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The Individual Who Missed an Appointment

Mark Chrisinger

    Clyde Thomas missed his appointment on Wednesday, the day before Christmas Eve. He told the receptionist that he had a “peculiar squeakiness in the joints, and it’s quite painful and, frankly speaking, embarrassing in public. So, you see, I won’t be able to make it.”
    “In that case,” the receptionist said, “you really might want to come in and have the doctor check it out.”
    “I’m sorry,” Clyde said and hung the phone on its hook.
    Mr. Thomas was a large man who was mostly clean-shaven and slicked his sandy blonde hair back in such a way as to make people think he almost never washed his hair. Otherwise, his appearance was quite neat: collared dress-shirts tucked beneath a belt, sport jackets, the occasional scarf, a dandy cap in the old-fashioned bowler style, etc.. He worked in an office as a customer service agent for a company that provided educational software for adult learners. Mostly he sat at his desk and reassured customers over the phone that what they were doing was correct, but he would also occasionally meet in person with people that were particularly helpless and needed on-the-spot instruction. After work, he either went to the bar with his friends, most of which worked with Clyde at the company, or to his girlfriend Janeva’s place. On the Wednesday before Christmas Eve, Clyde was supposed to see the doctor for a routine checkup. He had taken off work for this specific purpose. However, when the day came, and he put on his coat to leave, it occurred to him that he shouldn’t go, and he called the doctor’s office and cancelled.
    “Today will be a day,” he thought, “for something more amusing.” At this, he left his apartment and walked out into the streets. “Janeva,” he thought. “I will call her, and we shall meet, and it will be a lovely day.” And, thus, as he was taking out his cell-phone, smiling to himself, his employer, Mr. Briggs Johnson, walked by.
    “Clyde?” Briggs said and stepped in front of him.
    Clyde looked up from his cell-phone, and for a moment his smile wavered. “Mr. Briggs!” He shook his hand. “Good to see you.”
    “Are you going to work today.”
    “I have taken off, for an appointment.”
    “Hmm. Yes.” Briggs puffed out a large breath from beneath his gray-and-black mustache. “There is something to be discussed, Clyde.” Briggs shook his head, and he held his arms akimbo.
    “What is it?” Clyde pocketed his phone.
    “It is a matter of employment.” Briggs put his arm on Clyde’s shoulder and began to walk. “You see, it is not an easy time for us, you know. We need to save wherever we can.”
    “Sir, you’re not saying that I’m up for review, are you?”
    “Ha!” Briggs laughed. “No, no. Not you.” He looked askance at Clyde, and then looked slyly ahead. “But there are others I am considering.”
    “And you want my help?”
    “Yes, I want your help in deciding who is worth what, etcetera. You know?”
    “Ah, I see.” Clyde was silent for a moment. “Who exactly do you have in mind?”
    “Shh!” Briggs raised his finger to his lips and looked around. “Quiet. Quiet. We shouldn’t be talking about this in public. I am sorry I brought it up. But you must see me as soon as you are back in.”
    “That won’t be until Monday.”
    “Monday? That won’t do.”
    “Well, you see, I have the day off, and we are not in business Thursday, Friday, and then it’s the weekend.”
    “Right,” Briggs nodded. “Right. There is a problem, then. You see, the layoffs are scheduled to take effect on Monday, so we can’t very well discuss the matter then. I think, Clyde.” Briggs stopped and faced him. “This is a time for you take a little sacrifice for the team. Come in after your appointment, or tonight, whenever you can, today, and we will discuss this matter. If you can’t.” Briggs looked around at people passing by. “Well. Well perhaps we’ll have to reconsider some of our options.”
    “Oh, no, Mr. Briggs. You have my word. I’ll come in as soon as I can. It’s just a check-up I have. It won’t take long.”
    “Right.” Briggs smiled. “That’s what I like to hear.” He slapped Clyde on the back. “I’ll see you soon.” Briggs walked off, and Clyde turned back in the other direction. His phone rang, and he picked it up. “Janeva?”
    “Clyde...we really...there’s...it’s all screwed up...”
    “Janeva. I can’t hear you. Janeva.”
    The line disconnected, and Clyde decided to walk to Janeva’s house, which was about ten blocks down.
