Alienation
Another very short piece of fiction, for those interested. Very different from the previous story.
Alienation
Indira unlocks the shoeshine stand and folds it out, being careful not to hit any of the underground concourse's morning commuters as she does so. Clicking the floor-piece into place, she sets aside the tools she will need for the day: various tins of polish, hard and soft brushes, jerry cloths and more. After counting her till to make sure yesterday's float is all there, she replaces it in the ancient register. Satisfied, she sits on one of the hard stools of the shoeshine stand - one of the last in the city - and waits for the first customer of the day.
Many years ago, there were many more stands like this one, spread all across the city; or so her grandfather would have her believe. Indira wonders what changed - there are, if anything, more feet, and therefore more shoes that should need shining. Are the shoes cleaner than they used to be, and thus require less cleaning? Surely not, she thinks. Nevertheless, business is slower with each passing year, and soon her family will need to decide if the stand is worth maintaining at all. Indira would make more money working in a factory, or perhaps as a server in the food court across the way.
She removes a much-used historical romance novel from her backpack and leafs through to the page where she last bent a corner. It is not a good book, but it passes the time. She reads almost half of a page before setting it down again with a wide yawn. She decides to watch the morning rush instead.
Whenever she sees the businesspeople downtown, they are inevitably rushing - either going to work, such as now, or to and from their brief lunches or, lastly, on their way home to rest before repeating the cycle again the next morning. Considering their constant state of hurry, she wonders why they bother wearing business suits and dress shoes at all. Wouldn't track suits and gym shoes be more appropriate? Well, that would mean even less business for me, she thinks, with a slight chuckle, and resigns herself to the stupidity of it all.
A man in a dark blue suit approaches and sits down on one of the stools, his sleek silver cellphone never leaving the side of his face. He doesn't even seem to notice Indira. She stands, moves in front of him, smiles and makes a shining motion with a jerry cloth and her other hand. He nods dismissively, still talking on his phone. She kneels down before his expensive Italian shoes, pretending not to listen as she applies black shoe polish and begins scrubbing.
“Well, where was the last place you saw the reports?” the man practically yells into the cellphone. “I know I left them on your desk before I left work last night!”
Indira cannot make out the other voice on the phone, but hears what sounds like faint sobbing before the man goes on the attack again. “I don't know why I bother even having a secretary, if this is the kind of thing I can expect. Aren't you supposed to help me stay organized, rather than making things worse?” He sighs audibly and shakes his head, while transferring the phone to his other ear. “Look, I'll be there in about fifteen minutes. Just keep looking, okay?” He clicks a button on the cellphone.
Indira continues to polish. Taking the rough brush, she works the black polish into the crevices of the brogues' intricate designs. When satisfied, she takes the softer brush and makes sure it is evenly spread across the black leather. Brogues are much more difficult to clean than other shoes. Should probably charge double, she thinks. He can afford it.
Looking up at the man, she smiles demurely. He looks right at her, but says nothing. His cellphone still in hand, he presses speed dial and then raises the phone to his ear again.
“Hey, honey. Look, I forgot to mention that I need to stay late at the office again tonight. Yeah, meetings. You know the drill. So, don't wait up, okay?”
A pause. Indira can hear nothing. She examines the tops of both shoes, making sure they look even before continuing.
“Look, you know how it is, honey. I'm a manager now... I need to work overtime. Lots of it. I can't really do anything about--”
Another pause.
“What do you expect me to do? Quit? No, we need the money to pay for the mortgage and the kids' tuition. Just deal with it, okay? I'm sorry. I'll see you when I get home. Bye.”
The man clicks his cellphone again and stares at Indira. Indira smiles and again it is not reciprocated. She returns to the man's shoes and says nothing.
He raises the phone again. “Hey, Char. Everything is set for tonight. I've booked us at The Corinthian for dinner and got us a room at the Hilton downtown.”
A pause.
“Yeah. Rooms are expensive there, you're right. Only the best for you, babe.” He smiles as he talks. “Wear something sexy for me, okay? I'll give you a call when I get off work - around five or so. Talk to you soon. Love you.”
He flips the phone closed and tucks it onto his belt. Unfolding his morning paper, he begins scanning the headlines.
Indira lifts one leg gently in order to polish the sides of the man's shoe. Without a word, he relents, turning the page of the newspaper as she does so. A minute passes and she starts on the other foot. Soon, she is done.
She stands, wiping black polish from her hands with a soapy rag. He presses the pages of the paper together and looks over it. “Done?” he asks impatiently.
“Yes, sir. That will be ten dollars even.”
He frowns. “Ten? It used to be five.”
“Yes,” Indira agrees. She can't think of anything else to say.
His frown deepens as he pulls a stylish leather wallet from his suit pocket. He practically throws a ten dollar bill at her and stands.
Indira smiles and puts the money in her till. “Have a nice day, sir,” she says pleasantly. He grunts and walks away. Indira opens her novel, finds the page where she left off and continues to read about happier times and happier places.
