Theoretically Speaking

One Look

MIKE

Mike had witnessed his fair share of wild shit during his time working at the mall, but this morning in particular had managed to beat a new record. It wasn't even noon yet.

Mike remembered a time when one of his coworkers called 911 when a man had a heart attack in the food court. Mike himself had never made such a call before. He dialed 911 on the landline, leaned against the cinderblock wall, and waited for someone to pick up. It was taking a surprising amount of time for someone to pick up, but at least it gave Mike time to think of what to say. Hey, some guy broke his leg, I think?

Once the line was picked up, it didn't take long to explain the situation. Mike relayed the location and address of the mall, and that was that. He hung up the phone and heaved a sigh. The break room was empty, except for him. He was tempted to take a seat in one of the folding chairs, but he decided against it.

He was probably already on thin ice if there was any chance that his manager noticed his absence in the past forty five minutes, the time in which he spent reading in the bathroom when he should've been doing his job.

Mike wasn't exactly the type to strive for employee of the month. His approach towards work had always been to simply match his performance to his paycheck. You know what they say, you get what you paid for. Today was the only exception to his usual mentality. This wasn't just another kid throwing up on the escalator, or another man having a heart attack in the food court. There had been an active shooter, one who could've killed hundreds if he had gotten his way. For once, Mike felt guilty for not doing the bare minimum.

Luckily, there hadn't been too much damage, at least from what he could tell. You know, besides that one guy who fucked up his leg pretty bad. Mike exited the break room and looked to the stairs. Sure enough, he was still there. It's not like he could've left that easily. Beyond calling for help, Mike wasn't much use, but he figured it was best to at least try and show a little concern.

"How are you holding up?" He hoped his question came out sounding more genuine than it did in his head, but the man didn't seem to care, and for obvious reasons.

"Fine," the man responded in a voice that did not sound fine in any way whatsoever.

"The paramedics are on the way."

"Great."

It probably wasn't a good sign that he was only responding with one syllable at a time. Mike looked around in search of anyone who could possibly be more qualified to deal with this.

Mike wasn't paying attention when the man said something. Mike turned his head and looked at him with a lifted brow. "Hm?

"The bench."

It was hard to tell if the man was annoyed or just tired, but it was probably both. His hand trembled as he pointed to a set of benches near the bathroom, not too far from where Mike stood.

Mike, once again, looked around for anyone else who would be willing to step in. Did he feel like kind of an asshole for not wanting to bridal carry a stranger? Yes. But in Mike's defense, it was clear that the stranger in question wasn't entirely keen on the idea either. Lucky for the stranger, guilt quickly outweighed Mike's pride.

Mike wanted to move quickly to get it over with, but sooner realized that sudden movements weren't the best idea for dealing with a broken limb. They both averted their eyes to literally any other direction than each other, especially once the man had to wrap both arms around Mike's shoulders to steady himself, and even more so when Mike had to carefully lift the broken leg to keep it aligned with the length of the bench.