Jacob
Jacob sat at his cramped desk cubicle on a regular Tuesday afternoon. He stared deeply into his monitor, not to observe its contents but rather to appear so to peering eyes. His hands were suspended slightly above his keyboard, fingers bent. Any of his co-workers would assume he was getting ready to type out his next balance sheet.
He was an accountant at a large firm in the eye of the storm that was the city. His office was on the 47th floor of Thompson Estate’s tallest skyscraper. Desks lined the inner workings of the building, with a skyline of dividers and computer screens. Pencils, papers and coffee stains littered Jacob’s desk as if he were a mouse sifting through a trash can. It’s not that he was messy, rather he didn’t need paper nor pencils; hence they piled up. He raised his eyes, peeking out through the large glass pane that served as the wall. In his prestigious position, Jacob was able to pry through to the scorched blue mountains in the distance, spot workers on the sidewalks as if a swarm of bees, cars rushing to collect their kids, and the occasional flock of pigeons that moved as milk through his field of vision. I could be working, Jacob thought; but he wasn’t, and he didn’t.
Jacob was the type of man to be so absorbed in his train of thought that nothing else mattered because nothing else could be heard, seen, or felt. As he sat upright in his hard and creaky chair, he focused on the simplicity of the events around him; wax in hair, itching pants, and gusts from the air con blowing onto his chest that caused a steady rhythm of rocking back and forth. It consumed all thought. He wasn’t meditating, rather so absorbed in his self-consciousness that he couldn’t think about his work, despite him knowing he should be.
Jacob’s thoughts trailed off, darting from memory to unrelenting inquisitions faster than he could keep up. Fancy that, not being able to keep up with your imagination, how ironic. He began to think about the café a block or two down from his office. He walked past it twice a day, once on the way to work and once on the way back. There was something about that café that appealed to him. It had a strange way of sticking in his thoughts.
The café flourished large glass panes that covered the entire wall, much like the ones in Jacob’s office. It had a black interior with wooden slats for flooring. Modern and industrial, but most importantly: quiet. Jacob loathed packed cafes or ones that tried to emanate their persona. He was a fan of simplicity. The café was run by a young lady, likely in her thirties, only a little older than Jacob. There were times Jacob would walk past and she’d be entertaining her kids, of which she had two. Other times she would be behind the counter punching numbers into the cash register, or wiping filth from the counter.
For one reason or another, Jacob had become infatuated with the lady running the café. Not due to attraction, but out of jealousy for the seemingly simple life she leads. Jacob was content that he had walked past this café so frequently over the many years he’d held this job that he now knew more about this lady’s life than he did about most people he had actually met. Jacob could remember the day she bought a car, a new coffee machine, a new action figure for her little boy that she kept secret by hiding it behind a wine bottle on the top shelf. His knowledge of this lady’s life wasn't necessarily done through obsession, as he never once stopped to admire, he only caught glimpses pieces of information as he strode by. He always reassured himself of that.
“Jacob?” a feminine voice spoke, sounding sharp yet disconnected as it brought Jacob out of his thoughts. His expressionless face didn’t change as he locked eyes with the lady. It was Carrie, the receptionist. She wore a white long-sleeve shirt tucked into a faded red skirt. Her arms were folded on top of each other as she slumped on one of Jacob’s cubicle dividers. “What are you thinking about?” she added. Jacob contemplated how he should respond, staring blankly at her for many seconds before replying.
“Nothing,” he settled on.
“Huh, you looked like you were very deep in thought, that's all.”
“I was.” Jacob decided it was time to get back to work, hoping Carrie would catch on to his intention, which she did. As time passed after Jacob’s shift had ended, he contemplated leaving but sat for a moment longer.
On his way back home, he felt a surge of hunger pains in his abdomen. Encroaching on the café of his obsession, he found himself walking towards and not around. He stood in the doorway looking in. It’s smaller than I imagined. A blank voice broke his contemplation, “Hello, how are you, what can I get you?” The line was rehearsed, almost as if played from a recorder with no tone of caring or hospitality.
“Fine, a double-double please.” Despite her apparent disinterest, he knew he had her undivided attention. “How’s traffic been?” How’s traffic been? What a stupid way to pose that. She raised her head, Jacob was the first customer to ask her an honest question and continued to do so. As she described aspects of her life to Jacob, he dwelled on her words, slumping with boredom over his coffee. He watched the froth swirl around in the milk as her words did in his mind. He realised now; his visions of her had been trampled as she revealed herself to be just another soulless husk in the swarm of city insects. The next day at work it struck him; I hadn’t looked into the café today.
