Just Another Day

subway station. Had she not been so wrapped up in the mundanity of her
life, Charlotte may have noticed the appreciating glances of quite a few of
the men on her train, and a couple of the ladies as well. But her downcast
expression would not serve her well and she left the train and entered her
workplace unaware of these fleeting glances directed toward her.

Her job did nothing to help Charlotte’s self image either. “Pushing
paper” may be a colloquialism, but it described her place in the
secretarial pool well. Paper would come in, Charlotte would put it into tan
folders, and the nervous nineteen-year-old file clerk would pick up the
folders and take them away. She didn’t know what was in the files or where
they went after she matched the little codes up. Ten minutes of break to
use the facilities, and then a new pile of paper. When the kid wheeled
those away, Charlotte went to the cafeteria. One hour (and a peanut butter
sandwich) later it was time for the third pile.

Charlotte finished the last file of the day, and with palatable
relief she made her way over to the time clock and logged out for the
day. Despite how ho-hum her private life was, the tedium of her job was
like a weight lifted from her whenever the green light announcing her
workday was over flashed upon the small black box. Walking out, she noticed
dejectedly that while she was in that soulless glass-and-steel box, it had
rained. As there was still a soft mist in the air, Charlotte hurried to the
station thankful that she’d worn flats today if she was going to forget her
umbrella.

The train ride home was the same as the ride to work, truth be
told, many of the same people were on both trains, unbeknownst to
Charlotte. She left the train and shuffled toward her flat, preparing for
another night of bad TV alone.

As Charlotte was standing on the corner waiting for the light to
cycle and pondering which rerun she’d view tonight, a sporty little red car