Prairie, Glenn

"Prairie, Glenn"
a short story by Clem Dogg

Glenn Prairie hated his job. He also hated mushrooms, double integrals in calculus, mowing the lawn, dog feces and Hilary Clinton - but most of all he hated his job. Right now, though, it was all he could think about. He stood waiting in a line behind six other people and tried many mind tricks, but no matter what he tried, his thoughts always came back to his job. He agonized over the details that made him so miserable. He had to, they were dominating his conscience.

The man in the front of the line moved off to the side, leaving an opening for the second man who was unusually short, but stood with a great confidence that Glenn both admired and envied.

What was it that bothered him so much? He thought about the people he worked with. There were some for whom he was putting together a proposal. They were very picky people and if he put anything in the proposal without their permission, he would have to do it over. They were very demanding as well. Glenn tried to follow common procedures at work; he tried to use best practices when putting together his proposals, but these people (who all sat in a group together on a floor below him at work) did not care for common procedures or best practices. All they wanted was to have everything their way. Unfortunately, that was exactly what Glenn had to give them.

The short man, now at the front of the line, reached into his back pocket and continued his conversation with the young woman facing him at the front.

Maybe it wasn't the people at work that bothered him. Maybe it was the material. Previously Glenn's job had been fairly straightforward. There was a process with step-by-step instructions explaining exactly what he needed to do. But now his department had changed that process. They were making Glenn implement all new information in his proposals and they were not giving him much help to do it. In fact, there was no training whatsoever for the drastic changes to Glenn's job. He was told to do it differently and was expected to roll with it. So maybe it was the lack support that bothered him most about his job.

Finally the short man finished talking and moved aside like the original man in front. A family of four moved into his spot. Glenn's anticipation shot up as he knew he would be next to speak with the young woman.

Then again, he had worked in environments like his current one before. Once upon a time Glenn's job had no support at all, but he still managed to get the work done well and on time. Perhaps it really was the people that frustrated him so much. Glenn though of one person in particular - his supervisor, or as Glenn called him, "The Micro Manager." His supervisor did leave some things to be desired. For one, he never trusted any of the work that Glenn did. He was constantly questioning Glenn's projects and going over the details to see if there was anything - important or irrelevant - that he could change. Sometimes his supervisor became so perfectionist and obsessive that he would even take projects away from Glenn and do them himself while Glenn sat at his desk and waited. This really irritated Glenn, but the irritation grew when Glenn got scolded for not working while his supervisor put in long hours. What was he supposed to do? His supervisor wouldn't let him work on anything!

Just like the two men before them, the family of four stepped aside. Now it was Glenn's turn. He stepped up and looked the young woman in the eyes. "Will this be for here, or to go?" she asked.

"For here," Glenn answered. Then instinctually he looked up at the menu. There was no reason for this as he already knew what he wanted. He looked back at the young woman and noticed her shirt. It was a collared shirt with three buttons and there was a golden "M" stitched into the burgundy fabric. Glenn focused himself and placed his order. After she gave him his total bill, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Then he grabbed some change from his side pocket and handed most of it to the young woman.

"Thank you," she replied.

Glenn stepped aside and put the excess change back in his pocket. He watched as the workers behind the counter filled his box of French fries and grabbed his pre-made sandwich from under the heat lamps. They set both down on a tray and handed it to Glenn. As he picked up the tray he walked back to the seating area to search for an empty chair. Immediately he found one and set down his tray at the table. Then he sat down next to it and unwrapped his sandwich. While the young woman at the front of the line had been a brief distraction, Glenn's mind was still focused on his job. He thought about the demanding people on the floor below his. He thought about the lack of support for the work he was doing. And he thought very intensely about The Micro Manager. Every one of these things still bothered him.

Glenn sighed and lifted his Quarter Pounder with Cheese® to his mouth and took a bite. Instantly they were gone - the work, the people, the supervisor - all gone. Glenn chewed, swallowed and smiled. Thanks to this burger his job no longer bothered him. Life was good.

About the Bosnians

“About the Bosnians”
A short play by Clem Dogg


SCENE


SPEAKER: I just emailed my pastor. I asked him if our religion is accepting of certain kinds of people.

"We are prejudice against all Eastern Europeans except the Bosnians. We welcome Bosnians with open arms."

So I emailed him back - "Does that mean we hate Greeks?"

Dude took only 9 minutes to respond. I love that guy.

He says “In our lives we are going to meet a lot of people who are different from us. Those people are probably going to hell unless they learn our ways.”

"One quick way to judge whether someone is going to hell is if they have a foreign accent. Southern accents are ok, as well as British and Australian. But any other accent - including New York - is a mark given to those people by Satan."

So I guess that answers my question. Still, though, I wonder why we make an exception for Bosnians.


THE END