    It disturbed him that Mr. Briggs was asking him to help decide who would get laid-off and who would stay. As far as he could tell, any one of his buddies that worked with him at the company would be ideal candidates. But how could he decide? Jamey perhaps deserved it the most: he often took two hour breaks and was known to eat chips while talking to customers. But, then again, he often had good results. Carl had the worst results of the team—that was obvious enough—but he always put his time in and almost never called in sick. It was not a clear matter at all, and the end result would be the termination of one of his friend’s employment. Perhaps he should simply choose by favoritism? But could he really pick between his friends? Maybe he could risk it and not go in. Of course, that would be bad business. He would do better to look out for himself.
     The phone rang.
    “Janeva?”
    “Clyde, you should come over, because me and some friends have the day off, and we got some weed.”
    “Weed?”
    There was a pause. “Yeah. We got some weed.”
    “Well, I was coming over anyway. I have to do some things though. I got to go into work.”
    “Rachel’s friend...and he...they all had this weed.”
    “Hey, I can’t hear you. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
    Clyde shut the phone, and, as he was putting it in his pocket, it rang again.
    “Hey, Janeva.”
    “Clyde, it’s Briggs. I just got a call from Fred. He’s saying the’re about six people calling in sick. We need some people in here, so you get here as soon as you’re done with that appointment.”
    “Right, sir, I’ll be there soon, in fact. It won’t be more than a couple of hours.”
    “Okay, Clyde, thanks a lot. You’re my man.”
    Clyde walked a little faster and turned onto the side street Janeva lived on. The house was an old, drafty Victorian that badly needed a new paint job. In front of the house was a group of girls standing around a car and smoking.
    “Clyde!” Janeva, a slightly plump girl, wearing a black sweatshirt, her dark hair pulled back, left the group and ran up to meet him. “How are you, honey?”
    “I’m fine.” Clyde kissed her cheek. “A party here today?” He nodded at the group of girls.
    “Just a few friends.” She smiled. “Are you going to stay a while?”
    “I don’t know.” He looked down the road. “I got to go into work.”
    “Well you should stay, honey.” She hugged him.
    “Yeah, yeah, well I’ll be here a little while.” He started to walk towards the house.
    “You have to meet my friends. Hey, this is my boyfriend, Clyde.”
    They waved.
    “Hey,” Clyde said. He stood there for a moment, then said, “well, I’m going to get inside. Nice to meet you.” He walked up the steps and into the house, and the strong aroma of weed arose as he opened the door. He walked into the living room to find two guys sitting on the floor smoking weed.
    “Hey, dude,” the one just about to light bowl said. He was dressed in flannel and had long, greasy hair.
    “What’s up, man.” A guy in a brown leather coat and slicked-back black hair stood up and held out his hand. “You Janeva’s boyfriend?”
    “Yeah,” Clyde said and shook his hand.
    “That’s cool.” He looked back at his friend. “You want to take a seat, have a few hits?”
    “Oh.” Clyde looked outside at the group of girls by the car, smoking and laughing, talking excitedly. “Yeah, yeah.” He took off his coat and threw it in a nearby armchair. “I’ll have a few hits.”
    “All right, man. All right.”
    They sat down, and the guy with the long hair gave Clyde the bowl.
    “Thanks man.” He took a hit, exhaled with some effort, then said, “How old are you guys?”
    They laughed.
    “How old are you, man?” said the guy with the long hair.
    “I’m thirty.”
    “Shit, man, you’re old. We’re all like twenty three.”
    Clyde nodded his head. He looked down at his collared shirt and the belt around his thick waist. “I guess you don’t see too many guys dressed like this sitting down to smoke.”
    “Yeah, well, it happens, man.” The guy with the greased hair leaned back on the floor.
    “So,” the long-haired guy said, “what do you do, like office work or something?”
    “Yeah, I work in a cubicle and answer phones.”
    “Shit!” They laughed.
    “Yeah, well,” Clyde smiled. “It’s not so bad, you know. You got to do something.”
    “Yeah, that’s crazy.” The guy with the leather jacket lit the bowl, took a hit, then said, “I know we got to get jobs someday. It sucks.”
    “Yeah, it sucks shit,” the long-haired guy said.
    Clyde laughed. “What do you guys do for money now?”
    “Our parents, dude.”
    “You live at home?” Clyde took the bowl up again.
    “No, they give us money, and we have our own places.”
    “Shit.” Clyde coughed. “That’s crazy.”
    “It is”—the guy in the leather jacket took out a cigarette— “a way of life. We, of course, admit.” He lit the cigarette. “It is a pathetic way of life. But it is, certainly, a way of life.”
