Psychedelic Summer: Stories by Readers

Every Thursday we'll read stories sent in by DOOM FICTION readers, using the writing prompt from Saturday's newsletter.

“Holy shit, what the fuck’s wrong with your face?”

 “What?”, I say curtly and very obviously annoyed. Sarah and I aren’t friends. We’re coworkers, acquaintances at best. We sit in bordering cubicles and spend 50 hours a week together, but we aren’t friends, so why she thinks it’s okay to ask, ‘what the fuck’s wrong with my face’ is beyond me. 

“Sorry! I totally did not mean that in a rude way but for real girl, what’s going on? Is that makeup or…?”

“Dude, is what makeup? What are you talking about Sarah?”

“Hold on, I have a mirror here somewhere”. She digs through her large and unnecessary handbag, pulls out a sleek compact mirror and hands it to me. I roll my eyes and take the mirror to see what she’s talking about. Questioning my face, really? I reluctantly open the mirror and bring it to my face.

“What the FUCK? Oh my god, what is that?” I run my fingers along my face where I see two deep cracks extending from my chin to my hairline. Immediately, anxiety takes over and before I can finish my thought, I’m hyperventilating and blurting out obscenities.

“Hey! Hey, calm down. It’s okay. Shh! Come on, let’s go to the Quiet Room”, Sarah says quietly.

I rush to the QR with my chin down, completely disregarding everything and everybody in my route. I’m pretty sure I knocked over a fake plant or two, but I don’t care. I get to the room before Sarah and luckily there isn’t anybody else in there so I lock the door behind me, leaving her in the hallway. 

Normally, I’d be ecstatic to use the QR this early in the day. I usually reserve my twice-weekly thirty minutes for sometime in the early afternoons, to nap or read. It’s a great luxury of progressive corporate life, but like most luxuries, not feasible for all. More often than not, I don’t get to use my reserved time because I’m stuck on a call or in a paperwork time crunch. Managers, however, do relatively nothing and are allowed to reserve the QR every day for up to two hours.

I sit in the most luxurious desk chair I’ve ever seen and without pause, I bring the mirror up to my face. I’m in pure disbelief as I stare at the cracks in my face. What could this be? It doesn’t hurt. I haven’t been in the sun. I’m not using any new face products. I touch my face slowly again and notice the cracks don’t just stop at my hairline. They extend into my hair and down my skull. It’s almost like my skin is peeling off. I look closer and see there’s something underneath my skin.

Suddenly I hear a loud voice say, “good afternoon!” from what sounds like an intercom system. God, isn’t this the quiet room? Dumbfounded, I look around and try to locate a speaker. No success.

“Is it AN-DREE-AH or ON-DRAY-AH? I’d hate to mispronounce!” I start to reply, “it’s ON-DR…”, but I’m quickly cut off by the voice. “Great! Be sure to submit a pronunciation change request to your senior manager with your selection. Moving on! My name is Eugene and I’m the Chief Innovation Officer here at Investment America. I’m sure you know why you’re here. Looks great, by the way! The Adjustment seems to be right on schedule.”

“What are you talking about? Chief Innovation Officer? The Adjustment? Please tell me what the hell is happening! Am I dreaming? Am I dead? Did someone slip me acid or something?”

“No, no. Of course not! Now I will be happy to answer all of your questions, within reason, if you’ll just save them for the end”, Eugene says. 

I’m shook. “Wait, WHAT? You guys, my job, has something to do with this?”

“Well of course Andrea”. Of course my ass! Of course this guy just called me AN-DREE-AH. Of freakin course!

He continues, “surely you must be aware of the experimental adjustment clause at the end of page seventy-five of the employee handbook you were given at the start of your employment.”

I scoff, “oh surely I am. NOT! No, I’m not aware of that clause. This is fucking insane.”

“Thank you for the feedback! Your opinion matters to us. For clarification, that clause allows us to alter your job role, your pay, your physical appearance, and anything else deemed necessary for the company’s success. Now, let’s move on to the first order of business. Congratulations on being chosen to undergo Investment America’s first experimental adjustment! We’re so happy to have you here. Please be advised: the first thing you will experience during The Adjustment is the cracking and peeling of the skin on your face. Well, it won’t just be your face; it will be your whole skull. Upon losing your flesh, you will see your new adjustment. Your head will reveal to be Investment America’s very own human coffee cup!”

This has to be a joke. I’m alone in a room staring at a white wall, listening to someone in an imaginary intercom tell me my head is turning into a cup. Yeah, okay. In what world?

“Human… coffee mug?”, I ask.

“Exactly! As you know, the market has been down for some time now. Investors are selling their shares and we’re dropping assets like flies. I’m assuming you’ve heard of our budget cuts and layoffs?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about the layoffs and budget cuts. What does that have to do with my head turning into a cup for god’s sake?”

Eugene replies from the invisible speaker, “well, the budget cuts trickle all the way down to our day-to-days. Unfortunately, we had to do something about our coffee expenses. You do love Seattle’s Best coffee, don’t you?”

Is this guy serious? Of course I do. It’s my favorite cup of coffee.

“We pride ourselves on free coffee for our employees so we absolutely had to find a solution. That’s where you come in! So, not only do you get to keep your job, you also will have the opportunity to fill your work family’s cup. Ha! Pun intended.

Your new workstation will be in the northwest break room. Your new duties are simple. Your skull with auto-fill with hot, strong, Seattle’s Best coffee. As employees approach you, all you have to do is angle your head just a bit and let yourself pour.”

I feel like I was hit by a ton of bricks. Like I got hit by a bus. Like I’ve fallen off a cliff.

“You can’t do this to me”, I say. “I quit! Stop this ‘adjustment’ shit right now, fix my face, and let me leave, or I’ll sue you. Hell, I’ll kill you. I have a family. I have kids! What happened to work-life balance? I can’t do this!”

“Sure you can!”, he says with the same level of positive enthusiasm. “At Investment America, we believe in our associates’ success. We understand this may impact your work life balance so we’ve taken the liberty of removing your life, so that you only have to worry about work balance! We’ve already notified your family and moved your belongings to your new corporate apartment.”

I choke on salty tears while my heart sinks into a black pit of despair. This isn’t a joke. This is real. I did sign the employment agreement in the back of the handbook. I did, unknowingly, agree to the experimental adjustment clause. There’s nothing I can do now. I take a moment and slow my breath. 

“Corporate apartment? Here in the office?” The words come out shakily, like I’m hanging on for dear life.

“Goodness no! In a very inclusive apartment building. All of their tenants have extraordinary ailments, just like you. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. The Tower.”

I yell, “are you kidding me? The TOWER? The fucking Tower? I can’t live there! I’ll go insane or I’ll die, maybe both!”

“We’re almost out of time for today. Do you have any additional questions?”, he asks.

I say nothing and collapse onto the floor, choking on tears once again.

“Thank you for your time Andrea. Investment America appreciates your dedication and hard work! Oh, and, I’ve heard wonderful things about the salt water pool at The Tower. Enjoy!”

---

Coffee Cup
© Andrea Gonzales, 2023
All rights reserved.

San Antonio, Texas
dmgonzales210@icloud.com
@xriotgrrlreadz