Stuck at Work

Judy looked at her watch. She could check the time on her computer, but she liked having a watch. For one thing, she could glance at it in meetings while still appearing to be professional. More importantly though, checking a watch took time. Just a couple of seconds, but each second added up when you were waiting for the work day to finish.

She knew that she could use the bathroom at most once every hour and fifteen minutes – any more than that and her supervisor would have a talk with her about inappropriate use of company time. She sighed in frustration – she had twenty more minutes until her next bathroom break.

Pressing both palms to her eyes, she tried not to sigh again. Her fingers drummed against her temples. Her nails were painted black, one of the three colours which the company deemed ‘work appropriate’. They matched her modest black skirt and blouse. She hated her work clothes, but if she dressed as blandly as possible she thought that she could minimise the amount of her personality lost to the job. If she never brough her real self to the office then she couldn’t possibly lose it.

Her role here was to respond to queries made through an online HR helpdesk form. She was one of four People and Culture Professionals in the company who were employed to do this. They weren’t Human Resources Officers – no, that wouldn’t foster an inclusive and synergistic workplace culture. The name for her role changed every six months or so – they had been Human Capital Specialists last year until someone had decided that this sounded dehumanising. Now they were “People and Culture Professionals”.

The actual job part of her job took at most one house every day. It was easy work and paid well. The difficult aspect of it was that she had to pretend to be productive throughout the other seven hours of each workday. If she didn’t, she would be reprimanded by her supervisor. This meant that she spent most of her days looking at an excel spreadsheet full of nonsense numbers and words. And as frequently as she could, she took bathroom breaks.

She used to read news articles – only professional looking ones in the Financial Review or Economist. Eventually though, a memo had been sent out to all employees reminding them that news articles weren’t relevant to their work and shouldn’t be viewed on company time.

Her colleagues always complained about how busy they were, but she knew that they had as little work to do as she did.  She thought they must be afraid that if they admitted how little they had to do that they would lose their jobs. Whenever she mentioned how little work she had, whoever she was talking to would invariably give her a nudge and say, ‘Careful there – if you keep saying that you’ll be loaded up in no time!’

She hadn’t ever stopped saying it and had yet to be loaded up with work.

A year and three months ago, Judy had gotten fed up with having nothing to do and had made the decision to quit. She didn’t even know whether she would be able to get another job – she wasn’t sure if she actually had any skills – but she was so fed up with the monotony of her existence that she was willing to take the risk. She had felt giddy for days in advance, and then had felt an exuberance that she hadn’t know in months when she had given her two weeks’ notice. That exuberance had lasted all of one day. After that, quite unfortunately, they had told her that she was indispensable and offered her a 30% pay rise if she stayed on. There had been no way that she could turn down that much money – she still had debt from university, and she wanted a house and family someday – she wasn’t crazy after all. But now she was making so much money that she couldn’t possibly think of quitting.

Of course, she still fantasised about it. But she couldn’t go beyond the fantasy. And so she sat here each day checking her watch obsessively, waiting for her next bathroom break.

Looking at her watch again she gave a small fist pump. It had no been one hour, fifteen minutes, and forty-six seconds since her last bathroom break. She made sure to take her time straightening out the things on her desk before getting up. Part of the joy in a bathroom break was the ritual of it, the purpose of it. A real master could stretch out an ordinary bathroom break to ten minutes if they took their time getting up, walking slowly to and from the bathroom. You could stay in the cubicle for an innocuous five minutes, and then spend a very full and responsible minute washing your hands.

She smiled at the faces looking up as she walked past. Lit by the bright lights from their computer screens they looked like ghosts.

She made sure to tread purposefully. The trick was to walk slowly enough to eat up time, but not so slowly that you looked intentional about it. She liked to imagine her feet weighted down with lead, each step an effort. She could feel them being sucked into the floor, her leg muscles working hard to pull each foot into the air.

She frowned. Her imagination was too good today – she was walking too slowly. It felt like her feet were actually sticking to the floor. Shaking her head, she tried to take another step. And stopped.

Her foot wasn’t coming up. She lifted with all her might but it wouldn’t move. She looked down and let out a scream.

Her right foot had sunken into the floor up to the ankle. She bent down and grabbed her calf, pulling it upwards with all her strength, but her foot wouldn’t budge.

In a panic, she manoeuvred her left foot in closer, bracing it against the floor beside her right ankle for better leverage. But, as she watched in horror, it also began to sink into the carpeted floor. She screamed again.

By now a few curious people had begun to gather around, looking at her. One man had put on his first-aid officer hat and fluorescent safety vest, and was standing nearby with the green, plastic first-aid kit. But all he was doing was watching.

‘Help me! Don’t just stand there! Fucking help me!’

