(Not Quite) An Autobiography

Tuesday

The morning had gone fast. The phone rang every five minutes, emails kept piling up and Henry had felt like the more he worked, the less he was getting anything done. For every item crossed off of his to-do-list, he had to add two more. But at twelve zero zero sharp, the reminder popped up on his computer screen:

Time to sweat, you lazy fat ass!

Henry sighed and leaned back in his chair. He would never have believed it before, but the prospect of going for a run was actually a relief. He turned off his PC and grabbed the bag at his feet. On a vague "later" to anyone within earshot, he made his way through the still buzzing openspace, reached the staircase and hurtled down the three floors to the lobby. Henry crossed the vast modern emptiness, every squeaky step of his leather shoes resonating until the reception desk.

The woman sitting behind it was on the phone. Henry waited politely but kept his eyes on her, trying to imply he had no time to lose. She was more a girl than a woman. A kid even. How old could she be? The term "barely legal" came to his mind and brought a smile to his face. She saw it and smiled in return, flashing shiny braces. Tough luck! Whatever her real age, she just went from porn material to James Bond villain. Henry smile widened.

When she hung up, Henry asked about the lengendary locker room his most sporty co-workers guaranteed the existance of. He tried to look casual but felt like a fraud not knowing about it. But the clerk said sure, stood up, led him to a corridor and directed him to the right door with only one expression visible on her face: boredom.

Far from the clean, cold and functional space he had imagined, the locker room was barely lighted, hot as a sauna, and smelling like wet towels forgotten too long in a plastic bag. When Henry's eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he saw the row of lockers against the wall. But all were sealed by heavy padlocks and all had a tag with a name. The locker room was not meant for all employees at all, only for the janitors. Henry swore between his teeth and was about to go back to his desk and pout, when he noticed the pile of clothes on top of the lockers. Apparently, meant for them or not, people were using the room anyway. Why not him, then?

Henry started to strip when he realized anyone could enter the room and that he had no idea if the place was reserved for men only. Not taking any chance of being seen half naked at work, he grabbed all his belongings and confined himself in a shower stall. Yet, the word "confine" didn't do justice to the cubicle. It was stupidly huge. A five people orgy could happen here quite comfortably.

Henry changed quickly, shoved his civilian clothes in his bag and stepped out of the stall. Should he leave his stuff here, like others did, trusting that no one would ever come help himself? He had his watch, his wallet and his phone in his bag. No way! So, he left the over-heated room, crossed the lobby again, climbed the stairs, walked to his desk... And felt all the looks on his outfit, his bare legs and his flabby belly tightly hugged in the spandex. Henry's face was on fire.

To start running was a relief indeed.

*

The neighborhood was dull and metropolitan as hell, but a small park, beautiful and tree-planted, was nearby. However, after thirty minutes running around it, Henry was bored to death. He needed to invest and get one of these gunstraps to run with his phone and listen to music instead of his heavy and short breath.

*

When he got back to his office, he was drenched with his own sweat and glowing red, but he felt good. At the threshold of death but proud. The receptionist smiled at him and Henry didn't care if it was genuine or mocking. The openspace had been almost deserted and he ran into no one until he got a hold of his bag again. There, he heard Johana's voice:

"Ran well?"

Apparently the fight from the eve was forgotten. A bit too soon for Henry's taste. He sighed silently before answering:

"Yeah, not too bad for a cripple..."

Ugly Fat Colleague laughed too hard and as Henry walked away, she said:

"In any case, you should do it more often. The outfit suits you!"

Henry kept walking, fled without any comment, a disgusted grimace on his face. He would do that more often for sure. But from now on, he would leave his bag in the locker room.