Alienation
Indira unlocks the shoeshine stand and folds it out, being careful not to hit any of the underground concourse's morning commuters as she does so. Clicking the floor-piece into place, she sets aside the tools she will need for the day: various tins of polish, hard and soft brushes, jerry cloths and more. After counting her till to make sure yesterday's float is all there, she replaces it in the ancient register. Satisfied, she sits on one of the hard stools of the shoeshine stand - one of the last in the city - and waits for the first customer of the day.
Many years ago, there were many more stands like this one, spread all across the city; or so her grandfather would have her believe. Indira wonders what changed - there are, if anything, more feet, and therefore more shoes that should need shining. Are the shoes cleaner than they used to be, and thus require less cleaning? Surely not, she thinks. Nevertheless, business is slower with each passing year, and soon her family will need to decide if the stand is worth maintaining at all. Indira would make more money working in a factory, or perhaps as a server in the food court across the way.
She removes a much-used historical romance novel from her backpack and leafs through to the page where she last bent a corner. It is not a good book, but it passes the time. She reads almost half of a page before setting it down again with a wide yawn. She decides to watch the morning rush instead.
Whenever she sees the businesspeople downtown, they are inevitably rushing - either going to work, such as now, or to and from their brief lunches or, lastly, on their way home to rest before repeating the cycle again the next morning. Considering their constant state of hurry, she wonders why they bother wearing business suits and dress shoes at all. Wouldn't track suits and gym shoes be more appropriate? Well, that would mean even less business for me, she thinks, with a slight chuckle, and resigns herself to the stupidity of it all.
A man in a dark blue suit approaches and sits down on one of the stools, his sleek silver cellphone never leaving the side of his face. He doesn't even seem to notice Indira. She stands, moves in front of him, smiles and makes a shining motion with a jerry cloth and her other hand. He nods dismissively, still talking on his phone. She kneels down before his expensive Italian shoes, pretending not to listen as she applies black shoe polish and begins scrubbing.
“Well, where was the last place you saw the reports?” the man practically yells into the cellphone. “I know I left them on your desk before I left work last night!”
Indira cannot make out the other voice on the phone, but hears what sounds like faint sobbing before the man goes on the attack again. “I don't know why I bother even having a secretary, if this is the kind of thing I can expect. Aren't you supposed to help me stay organized, rather than making things worse?” He sighs audibly and shakes his head, while transferring the phone to his other ear. “Look, I'll be there in about fifteen minutes. Just keep looking, okay?” He clicks a button on the cellphone.
Indira continues to polish. Taking the rough brush, she works the black polish into the crevices of the brogues' intricate designs. When satisfied, she takes the softer brush and makes sure it is evenly spread across the black leather. Brogues are much more difficult to clean than other shoes. Should probably charge double, she thinks. He can afford it.
Looking up at the man, she smiles demurely. He looks right at her, but says nothing. His cellphone still in hand, he presses speed dial and then raises the phone to his ear again.
“Hey, honey. Look, I forgot to mention that I need to stay late at the office again tonight. Yeah, meetings. You know the drill. So, don't wait up, okay?”
A pause. Indira can hear nothing. She examines the tops of both shoes, making sure they look even before continuing.
“Look, you know how it is, honey. I'm a manager now... I need to work overtime. Lots of it. I can't really do anything about--”
Another pause.
“What do you expect me to do? Quit? No, we need the money to pay for the mortgage and the kids' tuition. Just deal with it, okay? I'm sorry. I'll see you when I get home. Bye.”
The man clicks his cellphone again and stares at Indira. Indira smiles and again it is not reciprocated. She returns to the man's shoes and says nothing.
He raises the phone again. “Hey, Char. Everything is set for tonight. I've booked us at The Corinthian for dinner and got us a room at the Hilton downtown.”
A pause.
“Yeah. Rooms are expensive there, you're right. Only the best for you, babe.” He smiles as he talks. “Wear something sexy for me, okay? I'll give you a call when I get off work - around five or so. Talk to you soon. Love you.”
He flips the phone closed and tucks it onto his belt. Unfolding his morning paper, he begins scanning the headlines.
Indira lifts one leg gently in order to polish the sides of the man's shoe. Without a word, he relents, turning the page of the newspaper as she does so. A minute passes and she starts on the other foot. Soon, she is done.
She stands, wiping black polish from her hands with a soapy rag. He presses the pages of the paper together and looks over it. “Done?” he asks impatiently.
“Yes, sir. That will be ten dollars even.”
He frowns. “Ten? It used to be five.”
“Yes,” Indira agrees. She can't think of anything else to say.
His frown deepens as he pulls a stylish leather wallet from his suit pocket. He practically throws a ten dollar bill at her and stands.
Indira smiles and puts the money in her till. “Have a nice day, sir,” she says pleasantly. He grunts and walks away. Indira opens her novel, finds the page where she left off and continues to read about happier times and happier places.