Jacob sat at his cramped desk cubicle on a regular Tuesday afternoon. He stared deeply into his monitor, not to observe its contents but rather to appear so to peering eyes. His hands were suspended slightly above his keyboard, fingers bent. Any of his co-workers would assume he was getting ready to type out his next balance sheet.
He was an accountant at a large firm in the eye of the storm that was the city. His office was on the 47th floor of Thompson Estate’s tallest skyscraper. Desks lined the inner workings of the building, with a skyline of dividers and computer screens. Pencils, papers and coffee stains littered Jacob’s desk as if he were a mouse sifting through a trash can. It’s not that he was messy, rather he didn’t need paper nor pencils; hence they piled up. He raised his eyes, peeking out through the large glass pane that served as the wall. In his prestigious position, Jacob was able to pry through to the scorched blue mountains in the distance, spot workers on the sidewalks as if a swarm of bees, cars rushing to collect their kids, and the occasional flock of pigeons that moved as milk through his field of vision. I could be working, Jacob thought; but he wasn’t, and he didn’t.
Jacob was the type of man to be so absorbed in his train of thought that nothing else mattered because nothing else could be heard, seen, or felt. As he sat upright in his hard and creaky chair, he focused on the simplicity of the events around him; wax in hair, itching pants, and gusts from the air con blowing onto his chest that caused a steady rhythm of rocking back and forth. It consumed all thought. He wasn’t meditating, rather so absorbed in his self-consciousness that he couldn’t think about his work, despite him knowing he should be.
Jacob’s thoughts trailed off, darting from memory to unrelenting inquisitions faster than he could keep up. Fancy that, not being able to keep up with your imagination, how ironic. He began to think about the café a block or two down from his office. He walked past it twice a day, once on the way to work and once on the way back. There was something about that café that appealed to him. It had a strange way of sticking in his thoughts.
The café flourished large glass panes that covered the entire wall, much like the ones in Jacob’s office. It had a black interior with wooden slats for flooring. Modern and industrial, but most importantly: quiet. Jacob loathed packed cafes or ones that tried to emanate their persona. He was a fan of simplicity. The café was run by a young lady, likely in her thirties, only a little older than Jacob. There were times Jacob would walk past and she’d be entertaining her kids, of which she had two. Other times she would be behind the counter punching numbers into the cash register, or wiping filth from the counter.
For one reason or another, Jacob had become infatuated with the lady running the café. Not due to attraction, but out of jealousy for the seemingly simple life she leads. Jacob was content that he had walked past this café so frequently over the many years he’d held this job that he now knew more about this lady’s life than he did about most people he had actually met. Jacob could remember the day she bought a car, a new coffee machine, a new action figure for her little boy that she kept secret by hiding it behind a wine bottle on the top shelf. His knowledge of this lady’s life wasn't necessarily done through obsession, as he never once stopped to admire, he only caught glimpses pieces of information as he strode by. He always reassured himself of that.
“Jacob?” a feminine voice spoke, sounding sharp yet disconnected as it brought Jacob out of his thoughts. His expressionless face didn’t change as he locked eyes with the lady. It was Carrie, the receptionist. She wore a white long-sleeve shirt tucked into a faded red skirt. Her arms were folded on top of each other as she slumped on one of Jacob’s cubicle dividers. “What are you thinking about?” she added. Jacob contemplated how he should respond, staring blankly at her for many seconds before replying.
“Nothing,” he settled on.
“Huh, you looked like you were very deep in thought, that's all.”
“I was.” Jacob decided it was time to get back to work, hoping Carrie would catch on to his intention, which she did. As time passed after Jacob’s shift had ended, he contemplated leaving but sat for a moment longer.
On his way back home, he felt a surge of hunger pains in his abdomen. Encroaching on the café of his obsession, he found himself walking towards and not around. He stood in the doorway looking in. It’s smaller than I imagined. A blank voice broke his contemplation, “Hello, how are you, what can I get you?” The line was rehearsed, almost as if played from a recorder with no tone of caring or hospitality.
“Fine, a double-double please.” Despite her apparent disinterest, he knew he had her undivided attention. “How’s traffic been?” How’s traffic been? What a stupid way to pose that. She raised her head, Jacob was the first customer to ask her an honest question and continued to do so. As she described aspects of her life to Jacob, he dwelled on her words, slumping with boredom over his coffee. He watched the froth swirl around in the milk as her words did in his mind. He realised now; his visions of her had been trampled as she revealed herself to be just another soulless husk in the swarm of city insects. The next day at work it struck him; I hadn’t looked into the café today.
