Rat Race

Why the fortieth floor? Every morning I wake up at 4:33, brush my teeth, wash my face and get dressed. I walk to my kitchen, and my coffee with two shots of espresso is waiting for me. My mom got me an automated coffee maker for Christmas last year, and it is one of the best gifts I've received. As I head out the door, I look back into the empty apartment, and my face goes flat. I take the subway five stops down to go to work. Looking down the subway aisle, everyone on their phones or staring blankly at the ground makes me sad. BING BING. This is my stop. I head out of the train and take a right to the escalator. Three people jump the turnstile.

No one cares. No one cares what you are doing. If you do something and someone notices, they will forget it in thirty seconds. I tried my hardest in school and got to go to the school of my dreams, Harvard. Everyone was so happy for me, it seemed. Those people that were congratulating me were the ones that ignored me before. After graduating from high school and college, I have not made any true friends. Forty floors up in the elevator, talking with coworkers and chatting about the happy hour after work. For me, happy hour is a time for me to drink for free and try to talk to people who wouldn't speak to me sober. I get up to my little office. It is inside the building, meaning I don't have windows. I would classify it as a closet. I work all day on autopilot. I'm used to doing the same thing every day, so my brain has learned to do it without me being present.

My lunch break comes, and I walk down to the sandwich shop. I'm there at the same time every day. Nowadays, the owner knows when I'm coming in and will have my sandwich ready for me when I get there. I grab my food and head up to the lunch room, fifty people sitting side by side on their phones eating their food. I walk up to the only one not on their phone, and as I walk up, they pull out their phone. Disheartened, I sit down at an empty table and start eating.