    “And you guys are comfortable with it, I see.” Clyde smiled.
    “Hey, man,” the long-haired guy said, “it sucks like anything else, I guess.”
    Clyde laughed. “Yeah, maybe it all just sucks. But what can you do? Not too many people want to kill themselves. Why? I don’t know.” He looked down at the bowl in his hands. “You want this?”
    “No.” The long haired guy raised his hand. “I’m good for now.”
    “You?” He held it out to the other guy.
    “No, man. We’ll save it for later.”
    Clyde put the bowl down on the rug and folded his hands over his belly. He looked out the window again. The girls were puffing at the ends of their cigarettes and stamping them on the ground. “Shit,” he said. “Looks like the girls are coming back.”
    “Yeah, shit,” the guy with the leather jacket said. He leaned forward and grabbed the bowl. “Better watch out, Pete.” He nodded to the other guy as he pocketed the bowl. “You think you have plenty, and then all of the sudden you’ve had two hits and it’s gone.”
    “I know, man.”
    “You guys going to be here long?” Clyde asked.
    “We might be heading out soon.” The guy in the leather jacket stood up, as did Pete the long-haired man.
    The front door opened, and the sound of several loud voices arose.
    Clyde sat on the floor and watched the two guys standing between him and the doorway where the girls were walking in. It occurred to him that, as much as his stoner buddies didn’t want to see their weed diminished, because it would feel, in a sense, like a depletion of essence for no good reason, he did not want to linger and find his day emptied of time.
    “Hello guys!” a girl with pigtails tied with neon ribbons shouted.
    “Hey,” the guy in the leather jacket said. “We were just heading out. Pete’s got to go to a job interview.”
    “A job interview?” the girl said. “What’s the job?”
    “Oh, it’s like, what?, Pete.” He turned to his friend. “Uh, cubicle work, right?”
    “Oh, God!” The girl rolled her eyes. “Well let me tell you something, honey.” She held Pete by both his shoulders. “You don’t want it.” She stared at him for a moment. “Trust me.”
    “Yeah, right.” The guy in the leather jacket slapped his friend on the back. “Well the man’s got to eat.”
    “Yeah.” Clyde sat up. “The man’s got to eat.” He picked up his coat and put it on.
    “Oh, Clyde.” Janeva pushed by the others. “You’re leaving? She stepped up close to him and held him by his coat collar. “We didn’t even get to hang out.”
    “Yeah, well, I got to work.”
    “Oh, come on. Just stay a little.” She stuck out her lower lip and looked at him with wide, begging eyes. “Pleease?”
    Clyde looked at her for a moment, then looked away. “I really can’t,” he said.
    “You have to, Clyde.” She pulled at his collar.
    “I got to go.” He took his collar out of her hands and kissed her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
    “Okay.” She looked down with a sulky expression.
    Clyde touched her shoulder and walked past the others and out the door.
    He took out his cell phone and checked the time. It was not even noon. He had no intention of going in early to work. He needed time to think before his meeting with Briggs.
    “Clyde! Clyde!” Janeva ran out the front door.
    Clyde stopped on the sidewalk. “What is it?”
    “You’re not mad at me, are you?”
    “I have to go to work.”
    “Are you sure you’re not mad at me?”
    “I am not mad.”
    “Okay.” She hugged him. “Good.”
    “I just have to leave.” He kissed her again.
    “Well have a good day, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    “Okay.”
    Clyde continued down the sidewalk, and, as he turned the corner, back on to the main street, he thought, “It is a life of continuous brambles,” and, as he looked across the street and noticed the sign for a Gombo’s Pub and Restaurant, it seemed to him that nothing was better than pleasing oneself in the absence of service to others, and he crossed the street and entered the pub.
    A man with a long mustache and a white collared shirt with flowing sleeves stood behind the counter of the bar. As Clyde first found him, he stared straight ahead, apparently at the bench where customers were supposed to wait, and held his hands in front of him. There were several people eating at the tables beyond the bar, and the place was somewhat noisy. When the man noticed Clyde, his face slowly brightened, as if he were seeing an old friend, and he raised his hand and said, “Enter, sir. Our place of dining is your place of dining.”
    Clyde stepped forward to the bar.
    “A table for one?” The man leaned forward. He raised his eyebrows. “Or drink for ten?”
    Clyde stared at the man.
    “Ha!” He laughed. “Very well, Horace!, Horace!, a table for one!” A young man with an angry expression came out from somewhere beyond the bar. He looked around the room, set his eyes on Clyde, and said, “Just one?”
