon arriving at the steps to the 5th street station, Jacob realized
that he had left an hour early. Being a routine type of person Jacob
found this out of place. Out of the door by 8:15 AM, coffee from the
vendor in the subway, stopped by Harry the derelict for spare change,
on the train by 8:25 and off to work he would go. Jacob's CD's and
DVD's sat arranged in alphabetical order, his pantry categorized, and
his clothes hung in the closet according to color. Therefore, to him,
leaving an hour early might just upset the balance of the world.
To compensate for this Jacob decided to walk the eight blocks to work.
Quickly calculating in his head for foot traffic and distance, he
figured he would get there just in time. Then balance will restore and
everything will be back to normal. Jacob took a deep breath, looked at
the mob ahead of him, and set out for the unknown chaos that was the
city.
The city was always daunting to Jacob. Good old dad had set him up
with a job working for a computer firm. One of those jobs that you
never really knew what you were doing, someone just told you to do it.
Update a report, copy that, collate these documents, and get ready to
die. Every minute of his job was torture, but it kept the rain off his
head. Even if Jacob had the choice of any job in the world, he had no
idea what he wanted to do. Ever since mom picked out his first set of
school clothes and after school clothes, this was all he knew. The
endless routine that masqueraded as a life is all Jacob ever knew.
Sometimes when he stopped to think about it, he would begin to grow a
bit depressed. Quickly re-alphabetizing his CD's would bring him to
back to stability, and keep his sanity in check for just another
day.
A few blocks down the road Jacob began to grow a bit apprehensive.
Large crowds, especially one's outside of his usual schedule, never
made him feel comfortable. In fact, people in the city never really
made him feel at ease. Subway travel took Jacob almost six months to
grow relaxed with, and sometimes he still has to run to the bathroom
and vomit when he gets to work. People began bumping into him, brushing
up against his shoulders. Jacob rushed over to the nearest building and
steadied himself, leaning his back against the wall. Human traffic
blurred in front of him as he took a few deep breaths.
Jacob started to feel a bit queasy so he placed his briefcase on the
ground and perched himself on the edge to catch his breath. Staring at
the sea of humans passing him by he wondered how many people saw him
sitting there. People always fascinated Jacob; he loved and hated them
at the same time. Busy with their conference calls, mergers, buying,
selling, and all together important lives. Did anyone notice this
oxford cloth yogi sitting on the sidelines? Deep breaths calmed his
nerves as he watched the menagerie of homo-sapiens pass by. Watching
the endless race before him made Jacob happy for some reason. A
soothing calmness came over him, a feeling of relaxing on the shores of
a nameless beach. For the first time in ages, Jacob mustered a smile
and a small chuckle to himself. Something about this scene brought a
sensation of elation about him, but he could not figure out what it
was. Suddenly his briefcase slipped out from under him and he fell on
the ground in heap.
Jacob shook off his thoughts and his embarrassment realizing that he
needed to get to work. He picked up his briefcase, dusted himself off,
and signaled to make his return onto the freeway of modern living.
Rushing through the scores of stockbrokers, advertising consultants,
and other assorted young republicans Jacob felt invisible. No eye
contact, no pardons, and no humanity showed itself on the streets of
the city. He was walking through a colony of automatons, set forth to
run the world by an unseen creator.
Jacob arrived at work a few minutes late and he cursed himself for
stopping on the street for so long. The balance of his world was off
and now he was late. Fumbling through the front doors, he noticed the
elevator doors closing. He made the universal signal for, "Hold the
elevator" but it met with no response. The doors closed and his
lateness was continuing to grow longer. Pressing the up elevator button
with frantic abandon, he waited for it to arrive again so he could sit
in his eight-hour hell.
The elevator arrived and Jacob dove in and pressed the button for his
floor. Other passengers trickled into the lift as a businessman type
held the door for the latecomers. Jacob's impatience grew as he could
feel himself getting later. What if his boss fired him? What if he
failed to get his work done? What would his dad think of him if he knew
that his son was irresponsible worker? Showing up whenever he wants in
blatant disregard of the rules of the company. Finally, the doors
closed and the lift was on its way up to oblivion.
Sweat beads began to form on Jacob's forehead. Time felt like it was
slowing down as the elevator stopped on every other floor to release
passengers into the wild. Jacob shifted from side to side with the
anxiety of a child waiting for the restroom. At last the door slid open
at his appointed destination.
Jacob stumbled through the lobby and burst into the main office area.
