Plastic and Fabric

January 23, 2009
By Kevin Arbi, Corona, CA

Five days into December and Christmas was out of the boxes. Lights, tinsel, and ornaments; you knew there was an occasion. It was a fine day on Lincoln Street when the phone decided to ring. It was Marjorie on the other end telling me that the bank had an opening for a teller. It was now a finer day than usual.

I guess there was a catch to being a teller. You could never be one in your own city. Maybe it was for security reasons or maybe you weren’t allowed such a convenience. The interview was at 9 AM in Riverside. Fay didn’t think that was a problem, so off we were, making our way.

We boarded the ninety-one east, and the ramp was coming at us seventy miles per hour. Fay really loved the thrill of boarding freeways. She loved how I maneuvered my 1983 360i through traffic. She shook and rattled in her maroon dress. The carpool lane was now accepting travelers; I merged. The skies were cloudy and washed with grey. It looked as if it was going to rain. I thought about eighty-five and it seemed reasonable. I did that towards Riverside in my reindeer sweater.

The parking lot had a nice asphalt color. And the lines were white. You couldn’t mess up on parking. The building was real professional too. Sliding frosted doors, and big square windows. I felt a few years ahead. Fay had her smile on, like she usually does. She liked the place.

I got out of the car and there were only two or three other cars in the lot. It was about seventy degrees and the air was moist. I do well in this weather, I thought. I walked up to the modern day citadel and the sliding door let me in. I then realized how dirty I was.I felt as if the furniture in there was smarter than I. It was an open room with a few corridors on the north wall. The furniture was composed of maple stained wood and dark chocolate-colored leather. The light source was unidentifiable. The room just had light and no one knew where it came from. It was immaculate. Rudolph and I just stood and watched the interior exist.

I was scoped out by one of the agents. I think they know who’s new to the place. I went to one of the corridors and I introduced myself. I was being interviewed by a makeshift executive employee. Everyone was clean and spontaneous. Untouched by error; born in a lab maybe. I knew it wasn’t going to work out.

I was asked about my past jobs and if I ever handled money, also, if I knew anything about the financial system. I think I gave the wrong answer. After an hour so, I walked out of the corridor with a hand shake. They said something about not being fit for the job, I wasn’t quite sure; I was busy looking at my surroundings. Who designed this thing?

The sliding door strafed to the left and I walked two hundred years back out to my car. Fay was the same as I left her, plastic cinnamon legs and her silicone smile; kind of like the women of today.

The car started under the grey washed skies. KUSC was playing Tschaikovsky’s fifth, as I set course westward, away from the sliding frosted doors and the big square windows.

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