    “Yes.”
    “Follow me.”
    The restaurant’s dining area was stuffy and somewhat dark. The walls were a soft red, and the tables were sectioned apart by bulky wooden partitions with mirrors on the interior. The waiter lead Clyde to a stall for two and said, “I am Horace, and I will be your waiter. Anything to drink?”
    “How about a Guinness.”
    “Very well.” He handed Clyde a menu and left.

    Within the hour, Clyde had consumed several Guiness and eaten a meal, and it suddenly seemed to him that seeing Mr. Briggs was an excellent idea, and that he would be happy to do it immediately. He left a tip at the table, paid the bill at the bar, and, after the man with the long mustache bowed and said, “A good day to you sir, and happy holidays,” he walked out into the street, carrying his coat and hat in his arms. For a moment he stood there, watching the people go by, and he asked himself who these people were, and what were they doing? In a moment he became cold, and he put on his coat and hat and began to walk towards his place of employment.
    As he was walking into the building, he ran into Carl, a lanky, partially balding fellow who was the all-time low-performer of their group.
    “Hey,” Carl said. “I thought you were off today.”
    “Briggs wanted me to come in. He said a lot of people had called in sick.”
    “Yeah, there’s me and Fred up there, and a few other guys. It’s ridiculous.”
    “So what are you doing? Going to lunch?”
    “No. Briggs said I could leave early. He said business was slow and I might as well take the time to enjoy myself while I can.”
    “Huh. Well I guess I’ll go talk to him anyway.”
    “Right. Good luck. See you around this weekend?”
    “Yeah, I’ll see you around.”
    Clyde walked inside and took the elevator to the fourth floor. The doors opened to a quiet, mostly empty office space. Fred sat in the corner at his desk, on the phone.
    “Hey, Clyde.” Fred waved to him.
    Clyde waved and took off his coat and hat, which he threw on the desk in his cubicle. “Briggs in?” He pointed to Briggs’ office.
    Fred nodded. “Yes, ma’m, that is the administrator only function...”
    Clyde walked across the room and knocked on Briggs’ open door.
    Briggs sat at his desk eating a sandwich. There was an open bottle of diet soda on the desk. “Clyde. Come in.”
    Clyde walked in, closed the door, and sat down in front of the desk.
    “Everyone okay at the doctor’s office?”
    “All is well.” Clyde smiled and nodded his head.
    “Hmm.” Briggs chewed and nodded his head. He placed the sandwich on the desk and took a swig of his diet drink, then put the cap on the bottle and slapped his hands together. “Now, Clyde, let’s talk business.” He leaned forward. “Can you tell me who in your group is the best and worst performer?”
    Clyde leaned forward, thought for a moment, then said, “You mean the best and worst performer?”
    “Best and worst?”
    “Like at the same time.”
    Briggs sat up and looked around the room. “How the hell can you have that?” He leaned forward again, and he took a long breath. “Tell me this, Clyde: Who is worth keeping, and who can we chuck out the window?”
    “Hmm.” Clyde held his chin in his hand and slowly nodded his head. “Right.”
    Who could they chuck out the window?
     “It’s difficult, Mr. Briggs. You see, all these people are my friends.”
    “Ha!” Briggs raised his head and laughed, then leaned closer over the desk. “I don’t care if they’re all your mother’s favorite uncle, Clyde. Let’s just talk in straight facts.”
    “Yes, sir.” Clyde continued to hold his chin in his hand and nod his head. “Facts,” he thought, “look at the facts.” He watched Briggs take another large bite of his sandwich.
    Briggs rolled his eyes and bobbed his head as he chewed. “Take your time,” he said, then cleared his throat and picked up the diet soda.
    “Right. You see, I just need to go back to my desk and get some papers.”
    “Well, go on, man.” Briggs waved him off.
    Clyde stood, nodded to Briggs, and walked out of the office. He picked up his coat and hat at his cubicle and left, and as he stood in the elevator he thought, “Briggs, Clyde: stupid, stupid. Clyde’s friends, Clyde’s girlfriend: stupid, stupid.”
    When he made it down to the street, he went back to Gombo’s Pub and Restaurant. The man with the long mustache was there, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. Clyde walked up to the bar and said, “How about another Guinness?”
    The man shook his head and looked at Clyde, and his expression slowly changed into a smile. “Sir!” he said. “Welcome to our establishment!”

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