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Short Story: The Suit
🕑 Added 2021-01-27 22:59:59 +0000 UTCBefore I became a teacher and realized that kids were way more fun to work with than adults because kids are still willing have pretend lightsaber battles, I spent a a year working HR (in Dublin, which was amazing, but still). A lot of my days were spent being bored out of my mind and chewing on pen tips, so I wrote short stories and poems that I would then save on the work computers under official-looking names.
Although the files were probably immediately deleted by the next user, it amused me to think of my writing being unearthed years later as someone freaked out: "What the hell is this file labeled FudgedProfitMargins_DestroyB4Audit??" (What can I say? I was always a troll.) At my mom's house over the holidays, I unearthed an old flash drive with a few of these ominously-titled stories saved on them.
I figured I'd post some of these works here. The Suit is stylistically very different from most my writing, written when I was still trying to find my voice as an author. But it very much encapsulates how I felt about adulthood right after graduating college (thus, my eventual migration to teaching, where lightsaber battles could still be part of my workday).
The Suit
His alarm goes off every morning at 6 am.
Then at 6:15 am.
And then again at 6:30, 6:40, and finally at 6:45 am, by which time Steven is annoyed enough to crumple out of bed and into the kitchen for coffee.
He doesn’t like coffee and he harbors vague suspicions towards adults who claim to be aficionados of concentrated bitterness, but he drinks it black because that’s the way hardboiled cops take it on his favorite crime shows. Steven is not a cop.
By 7 am, he’s convinced himself that the caffeine has made him alert and he returns to his bedroom to put on The Suit.
It’s an old garment, older than Steven himself, with traditional tailoring and an angled peak lapel that makes him look at least half an inch taller. The fit is stiff and the fabric itches, but he only has the one Suit so he brushes it out and cuts off a few stray threads, and is careful not to get shaving cream or toothpaste on it as he gets ready. He sticks his tongue out at the reflection of his father in the mirror.
7:25, he’s out the door and headed to work. The gray Camry he drives matches the color of The Suit. But in his mind, he commutes to work behind the wheel of a life-size 1982 Red Rider. He doesn’t know if that was ever a real car, but he got the Matchbox car from his uncle when he was younger and drove it around the living room coffee table until the plastic silver engine peeled and the black side pipes snapped off. If he could make money without the Suit, that’s the car he would buy. He’d blast music out of open windows and accelerate at yellow lights.
***
The Suit has a threadbare knee, so Steven routinely takes the elevator up to his office on the third floor. Rick and Dan are already waiting for it on the first floor when Steven arrives.
“Monday,” mutters Rick as a greeting. He takes a sip from his thermostat and winces.
“Monday, Steve,” echoes Dan.
“Morning,” says Steven, looking at the elevator button. It’s already glowing. He clenches his fist in order to resist the urge to push it another dozen times. Dan notices.
“Knee acting up again?”
“Better than yesterday.” Steven shrugs. “No real complaints.”
This is a lie. Steven has hundreds of complaints, and they’re certainly not imaginary ones. The fact that Dan always smells like blue cheese and rubbing alcohol. That Steven has a Camry instead of a Red Rider. Having to go an office every day instead of an arcade. The worn patch on the knee of the Suit.
I was supposed to be able to do whatever I wanted as an adult, Steven thinks as he edges away from Dan on the elevator. No one ever warned me that freedom was cost prohibitive.
No one ever warned him that adults weren't free.
Comments
Jo O'Connor
Thank you! It's nice to know that others have felt this way at some point. It took me a while to get comfortable injecting my personality into my writing. I always tried to be, well, literary when I was younger (writing too comedically got me in trouble with my creative writing professors, and I had a hard time unlearning that). Now, I'm more comfortable with myself and am no longer afraid of letting my sense of humor peek through. Laughter doesn't diminish a work's seriousness, but can enhance it.
Riveringrio
First of all, it’s a relatable one, huh.... 😔 Most of us probably go through this in their 20s, and the feeling is quite dreadful, I’m, however, glad that you found things outside of this regime and you are doing what you love 😌 It’s inspiring to me as a person who writes and as human who wants to do whatever suits me more and not constantly be worried about time flying and life being too mundane. Thank you for sharing it, it gave a feeling of solidarity that is nice to experience time to time! Also I loved seeing the journey of the way you wrote at that point vs now (I like analysing things, my apologies). It’s different but, most importantly, still filled with certain emotions and I do find it very interesting and enjoyable.
Jo O'Connor
If it's any solace, the first half of my twenties was spent being terrified of leaving the house! (I subsequently decided to travel and live everywhere I could once I figured myself out.) My twenties were nontraditional to say the least, but I think that sometimes it's the hard, sucky parts of life that can confirm what we really want and teach us to be fearless about going for it. Just remember: you're a person! (People seriously forget this about themselves, including me who very much wishes sleep wasn't a necessary body function.) Take care of yourself with the same compassion and kindness that you'd give to others. Being healthy and happy isn't selfish or irresponsible, it's essential, and it's as much a gift to those we care about as it is to ourselves 💜
Fish
This is literally my biggest fear. That I'll just be going through the motions and shackled to a job im not interested in. Im working so hard right now so that it doesnt happen but i cant help but feel like im working my twenties away for a shot at a good career in my thirties and so on. I work so hard to get my degree and to get into a good doctoral program that i havent had time to just... be in my twenties. Its always been working towards a goal. But it feels like the work just keeps adding up. Honestly glad you escaped that cycle and are doing what you love now. I hope the same can happen for me.
Jo O'Connor
Working in an office setting was what convinced me to start working with kids. Growing up is hard, but as a teacher you don't really have to 🤭
Niamh
I haven't even worked in an office setting but I've felt this 🥴 also 💚🤍🧡
And you did so perfectly! 🤍
Jo O'Connor
One of the oddest things about becoming an adult is that everyone seems to suddenly expect that you've changed. Especially in an office context, there's very little room for whimsy. I was 23-ish when I wrote this but I still felt like I was 10-years-old inside. Only instead of rejoicing in my ability to stay up past bedtime and write more stories, I was more focused on going to bed early and then waking up for work to pay rent. Adulthood wasn't all the way I'd imagined it to be as a kid. I think a lot of us feel like disappointed children zipping ourselves up in "suits" of adult-ness, and I wanted to encapsulate that feel.
"I was supposed to be able to do whatever I wanted as an adult, Steven thinks as he edges away from Dan on the elevator. No one ever warned me that freedom was cost prohibitive." i felt that 😔
Jo O'Connor
🤝
Jaime Ford
Omg. I do this at my desk job whenever I have free time, but I send my full length stories to my friend. I write them chapter by chapter and send to my friend to read. And when my boss asks me what I'm doing my response is always "Just working on my spreadsheet!" 😁
