Sometimes abrasive, sometimes polishing, sometimes challenging, sometimes even sweet. About everything, about nothing, true or heavily fictional. Enjoy reading your weekly dose of sandpaper
Now that the gunpowder fumes have cleared, the emergency workers wake up in their hospital beds and Saskia and Hans have swept their sidewalk clean again, we can start the daily worries of life again.
After wishing his colleagues a happy new year with a beautiful but sincere smile, Frank plops down in his office chair. He suspects that there is still some alcohol in his body, and unfortunately the headache has not diminished after New Year’s Day. But we have to work again, because in 2024 a lot of paper clips have to be sold by Pieter Peper Paperclips BV. Frank rubs his eyes, stretches a bit, and turns on his computer. Shit, forgot to grab coffee. Frank gets up and walks to the coffee machine, a little further away. Erik is standing there talking to Judith. Of course Erik is talking to Judith. Erik is always talking to Judith while he undresses her with his eyes. Frank suspects that those two have already pulled each other apart quite a few times here at the case. He’s not sure, and in fact he doesn’t want to know at all. Erik’s wife might want to know. But Frank has been very successful in avoiding conflict all his life, and he doesn’t want to get burned by this either.
Fortunately, the two lovebirds just walk away from the device. Frank presses the familiar thirty-six keys, and miraculously Frank gets exactly the cappuccino he wants with just enough milk, just enough sugar, and just enough lack of zest for life.
Once back at his desk, Frank starts the endless stream of unread emails, each more boring and mind-numbing than the last. How many people does it take to make a paperclip? Judging from Frank’s mailbox, there are at least three hundred. The headache is starting to irritate him more and more. “Why did I drink so much on New Year’s Eve again?” he wonders. Frank’s thoughts wander. Frank was once a fresh, cheerful, energetic boy. A boy with dreams. Frank wanted to see the world and immerse himself in other cultures. Frank also wanted to get a woman into bed in as many places in the world as possible. (But at Frank’s request, as a narrator, I will not go into this further now)
What happened, Frank? Where did it go wrong? Where did your dreams die, and where do you lose control of your life? You’re thirty-eight now, Frank. If you ever want to change the way things are going, you have to do it now. Why don’t you walk up to that asshole Pietertje Peper, to his way too big office with that way too big desk and that terrible portrait of his way too big wife? Now be a man, Frankie boy! Hit that guy in the mouth, shout that you’re resigning, and walk out the door with your middle finger raised.
“Frank? Frank?” a deep voice shouts. Frank wakes up from his reverie. “Frank, I would like you to take over the communication with Hendrik Haverkamp Metaal- en IJzerhandel for me, because I am going skiing with my wife in Davos in the next two weeks.” Frank looks into the eyes of his boss and answers: “Of course boss, no problem” You’re a loser, Frank. What an anticlimax. This has been a shit year already.
2024-01-02 17:08:54
#ZO34 #Sandpaper #Column #Franks #Dreams
