CLANK: A Book of Madness (Psychological Satire Novel) Unsettled Office Worker Loses the Last Screw by Draven Madpen

schadenfreude. It means taking
pleasure in the misfortune of others. Such a mental viewpoint is a terrific
mindset to have in today’s world. In Russia they say it’s better to see a
neighbor lose one million dollars than to acquire a million dollars yourself.
Very wise people they are.
     
    The office is quiet today. Mr.
Cromwell has squirreled himself away in his little cove. I assume it’s because
of yesterday’s calamity He’s a proud man and no doubt waiting for the shame to
fade before greeting familiar faces again. His office door is shut completely.
A rare occurrence. Meanwhile the sleazy associate known as Percy Sullivan is
out gallivanting with a prospective/ client. Some elderly woman entering her
dotage with an ample supply of money, naturally
    I can just picture the
sickening smiles Percy is flashing. And the trite jokes he’s telling. The woman
will find him adoring. She’ll grow bubbly inside and hope to see more of the
clown. If he finds her bank account suitable enough, then a relationship will
be formed. Exorbitant bills will be discussed over candlelit dinners and late night
trysts (which she will pay for, no doubt). She’ll never question a single thing
as her life’s saving dwindles away until there is nothing left. From a legal
standpoint everything is legit. I believe so anyway. They act of their own
volition, voluntarily signing over whatever Percy requests.
    Not my problem. I just make
the appointments and push the papers.
    Todd Storton has walked past
my office window three times today without even so much as a dirty glance in my
direction. Perhaps it’s because of the trick I played on him. Though walking
into a room where you obviously don’t belong isn’t that great of a prank, or
much cause for immense embarrassment. However, doing that while toting several
smut magazines increases the shame to a lovely comical degree. I’d told him to
meet there on break and we could discuss his favorite adult models. What a
fool.
    There isn’t an ounce of
remorse in me. This sad attempt at revenge for his Natasha comment is just the
beginning. Storton has much, much, much more coming to him. Here he waddles
now, walking by the window again. I call out his name and signal for him to
enter. Storton does so hesitantly. He places the four empty water jugs down on
the floor, pulling up a seat without being asked to do so.
    Natasha saunters along on the
other side of the window. I know she’ll be heading to the break room. It’s a
habit of hers. Every day at the exact same time she enters the break room by
herself for five minutes, doing only God knows what in there. I’ve fantasized
over several scenarios.
    “How’s it going, Storton?” I
ask pleasantly.
    He’s eyeing me suspiciously
like I’m about to attack at any second, perhaps spring some kind of trap on
him. My fingers are intertwined, clasped in front of my chest. There’s a
treacherous smile stretched across my face. Mostly just for show. I want to
play with his mind. Make it look like I’m up to no good.
    “Fine,” he says.
    “Good, good. Finished
replacing all the jugs I see.”
    “Yeah, what of it?”
    “Oh, nothing. Just an
observation.”
    Then he pops the question I
knew he’d been dying to ask.
    “Why’d you send me to that
meeting room with my dirty mags?”
    “Ah yeah… About that Storton.”
I let out a sigh and begin bobbling my head with a despairing expression. “I
didn’t know there’d been a meeting scheduled. Dreadfully sorry. Just one of the vicissitudes of fate, I guess.” I threw in the word vicissitudes to
screw with him a bit. Any word beyond a first grader’s comprehension is out of
his range.
    “Right,” he says, nodding his
head knowingly. I can tell he doesn’t have the slightest inkling what I’m
talking about.
    “Say, Storton, you don’t still
have those mags with you?”
    “Actually I do. They’re
downstairs in my truck.”
    What a stroke of luck.
    “Can you bring them up?”