BIRTHDAY
Harry. Harry works for a big company, and he dreamed about it his whole life. If it were possible to split Harry’s essence into his desires, to see what he is made of, then it would become obvious that diversity is not his thing. From the moment he was born, he quickly learned to stand and walked steadily toward his goal. It never changed.
- What do you want to be, Harry? — mother tested him thoughtfully.
- Chief. — He answered without thinking, opening his copybook.
- Where are you going to enroll, Harry? — father asked in his youth.
- The Institute of Management.
It was all decided, and since his parents’ job was to guide rather than argue, the decision was never discussed.
Today Harry was far from a youngster, turning 36, and in addition to Friday falling out to be his birthday, today is also a big day because there should be a meeting at five at which he will be promoted. Promotion to Chief Manager.
- Chief of what, honey? — wife asked him.
- Yes — was his answer before he dived back into work, since in his mind a chief can’t be distracted.
Harry found himself daydreaming. His gaze wandered, and a smile appeared on his face. For a while, but no more than five minutes, he allowed himself to be in this state — after all, it was deserved. He glanced around his office. A small place of four walls, a thin window, a door, a desk, two chairs across from it, and a corporate-style painting. Should the Chief have a bigger office or would he stay here? Knock at the door.
- Hey! Coming with us? — A friendly sunny man peeked into the room, breathing life into it. It seems the air itself woke up from sleep and began to move.
- Where?
- Lunch!
Harry looked through him, modestly shaking his head in rejection. He even seemed to add a “thank you,” but it was hardly sincere. Harry wasn’t really close to the idea of spending time outside of work. He reached for the desk drawer.
- Have it with me.
- Right…Enjoy! — The sunny man disappeared down the hallway, taking with him the signs of life.
Harry looked after him, a little puzzled. He hadn’t liked the man at first. The redhead had always not been serious. Not serious enough. He went to lunch every day, left work at exactly the right time, and never stayed late.
At the same time, he occupied the same role as Harry. It was embarrassing. It took time and a lot of effort to come to peace. No anger left, no. After all, who else could have been appointed? The thoughts again, and Harry had to stop them. After all, who else could have been nominated? The mind wandered again, and Harry had to stop it.
- Enough — he thought — Two hours until the meeting, let’s do something useful. But first, I have to get something to eat.
He turned to the desk drawer — empty. Harry opened the adjacent cabinets, but those were reserved for papers, and there was no food there.
- What the…
The other end of the line picked up the phone.
- Honey, did you put my lunch down?
- Hi, honey. No. You said not to.
- Did I?
- Yes, I asked you this morning if you and your coworkers were going out to celebrate at lunch, and you said you were.
- Mmm…- Harry mumbled thoughtfully. — Good. — He was already turning the mobile off when the response from the upbringing made him spit a “thank you” into the phone.
In eight years of working in this place, he had never once gone out to eat. His stomach twisted treacherously with hunger, and Harry had to make a difficult but obvious decision. After checking the mail for emergencies, he took the money and headed for the exit. The weather was sunny, and even in Harry’s busy soul something clicked, and he involuntarily slowed his step.
The street greeted him with noisy stuffiness. Attention shifted, jumping from one abandoned phrase to the next, eyes stumbling. The first few minutes require adaptation, after which consciousness blends into the general flow of hum, settling in at just the right speed, maneuvering to follow his body. It took Harry a couple of minutes to come to his senses and start moving. The fuss was confusing. Was decided to keep a course strictly to the right until the first decent place with food.
After walking through a couple of intersections to avoid wasting time, he decided to call one of the firm’s clients.
- Yes?
- Hello. Aren, this is Harry. I am calling to ask you about yesterday’s letter. Do you have any questions?
- No, Harry, good afternoon, no, we do not have any questions. We have received comments, and I will be able to contact your chief manager later today to discuss terms.
- You can write and call me directly. I will be running the project starting next week.
- What about Rogers? Is he leaving?
- No, he’s staying too. Technically. But you can call me.
- O-okay. I hear you, Harry.
- Look forward to your call.
- Yeah, of course. Next week. I promised today anyway. And now that you’re with us…What about Agreement number five?
Not a bad test, Harry thought.
- We have no such agreement.
- What do you mean? We discussed it a couple of hours ago in correspondence, should be in your mail.
- There must be something wrong with the mail. I’ll check and be sure to reply.
- Yeah, of course, you will. I have to run. Goodbye, Gary.
- Have a good day.
- Your order, sir! — An older waiter with a tired smile holds out a paper bag. — Your order is ready.
Harry nods mechanically, taking the package. There must be some mistake. He checks his mail again — not a single letter from the client.
- Excuse me, I think you took my order — the man in the black jacket hides his impatience behind the dark glasses.
- I beg your pardon?
- My order. — The man points to the paper bag in Harry’s hands.
- I didn’t… Yes, I’m sorry, it must have… — Harry holds out the package. The man rewards him with a polite smile.
Taking a deep breath, Harry steps aside so as not to disturb the visitors of the cafe. There was nothing wrong with Harry’s mail, and some part of his brain understood that perfectly well. He didn’t order, but he mistakenly took someone else’s. Maybe that’s what had happened with the client, too. Maybe he wasn’t being promoted at all? Not on this project? He had done the job flawlessly for years. That was a fact. He was the best worker in the department. There was no doubt about that either. But then why? Logic had stepped aside, unable to withstand moral panic. Thoughts took over the mind and continually flowed one into the other, bringing attention farther and farther from the shores of reality. Harry saw himself, his youth, and college, the work that occupied all his time. There was nothing wrong with wanting to be the best at what he did. There’s nothing wrong with dedication. The only wrong thing is that it doesn’t count.
