Working Stiff

He punched in one night, put his tuna sandwich in the office fridge, wished the day shift guy a good night and settled down to read the paper. He had just finished the comics and Dear Abby and was about to skim the front section, when the buzzer rang. He set down the paper, sighed, took a sip of coffee and logged on to the program. He reviewed the subject's case history, tapped away on the keyboard for a couple of minutes, then returned to his paper. He finished the national news and was deep into the sports section when the phone rang. He picked it up and spoke quietly and gently into it, while his face went through a series of horrible contortions and his long, thin fingers drummed restlessly on the desk.

"Yeah, Mom. Yes. I'll be there. Sunday. I know. No, Cindy and I aren't going out anymore. She said I was too involved with my job. I know, Mom. Mom! I'm not even thirty for--

"Grandchildren. Uh-huh. Yeah, right, Mom. I know. Look, I'm at work here, and the boss--

"Yeah. I love you too, Mom. See you Sunday. Goodbye."

As soon as he hung up, the buzzer rang. He read. He typed. He would do this many times as the night wore on. At three o'clock he ate his tuna sandwich and bought a candy bar from the vending machine. At eight, the day guy came on and he punched out and went home.

While getting ready for bed, he thought of the many people who had died that night. He thought about leaving the business, going into another line of work. Those ads for dental assistant school looked interesting. He drank a glass of milk and got into bed. He fell asleep with the sun shining on his face.

On Sunday, Death went to his mother's house for dinner.