The crowd of people stood, unmoving. Her eyes were wide with horror. She was struggling with both feet, hands clawing against the floor as she tried to pull herself free. As she kicked she could feel herself sinking further.

She looked down and let out a low groan. Her legs were now submerged to the knee.

She heard a low whistle of amazement and looked up. Todd, the man she hated most in the world, was now standing at the edge of the tight circle that had formed around her. Todd was that rare breed of boring and stupid who seemed to thrive in an office environment. He took joy in bureaucracy, toadied up to supervisors, ratted out co-workers whenever he could, and made god-awful jokes in every meeting he attended. He was the kind of person to hit reply all on a company-wide email. Judy could think of nothing worse in the world than not being able to escape from an encounter with Todd. She let out another groan.

‘Looks like you got off on the wrong foot today, hey Jude? We could say that we’ve found her Achilles heel, couldn’t we everyone?’ He paused, laughing at his own joke. ‘Don’t worry Jude, I’m just pulling your leg.’

People began to edge away from Todd. Some who had decided that the spectacle wasn’t worth putting up with him were returning to their desks. For Judy, panic over her predicament was now fighting with rage at Todd’s insolent demeanour. He always called her Jude and she hated it.

‘Shut. The fuck. Up. This is not the fucking time you half-filled bag of dicks. This is a life-or-death situation, not a fucking joke!’

Her voice was ice. She tried to pull herself out from the floor just so that she could slap his face. At this point she didn’t care about consequences. As far as she could tell her life was over anyway.

Todd took a step back, shocked.

Judy began thrashing on the spot, trying to get towards him. Quickly though, her expression froze. She could feel herself being sucked further into the floor. Obscene slurping sounds came from the ground as it pulled her greedily into itself. She was now free only from the waist up. She went still. She felt like a potted plant. Tears began to stream down her face. There was a dense flutter of conversation around her as people stood and watched.

Cutting through the murmur a clear, calm voice called out, ‘Okay everyone, quit lolling around. We have to do something.’

Judy felt a sliver of hope – it was her supervisor, Michelle. The woman was anal about workplace rules, but Judy had to hand it to her – she could take command of a room like no-one else.

‘Todd could you please get some wet floor signs and caution tape to mark out the ground around Judy – we don’t want anyone tripping over her. Everyone else, please get back to work. You are not being paid to stand around and watch someone lying on the floor.’

People slowly began to disperse, whispering to each other and glancing over their shoulders at Judy. She felt like she was watching life rafts drifting away.

Michelle looked at Judy with distaste.

‘Judy, I’ve had to talk with you a few times about your inappropriate use of company time. Do I even need to say anything now?’

She raised an eyebrow like a disappointed parent.

A vein began to throb in Judy’s forehead. She stared at Michelle.

‘I’m stuck in the fucking ground Michelle! Do you think this was intentional? Do you think that I want to be here? This is a fucking emergency!’

She banged her fists into the ground to emphasise her point. Spittle flew from her mouth, spraying the floor around her.

‘You’re making a fool of yourself Judy. Please at least try to look professional.’

If Judy had been able to move from the ground she would have killed Michelle.

‘I’ve called the fire department – they should be able to help you out of this “predicament”.’ Michelle made air-quotes with her fingers as she ‘predicament’. ‘Until then I expect you to continue working. I’ll bring your laptop over for you. Please try not to make any more of a scene. You’ve wasted enough company time as it is.’

Judy couldn’t believe it. She was in shock. Her jaw had dropped. She was so close to the ground that she though that her chin might actually tough carpet. She had never thought that anyone could have so little humanity. She was numb and uncomprehending as her laptop was deposited in front of her and Todd returned with caution tape and wet floor signs. It was like she was in a parallel universe. She had to constantly look down to check that she really was trapped within the floor. That this was really happening and that this was really how people were responding.

By now everyone else in the office was back at their desk, working. Or at least pretending to. Occasionally someone walked past, strenuously avoiding looking at her on their way to the bathroom of the printer. Her body was wracked by silent sobs. Across the office, she could still see Michelle glaring at her.

On autopilot she opened up her spreadsheet and pretended to work. Tears smudged her face and she felt like throwing up. She hoped that the fire department would take things more seriously than her work colleagues had. That they would at least acknowledge how bizarre of a situation she was in.

By the time the firefighters appeared she had no idea how long she had been trapped in the floor for. For the first time in months, she had not been checking her watch. Instead, her whole being had gone blank. She had been staring at the screen in front of her without really seeing. Even as the firefighters walked towards her she felt that, somehow, she would be denied salvation.

They approached slowly, three men and one woman, each with an incredulous expression on their faces as if they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. For some unknown reason one of them carried a ladder. Another had an axe, and a third carried a rope.

