Autopilot

Her brown eyes peer inquisitively at my fingers as I fumble through some paperwork on my home desk. The clutter, the unopened envelopes, and the pens sprawled all over made me all the more nervous. I try to clean and organize the mess but every time I try to motivate myself to tackle the project, self-doubt and anxiety take over.

At work, my desk was never truly mine. The open space concept was all the craze to improve productivity and eliminate the barrier the doors would impose. On the contrary, I had never felt more isolated and disposable. Since I have begun working this corporate job, employees have entered and left positions as if they were passing through the revolving doors of a department store during the peak of holiday season shopping. These faceless individuals say goodbye via the guise of an email thanking the other faceless individuals for their guidance and companionship and then a week later *poof* the person becomes but a distant memory very quickly. The environment is cold and reaches below freezing temperatures with every blank expression and condescending remarks. When you are easily replaceable, coworkers are never actually your “friend”. To maintain some level of normalcy, I go on walks on my lunch break to feel alive and exchange smiles with strangers also taking breaks from the mundane cycle of working for the man.

In July, things abruptly changed. I cleaned out my desk, or better yet, the desk I had acquired through adverse possession. I took the papers, my black notebook that preserved my thoughts, anguish, and ambitions, and of course, the snack stash. As quickly as the desk became mine, it would pass on to another, perhaps, and I too would become a distant memory.

It is now September and back at my home desk, his golden eyes fixate on mine because he wants me to stop focusing my attention on the stack of papers and instead play with him. They gang up against me. Her brown eyes and his golden eyes stare me down, and I mutter under my breath “fine, you both win.” I make a compromise that only I can understand. I tell them that I will go through the pile on the right side of the desk and then, we can play.

I begin the arduous process of separating the important papers from the advertisements and other forms of trash. One pile for each and another for unopened envelopes that can be important. Since I only see about five unopened envelopes, I decide to open then one-by-one. Credit card pre-approval application. Trash. My W-2 for the year. Important.

As I am opening the third envelope, my brown eyed girl who is no longer patient, shoots me a devious glare. She wants my attention now. She jumps on the pile of with the remaining unopened envelopes and with her paw pushes a mustard-colored envelope to the ground. I guess I will open that one after I play with my kitties.

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The next day, I enter my room, and under my home desk, I spot the mustard-colored envelope that I neglected to open yesterday. I grab it, open it, and to my surprise see a check payable to me for $20,000.

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Where did this come from? Is this a scam? Can I properly endorse this negotiable instrument? Finally, I am presented with a real-life scenario where my Uniform Commercial Code Article 3 knowledge can come in handy. According to the elements of a negotiable instrument, we are good to go. The instrument looks legitimate. Without a second thought, I sign my name on the back of the check to indorse it and immediately claim ownership.

Where to even begin. What do I do with this money? Should I invest it? Should I spend it? Should I just use it as a down payment for a house? The options are endless. I could even invest a portion of it in the stock market and make a long-term investment.

What I really want to do though is buy a converted sprinter van and travel the United States. I want to breathe the air in the different states and watch the sunsets in the others. To climb all the mountains in Colorado and take a swim in all the Great Lakes. To visit every 48 contiguous state and drive over to Alaska with pitstops in Canada’s version of the Rockies. I can experience the world I learned in American History and geography class. I can retrace the steps and visit the significant battlegrounds for the Civil War and American Revolution. This country has so much history to be experienced and lived beyond the pages of a history book. I grab my black notebook and begin to jot down all these hopes and ambitions. Hopefully one day, I will be able to make them a reality.

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Now it is December, and I am back at a new desk in the same corporate job. Nothing has changed. I look at all the desks in the open space area with the unhappy, predictable facial expressions of my coworkers who live monotonous lives. My coworkers continue to act like robots on autopilot eagerly waiting for their next assignment and push themselves until the coffee can no longer generate fuel. Even when they are overworked, they ask for more work as if to see who can handle the rigor and wear the complaints of exhaustion as a badge of honor. Although I am disillusioned by the job, I continue to report to the man and complete my assignments.

My supervisor asked me to work on a project with some computation, so I dig through my desk drawer to find my calculator, but instead I find my black notebook.

It has been months since I have written my thoughts. I stop for a second wanting to open the notebook and continue to fantasize about the world out there when I feel my supervisor tapping me on the shoulder, “what are you doing? I do not see you being productive. The client does not pay us to stare off into space. When will you have the proposal ready?” I stare back and squint my eyes inquisitively ready to give her a vague explanation. However, instead I respond, “I will be right back. I am going to take a bathroom break.” Without hesitation, I scurry to the bathroom with my notebook clenched to my body hoping to find some privacy.

I sit on the toilet and with the barriers of the bathroom stall, I reread pages I have just written about my hopes, dreams, and ambitions in my notebook. In my notebook all these goals and places seem tangible although far-fetched. Everything I want is in there and everything I do not want is beyond the doors of the women’s bathroom of my corporate job. This is not the life I envisioned for myself. No one should have to live this life. Period. What am I waiting for? With my hands cupping my face trying to figure out my next move, I remember the $20,000 check. Bingo.