The Cube People by Christian McPherson

motorized scooter with an oxygen tank, plastic tubes up her nose. I have work I want to get done, so I’m annoyed that I have to dodge all these slowpokes. I know they can’t help being old, it’s more that the whole Catch-822 photocopier thing has got me pissed. As I grouch along, I see Phil sitting in one of the salon chairs at First Choice Haircutters. Zoe’s washing his hair. I was just here with Phil only thirty minutes ago having lunch at The Shawarma Pit. He said he was going to stop in quickly and just say hi.
    There seems to be only one girl working at the Copy and Print Centre of the store. Three people are in line ahead of me, including the young couple currently being served. The clerk is with them at a computer monitor looking at a picture of a longhaired orange and white tabby lounging on a sofa. They seem to be manipulating the picture. After five minutes of this, the clerk leaves and attends to a beeping machine. She feeds the machine a bundle of paper, then goes back to the young couple and presents them with different types of paper, which I presume the cat picture will be printed on. I’m about to lose my mind.
    The old guy in front of me, who has a walker and one giant hearing aid, reeks of mothballs and pee. He twists himself around slightly, still leaning on his walker and asks me which bus I’m taking. “Where are you going? What bus?” he yells, little flecks of saliva sprinkling the air.
    â€œI’m just getting some copies made,” I tell him waving my 822 form in the air, hoping he understands.
    â€œKingston?” he yells back.
    â€œNo, copies made.”
    â€œOh, Cobden. I have a niece who lives up in Cobden. I’m going to Montreal.”
    I realize that something is wrong. “This isn’t the bus station,” I yell so he can hopefully hear me.
    The poor old guy looks confused. “Not the line for the bus?” he asks.
    â€œNo, you have to go out the mall and down the street.”
    â€œOh,” he laughs. “I thought this was the line for the bus.”
    I smile at him and nod my head and think, fuck, I never want to be that old.
    He throws it into high gear and takes about two minutes to turn his walker around, then shuffles away. It’ll be a miracle if he ever does make it to the bus station, let alone home.
    After another painstaking ten minutes, the cat people finally finish up and get their print of Gingersnap. Why wouldn’t they go to a photo shop? The lady who’s now in front of me has a large and complicated order. She has a hefty briefcase and she pulls out fifteen small piles of paper. She needs things collated, bound, resized, stapled, etc. Her order takes twenty minutes. The line grows six people deep behind me while I wait. At one point I ask if there is anyone else around to help. The clerk tells me that Joey called in sick today. Super. Joey is probably jerking off at home with his X-Box.
    I would have used one of the several manual printers, which are around me, but Line requires a goddamn receipt. Finally it’s my turn.
    â€œHi, how can I help you?” asks the clerk in her friendliest voice. I must give her credit, she looks tired and overworked, but she’s putting on a valiant show.
    â€œSomething simple for you, I just want this sheet photocopied.”
    â€œJust one copy?”
    â€œNo, make it ten. No wait, make it twenty.”
    â€œTwenty?”
    When the clerk hands me back my sheets, I ask for a receipt. It’s a quarter after one. Unbelievable. I pass by a pet store and see bunnies in the window. I think that Ryan, my character for Hungry Hole , will have to stop by and pick up a few – is that too dark? No, it’s a horror story after all, just the same as my work.
    At First Choice, Phil is now in Zoe’s chair having his hair worked on.
    I go to my desk, stash away my twenty copies of form 822 and then head to Line’s desk. Crazy Larry is staring