Early Retirement

Once upon a time there was a man named George Prestons. George's life was very routine. He woke up at 7:45 A.M. every day, took a shower, got dressed, ate Capn' Crunch on Monday, Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays, and Cornflakes on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, did his dishes, drove to his workplace, (he was a telemarketer), got sworn at from 8:45 A.M. to 11:50 A.M., drove home, fed his cat, ate roast beef sandwiches on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, and turkey sandwiches on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. He then drove back to work, got sworn at from 1:20 P.M. to 6:00 P.M., (5:30 on Sundays), drove home, fed his cat, then ate dinner. Dinner was something he liked to draw out of a hat...it was about the only variation he ever had. Wednesdays, on the other hand, were a wild card. He saved this day for lunch dates, business meetings, and overtime at work. He would get in bed at 9:30 P.M., read for half an hour, then sleep.1

George was a medium sized man. He wore thick, square glasses, and kept his brown hair combed back. He wore a suit and tie, a t-shirt on casual Tuesday, (he owned two), and a Rolex wristwatch. George did not like to change his set routine very much. His relatives lived in different states, he had never been married, he'd had one girlfriend in his sophomore year of high-school, and that was all. He didn't have many close friends to speak of. He made changes on big holidays, sometimes even going so far as to buy himself a present on his birthday, or Christmas, possibly. A new tie, maybe. He drove to watch the fireworks in the park downtown on the Fourth of July. He did not enjoy them.2

George had lived like this for over fifteen years. He had come to see life as a never-ending workday. Follow your own self-made guidelines, live quietly, die contently. But one day, this mindset changed.3

He had been sitting on his small, semi-comfortable office chair, talking to a particularly rowdy client. This man seemed to know every combination of swear words that had ever been made. George had heard them all before, and was trying his best to win back this man. He was explaining, between bouts of swearing, the overall quality of his product, when the man said something that clicked in George's mind.4

"Get a life, man!" yelled the client, and hung up.5

George sat at his chair for many hours after that, thinking. Was he really that boring? Was he really living this horrible life?6

Was it too late to salvage it?7

He hadn't thought about anything this much for years. The more he thought about it, the more it became evident that the answer to that last question was no. He kept thinking of the saying "You can't teach an old dog new tricks". Him being the dog. The trick being living.8

So he decided, after much pondering, that he would break his routine.9

He bought a roll of yellow rope from the hardware store. He drove home slowly, pondering again. Pondering everything in his life. He had no happy memories that came to mind easily. He couldn't even remember smiling in the past decade. He tried to smile. It felt fake on his face, on his mouth, his mouth that did nothing but talk to unwilling people who were just trying to live their lives...and eat food. He only ate food that was on his very own, perfectly balanced diet plan. It occurred to him that he hadn't had dessert for nearly as long as he hadn't smiled. He did a u-turn at the florist shop and drove to the grocery store, his face fake-smiling the whole time. He attracted many glances from people in their cars. He grabbed a note-pad from his glove-box and a pen from his back pocket.10

He got a shopping cart out of the cart-return and wheeled into the store. When he wheeled by the birthday cakes, he stopped abruptly.11

He pointed at three different cakes.12

"Havin' a big party?" asked the attractive young lady behind the counter.13

"No," he said, "I'm a telemarketer. We don't get invited to parties. We're too busy ruining lives."14

She laughed. It also occurred to him that he hadn't made anyone laugh for a veeeeeeery long time. He smiled and loaded the cakes into the cart. His first real smile in about ten years. He smiled even more at the thought of it.15

"Miss?" he asked.16

"Yes sir?" she replied.17

"Do you think I'm all that mean?"18

She looked bewildered and amused. "Well just so you know I'm being paid to say this, but you're an OK guy. For a telemarketer." She smiled at him.19

He smiled back. "Thanks. Can I get your name?"20

"Um...Janet. Janet Rosalio. Why?"21

"No reason. Just wanted to add you to my calling list."22

She smiled and waved her cake-cutting knife at him jokingly.23

George smiled. He was enjoying this whole smiling thing. He realized that 'smile' was not just a facial action, that it was more of an emotion, almost a state of being.24

"Seeya later," He said, and, knowing that he would never see her again, he walked away. He found a table in the deli area, and sat down at it slowly. A pimply-faced teenager approached him and asked him if he needed anything.25

"A fork, please," George replied.26

He ate all three cakes very slowly, knowing that they would not be enough to make up for ten years...but they were damn good. He was tempted to go buy a few more, then decided against it. He didn't want to get sick, and he didn't want to raise suspicion with his new friend, the attractive lady behind the counter. His only friend...27

He left the store and drove home, feeling satisfied for about the third time in his entire life. The other two were when he had actually successfully sold a couple of his products. When he arrived home, he picked up his cat Friskywhiskers and set it outside the door. It took one sorrowful look at him before he could close the door on it. He thought he had seen hurt in that look...but he didn't think he would ever see the cat again, either.28

He walked into his dining room. On the ceiling there was a yellow hook that he had used for hanging baskets of flowers. He figured that it would not be high enough, but he wasn't a tall man. He unraveled the rope, measured out the length he wanted, and cut it at the spot he had held with his pair of scissors. He had been in boy scouts as a young boy, and remembered how to make fairly good nooses. He looped on at the end of the rope and tied the other end to the hook. He prayed to God that it held.29

George smiled. He was a man who could appreciate irony.30

All of a sudden he remembered something. He dug into his study, (he never studied anything except human social-psychology books, and he did that before he slept at night), and found two small pieces of paper. With another pen from his back pocket (he had many) he wrote on one piece:31

"George Preston's Will: Everything I own shall be delivered to Janet Rosalio. She works at the Super One. This includes anything financial, other than enough money to pay off any funeral debts or services." He signed it with his swirling and elegant yet professional signature.32

He thought long and hard about what he should write on the next piece. These were the famous last words, and he wanted his to tell people everything about him. About how his life had become one never-ending workday, how his job had been the only thing he had, how much he hated his routine life, his days at work, his waste of a person. He thought for five minutes, then wrote two words.33

He used a stool to heft himself up, then kicked it away when his head was completely in the noose, with the knot tied tight around his neck. He stayed alive for all of twelve seconds, but his vision eventually went black. He remembered going blind at the end. He went blind and of course dumb, but not deaf. He could still hear the cars and voices and things outside, the things that created life, the things he wasn't familiar with at all. He didn't even hear his own chokes, because there were none. He simply died, no pain, no feeling whatsoever. His last thought was this:34

"There's something poetic about this, but for the life of me I just can't figure it out."35

When the cleaning lady walked into his room, she almost thought he was alive. He was smiling brightly and his eyes were closed softly. He looked so...content. Content with the concept of hanging himself. Then she saw the tears of red flowing from his eyes and she knew what had happened.36

After she was done screaming and crying, She forced herself to call the police. They wheeled in and took her home, comforting her along the way. The crime scene investigation team found his two notes. They read the first, and they all shook their heads. They bought donuts from Janet all the time. They knew that she was a total bitch. They put it in a plastic bag with a little '1' taped to it. They looked at the second letter. It haunted them for weeks after, because after they read it they interviewed George's workbuddies and the well-dressed yet shaken men and women all told them how devoted Prestons was to his job. It all made sense, when you thought about it.37

The note said, "I Quit."38