Past Stories

Annie Dillard Narrative

This story is one in which I had to write for school. It was a continuation of a story told by baseball player Annie Dillard. The original story told how she would play in the snow with the neighborhood boys.
If you want to read the story, I'm sure you can find it online somewhere.

WARNING: None.

“Is this Mr. Covey? This is his supervisor,” the voice on the other end of the landline inquired in a dull tone of voice. The sun was just barely shining into my room through my blinds, and my three-year-old boxer, Riley, wasn’t even up and barking. My job usually started at around eight, or so, so I was prone to waking up at about five-thirty. At the time, I lived in a small townhouse that bordered this tiny, suburban neighborhood that I drove around when I went to work.

I was standing in front of my full-length mirror as I began to fix my tie for the day. I had to hold the phone in the crook of my neck so I could still use it while I got ready. Fiddling with the tie, I verified, “Oh, hello, Mr. Clyde. This is him.”

My supervisor on the line cleared his throat before saying, almost robotically, “It is your turn to take the long shift tonight, after work.”

I stopped messing with my tie and held the phone with one hand while my other one was on my hip. This puzzled me since I had done the long shift Christmas Eve (which was not that long ago, maybe a week), and I had come in early the day after Christmas.

“I’m sorry, Sir? Tonight?” I checked to clarify if he was serious or not. Mr. Clyde did not typically joke around like that. He knew how important shifts were. Well, at least I thought he did…

He replied with the same stoic tone, “Yes, Mr. Covey. Tonight, after work.”

He did not seem to be kidding, so I began to run my hand through my hair, trying to keep my composure. I sighed a bit, but not too much for me to seem disrespectful, “Mr. Clyde. I did the night shift on Christmas Eve. I missed my family’s Christmas party for that. I also came in early the day after Christmas. I shouldn’t have another long shift day until after the first of next year.”

Mr. Clyde didn’t change his attitude, “Just do your job, Covey, and don’t question what I tell you to do. That’s not your job.” He ended the phone call there.

              The dial tone rang, so I slammed the phone back onto the phone jack and sat down on my bed. My dog, apparently, felt this so she started to stretch out next to me. I tried to stay positive as I pat her, but my mind was still comprehending the news I just received. I was exhausted and frustrated, and I really did not feel like pulling an all-nighter doing something that I was supposed to never do again.

              I guess since it was the holidays, people needed more deliveries of windshields, and we didn’t have enough warehouse workers to get to them all. So, all the work was piled onto the underpaid temp, Lucas Covey. I doubted my supervisor even knew my full name. I wasn’t even supposed to get in the delivery vans since I worked as a temporary worker in the offices. Still, even they treat me like I’m a receptionist, or lower.

              I just had to make it to the end of the year so that they’d give me an “end-of-the-year bonus check”, which was probably just my regular commission plus twenty percent. Ah, the life of a junior salesman.

              After complaining to my dog for about ten minutes, I finished getting ready. Though, it wasn’t a pleasant preparation for the day that was coming my way. I probably sighed about a hundred times in the small period between getting my clothes on and eating breakfast. I remembered thinking my dad was just being lazy and a grouch whenever he would be like this every morning before work. Now I just feel jealous that he was sitting comfortably in his retirement with Mom.