The click clacking of keyboards, the ringing of office phones and the
stench of bad coffee permeated the immense room. Jacob wound his way
through the rat maze of cubicles until he reached his own cell.
Slamming down into his ergonomic rolling chair, he checked his watch,
9:10 AM. A head peeked over his cubicle wall.
"Jake, good morning," it was Mr. Morrowitz. Harry Morrowitz was every
boos that you wish you had had. He was the funny uncle that let you
have a sip of his beer when you were eight. Nice, funny, and
understanding; he definitely did not belong here. "Is everything all
right this morning Jake? You seem a bit tense."
"Sir I'm late I know and I'm sorry. It'll never happen again," Jacob
kept his head aimed at his keyboard.
Mr. Morrowitz checked his watch. "Jake, it's only nine-ten. I don't
think the company is going to come to a grinding halt because, most
likely, you got caught in some unexpected traffic."
"No sir it's not ok. It is our dedication to the company that defines
us sir. Lateness is next to?well next to something bad anyway." Jacob
began looking through the latest stack of memos piled in his
inbox.
"Jake slow down buddy, you are going to give yourself a heart attack,"
Harry took a sip of his coffee. "If it makes you feel better I'll tell
you that if you are late again we will be forced to let you go."
"I won't happen again sir." Jacob began typing away at some code his
memos told him to update. With a confused look, Harry turned and walked
away. Jacob stopped typing when Mr. Morrowitz rounded the corner to the
next set of cubicles.
Jacob thought to himself, who did this guy think he was? He's not my
buddy, not my pal. Just because he took the place of the old boss, Mr.
Fenton, a few weeks ago he thinks he just waltz in here and be
everyone's pal. Mr. Fenton was stern, bold, and rigid. Essentially, he
was a Nazi, and we were his blonde army. Jacob loved to hate him, but
this new guy he couldn't hate. Jacob couldn't find anything about him
to dislike, nothing to despise. Where did this guy come from? What made
Harry J. Morrowitz such a nice person? What was he hiding beneath that
Brooks Brother's shirt and tie?
Jacob quickly dismissed these thoughts and returned to his work. After
all, work was not a place for thinking it was a place for working. The
day came and went with the usual blandness. Jacob loved that about his
job, there were no surprises. He could predict everything, all things
telegraphed and expected. All things except this new guy whom pretended
to be his boss. This actor playing the part of the perfect supervisor
in some primetime sitcom.
Jacob finished his work for the day, returned his desk to perfection,
and made his way to the swipe room to clock out. Back he went, to the
elevator with the other robots returning home to this excuse for a
life. Modern man's existence a perpetual motion of non-living.
On the return trip home, something compelled Jacob to walk again
instead of ride the train. The L train would jettison him across town
and away from the atrocities of the surface world, but for some reason
a stroll down the street seamed more reasonable. Racing along in the
human conveyor belt he almost did not have to walk to maintain a
forward motion. The river of bodies floated him along like a lost
bottle at sea. Jacob enjoyed the ride until an elbow and a shove
beached him onto the sidewalk. He stopped at the same spot as before,
only now the traffic flowed in the opposite direction.
Feelings of nausea crept over him so Jacob decided a seat once again.
Placing his briefcase under him, Jacob faced the spectacle of city life
splayed before him. Faster and faster they moved, ebbing too and fro
with a hypnotic rhythm. Looking at the masses of hopefuls struggling
for a life in such a lifeless void began to make Jacob feel sick. Who
were these people? Was this is it? Eat, work, sleep, mate, and die? Was
this the only life that we had to look forward too? Is this what people
go to college for four years for? To wear monochromatic clothing and go
to a job that has us punching away like robots in some cheesy sci-fi
flick. This was life, this was the American dream taught to us in grade
school.
"Bullshit!" Jacob yelled at no one. Movement stopped for a brief
second as if the DVD of this perpetual movie of life suddenly skipped,
and then everyone resumed. Jacob cracked a smile again, something that
did not happen often on his face. His outburst made them stop, if only
for a moment, but it made them stop. Warm comfort rushed over him at
this feeling of some kind of control over a chaotic world.
Therefore, that is where Jacob sat for the rest of his days. Growing
old on the causeway of American society, Jacob sat perched on his
briefcase. He sat on that sidewalk until the leather of his briefcase
cracked and peeled. Jacob sat until his back grew stiff and his legs
atrophied, all the while exerting his control over the world. Power to
stop the world, if only for a moment, was here in front of him. Never
wanting to abandon this feeling of control, he sat. Jacob owned the
world, one pause at a time until the end of his days.