• Bryce McEfee

Last Week’s Memoir #2


Art by Paul Rios


Editor’s Note: The Last Week’s Memoir series is a collaborative story written by Jake Corbin, Bryce McEfee and Paul Rios. View previous LWM Serial No.1 entries to read the story from the beginning.

Andy parked. He paused for a brief second. Disengaged eyes stared back at him through his rear view mirror. After a deep sigh and a non-convincing, “Ok, let’s get this over with,” fell from his lips, Andy pulled himself out of his car. The walk from his car to the warehouse door seemed longer than his morning commute.


Once inside the concrete tilt-up box shaped building, Andy walked past the rows and rows of empty mattresses straight toward the break room. Not bothering to glance up and display any sort of the usual workplace greeting niceties to his fellow workers. He punched in his time disc, 6:00 AM, and headed over to the only machine he called friend and grabbed his second cup of caffeine enthusiasm. He raised his cup in thanks to his metallic companion. With each warm liquid caress of his lips, life seemed to gradually creep throughout his extremities.


Time to do some work.


Andy sat in the back of the stockroom, slouched in his chair, throwing darts at the wall with no particular target. Mattress sales weren’t where they used to be. There was a sale here or there and Andy would throw a mattress onto his dolly to be glided over to the awaiting delivery truck, but most days it was Andy’s routine to sit and wait. Every once and a while he would be told to rearrange the stockroom. The purpose for doing so not known by Andy, but he did what he was told. A machine could do his job and Andy knew it, but apparently some people still relied on good ol’ human power.


After about an hour of puttering around, Andy tipped his Styrofoam chalice, releasing its final drop of comfort. On pace to reach his usual daily quota of coffee grounds drowned, Andy’s compulsion ushered him out of his seat, heading him toward the break room for his third cup. On route to fulfill his Styrofoam chalice’s destiny, Andy was sidetracked by the ever so ear piercing scratch of his boss’s voice.


“Fiscus. Get in here.”


Andy reluctantly obeyed. Denying his inner crutch was never a good idea, but he didn’t have a choice.


“Rolu is out of commission, Larry needs your help with deliveries today. Understand? Good. Now get out of my office.”

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