‘Jesus, she really is trapped in the floor.’

One of the men had stopped, hand on his chin, staring at her.

‘Honey, how are you? Are you hurt? Did the floor collapse beneath you?’

This was the woman. It was the first compassionate thing a person had said to her since this had begun. Judy tried to talk but began to cry instead. The firefighters stood clustered together, as if they needed each other’s emotional support.

Eventually, Judy managed to force words out.

‘There wasn’t a hole. The floor sucked me in. I can’t move my legs… It’s like I’m buried in sand.’

Her voice sounded small, like she was a timorous child talking to strangers. She felt ridiculous verbalising what had happened. If she wasn’t still experiencing it first-hand then she probably wouldn’t believe it herself.

‘Right…’ The man with the ladder stepped towards her looking sceptical. ‘Have you tried climbing out of the floor?’

Judy felt her anger rising once more.

‘I’m stuck. I wouldn’t still be here if I wasn’t. This is very embarrassing you know.’

‘Ok, ok.’ The woman stepped between them making placating hand gestures. ‘Maybe we can try pulling her out?’

The firefighters looked at Judy, looked at one another, and then shrugged.

‘Sure. She’ll probably be out in no time.’

The idiot with the ladder spoke in a tone which suggested that Judy was somehow faking the whole thing.

They removed the makeshift barricade that had been set up around Judy and looped the rope they had brought around her.

‘Ok – hold on as tight as you can. We’re going to start pulling on three. One, two, three!’

The firefighters dug their heels into the ground and heaved against the rope, faces straining. It was like an exaggerated performance of tug-of-war. Judy felt as if she was going to be torn in half. But she didn’t move an inch. She may as well have been set into cement.

After a minute or so the firefighters stopped, faces red with effort and embarrassment. Judy began to cry again.

The woman approached her, patting her gently on the shoulder. ‘It’ll be ok, we’ll get you out.’

She didn’t sound sure.

Getting onto her hands and knees she examined the ground around Judy. Fascinated, she brought her face to within an inch of where Judy’s midsection entered the floor. Judy felt self-conscious. If she could have done so, she would have backed away a few steps.

‘It’s like she’s been moulded into the floor. There’s no gap between her and the ground. No signs of damage. Nothing. It’s… weirdly perfect.’

‘We could try the axe maybe? Hack her free?’

The man who had brought the axe seemed a little too keen to use it.

‘It couldn’t hurt. I don’t see that there’s anything else that we could do.’

The woman shrugged.

Smiling, the man hefted the axe and stepped towards Judy.

Don’t you dare!

He froze. Michelle’s voice was like a whip.

‘That floor is company property, and you most certainly do not have permission to damage it.’

Michelle stood, hands on hips, glowering at the firefighters.

‘Look, if you want her out this is the only way we can do it.’

The man crossed his arms, trying to appear indignant despite wilting under Michelle’s gaze.

‘As I said, you do not have permission to damage company property. If that’s the only solution that you are going to propose then we will be exploring other options.’

The firefighters stood dumbfounded.

Michelle flicked her hand dismissively.

‘Please leave now. You can either see yourselves out or I can have security escort you from the building.’

They hesitated, looking at each other. Eventually though, they gave a collective shrug and began to walk away. The woman glanced back at Judy, mouthing ‘Sorry’. The man with the axe was still hefting it in his hands, throwing wistful looks in her direction. Judy wasn’t sure whether to thank or curse Michelle.

‘What are we going to do now, Michelle?’

Judy’s voice was small, her hope gone.

You are going to keep working. I am going to do the same. And then I’m going to go home.’

‘You mean you’re going to just leave me like this?’

Her voice was microscopic.

‘I’ve talked with our lawyers. There’s been no structural damage to the building, so this accident was not attributable to an unsafe working environment or negligence by the company. To be honest, I’m still not sure whether you’re even stuck. Nevertheless, we will expect you to continue working during your scheduled work hours. Outside of that time, it’s up to you what you want to do, noting that we will not tolerate any damage to company property.’

Judy didn’t know what to say. She wanted to fold up into a ball and cry until she was empty of emotion. Instead, she gave an unsteady nod.

‘Could you at least bring me a glass of water?’

Michelle looked down at her for longer than Judy would have liked.

‘Fine.’

After a moment’s hesitation she added, ‘If you want to order food as well, we will allow deliveries to be made provided that they occur between 12.30pm and 1.30pm, or after 5pm.’

She turned on her heel and left.

Judy waited for the glass of water which never came.

*****

Hayden Naar studied creative writing at Monash University. They are a writer and teacher. Their interests include food, cycling, and Latin dance.