He must have lost attention, and the crowd picked him up, carried him. Harry only woke up when a waiter touched him on the shoulder. He found himself inside a cozy Chinese restaurant. It distracted him for a moment, just long enough to get his order, and then he was back in his thoughts. The food fell inside slightly chewed, the beauty around remained unnoticed. The second time he was awakened by an attempt to get payment.
- Sure — Harry opened a wallet, checking with the receipt. The time on the slip of paper showed five p.m. He checked his watch. Three-thirty. Questioning everything that was going on, he turned to the waiter.
- Could you tell me what time it is?
- Five o’clock, sir.
Full of mistrust, Harry reached for the phone.
Indifferent glass illuminated the number five. It took a while to understand, then Harry sprang up and ran.
When he got to the office, he looked shabby. He reached for his pass, but the pocket was empty.
- Shit.
He had to empty his pockets more than once before accepting the idea that he didn’t have a pass.
People were coming out of the elevator, not paying any attention to him… The meeting must be over. Or maybe it’s the employees who were not allowed to go in. Harry tried to address one of the groups but got confused, not knowing their names.
- Can I help you? — The receptionist turned to Harry with a cashless soul and an interested expression on her face.
- Yes, very much you can. I must have lost my pass. My name is Harry. I work on the 8th floor and there’s a meeting going on right now that I’m supposed to be in.
- There’s a meeting going on every floor now, it’s the end of the week. — She smiled. — Do you have identification?
- No, I went out for lunch; I didn’t take any ID.
At the word “lunch,” the receptionist looked incredulously at the hand of the clock at half-past six.
- I can’t let you in without papers, sir.
- But I’ve worked here for eight years!
Harry shifted impatiently from foot to foot, trying to suppress the growing anger.
- I’ve been working here a week. Maybe there’s someone who can come down and get you?
- A lifesaving idea! Please dial the eighth floor, Mr. Rogers’ office, the redhead.
- The redhead. All right.
She was taken aback by his helplessness, while Harry couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t believe the day would turn out this ridiculous. Surreal.
- No one answers. They must have left by now. — She hung up indifferently.
- No! They’re in a meeting! In a meeting where I’m supposed to be promoted! — Harry’s voice broke out of the range allowed by propriety.
- I’m sorry. Maybe one of your colleagues could meet you. Call someone.
Confusedly looking through, Harry pulled out his phone. All of his contacts fit on the screen without the need to search. Parents, wife, bank, neighbor, and a couple of childhood friends.
- I don’t have anyone’s numbers…
- And you’ve worked here for eight years?
- Yeah.
- Look, I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. My workday is over.
He was about to explode when the door opened and Rogers’ red head came out of the elevator.
- Rogers! — Harry practically bumped into him at full throttle. — Rogers! Please let me through. I must have lost my pass and missed the meeting.
- Do I know you? — The exhaustion from the run and the smell of sweat did not help to recognize Harry. Rogers was in a hurry to the bar and didn’t want to waste time on beggars at all.
- Harry! You came to see me today, asking for lunch.
- I call everybody to lunch, pal.
The secretary thought that the situation might be unpredictable on Friday nights, and put her finger on the security call button. Rogers hurried to the exit. Harry shouted into his back:
- I never go! Always have it with me in my drawer. My office is right down the hall from the screening room and there was a meeting today at five where I was supposed to be!
Rogers hesitated. The man in the suit didn’t seem to be lying.
- Harry you say? — He turned to him.
- Yes, Harry. My passport, stuff, and papers, all upstairs in the office.
Rogers came back and called the elevator with a pass.
- Show me.
- Thank you.
They were silent. Silently they drove and walked in silence through empty corridors. Harry led him to his office, sat down at his desk, and began to pull out his papers.
- Yes. I remember now. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you right away. So many people here, all wearing the same suits, the same haircuts, and equally tired. — He grinned and then suddenly remembered. — Isn’t it your birthday?
- Yes. How did you know? — Harry wondered.
- So, there was a meeting at five o’clock that night, just for that. It was a birthday party for everybody who had one in May. You weren’t there.
The news hit him hard. All the fatigue of the day rolled over Harry’s shoulders. He leaned back in his chair without a fight, and for the first time in a long time, a smirk broke through his face.
- Party… Great. I thought something fair would finally happen, but no.
Rogers shrugged, not sharing his desire for philosophical support, and was about to leave.
- What did they wish me, at least? — Harry asked afterward.
- Mmm… Let me remember. — Rogers straightened up, folded his arms at his seams, and caricaturedly quoted the management-”We wish you never to give up on your goal and be the leaders of your destiny.” Something like that.
Harry looked at his colleague and felt sad. As sad as it gets, just before it inevitably gets easier, but you don’t know it yet. Here and now — is one of the saddest moments of his life, which years from now will surely be the best, even though it would be hard as hell. Rogers sensed this change and stayed a little longer to ask.
- Harry. Will you come with us for a drink?
- Yes, Harry answered. He packed everything up, closed the office, and never went back there again.
