Doormat (short story)

A couple minutes before her expected clock-out time, Macy rearranged her desk to a neat state, sanitized her area, and powered off her computer. When she reached under her desk to gather her belongings, she checked her cell phone. 3% didn't appear to be a big deal since she would soon be on her way out. While still bent over, Macy heard a throat clear up behind her. She spiraled up out from under to see Ben smiling, standing there holding a heavy stack of folders.

"I know it is almost 5, but would you mind entering this data? It shouldn't take more than an hour. I'd really appreciate it," Ben said as he subtly extended the bulk out to her.

Macy stood there staring at the stack that awaited her. An hour!? That could mean two. Say 'No.' Tell him to ask someone else, for once. Tell him, 'Sorry, but I have a bus to catch.' Say it! Come on. "Sure. I'll be happy to help."


"Thanks. I knew I could count on you!" Ben placed the thick stack into the palms of her hands and added, "Don’t forget to lock up. I’ll be leaving in a few."




When Ben turned the corner, Macy dumped the folders onto her desk and let out a sight filled with stress. Being a bit paranoid, Macy leaned her chair back to be sure her boss was completely out of sight. To get all the nagging out of her system, she snidely whispering under her breath, "My pleasure, Ben. I'll just catch the next bus home." She restarted her computer, slid the mass of sandwiching folders closer to her, and began the assignment.




The existence of time had vanished until her stomach began to growl and ache. As Macy was inputting the last bit of information into the computer, she took a second to check her watch. The hour was up! Overcome by joy, she thought, At least Ben didn't lie to me this time. 




Hoping a bus was on its way, Macy fled down the flight of stairs, locked the office doors, and ran to the bus stop. Panting, she read the digital sign posted on the schedule, separating each word with a wheeze. "Transit out of service." Her jaw dropped as fast as her shoulders slumped."




"Why today," she shouted to the sky with her arms out wide.


Macy plopped herself onto the bench at the stop and thought of whom she could call for a ride home. She found herself eliminating everyone she once knew—either because she had pushed them out her life, lost their phone numbers, or had been too shy to rekindle relationships. It finally occurred to her to call Mrs. Fray, her neighbor from down the hall.

Once, Macy had lent the old woman a hand when she noticed her struggling to get groceries out of her ancient station wagon. Mrs. Fray told Macy not to hesitate knocking on her door if she was ever in trouble or needed the favor returned. Even though Macy had declined the offer in advance, the woman had suggested they exchange numbers, and so they did. Macy couldn’t bare the idea of seeing an elderly woman beg. She feared it could very well be herself in the future: desperate and alone.




Macy patted her forehead and wondered what time would be more appropriate time to ask for a favor, than now. She pulled out her cell phone to make the call. But upon dialing, her screen turned black. She knew it was dead, but refused to believe it, so Macy pressed the power button countless times with the expectation of it turning on again.




Her eyes, now flooded, stood wide open, resisting even the slightest blink. All Macy had ever tried to do was be a good person. She avoided confrontations at all costs; she always donated to the poor and homeless–even if she knew they were too lazy to find a job. Although she didn’t feel like an asset to her company, she was the most zealous employee in her office. But maybe that was her problem. 

“I’m through with people stepping all over me and using me,”

She said as she sprung off the bench and stormed in the direction of her home.

Macy's short heels had clicked dully over broken pavement for nearly two blocks. Now that she was walking through these streets, instead of riding past them, she realized how trashy and deserted it had become them. The walls were filled with distasteful art, people laid on the steps of shops that no longer existed, and garbage trended on streets rather than in cans.

Macy soon came across a vacant building with cleaner walls, and found it to be the only suitable place to rest her weight on. After studying its aspects, she remembered it used to be the most popular café in town, which her good friend used to own. Except, now, the windows were boarded up, and she was no longer Macy’s good friend.

One by one, she took pressure off her feet by raising each of them off the floor. The stinging pulsations on the ball of her feet were sheer indications that the blisters from last Saturday night were beginning to resurface. Immediately, she regretted having gone dancing for her first date because it had been years since both occasions had occurred.

Before continuing, Macy looked down at her now-scuffed work shoes and pursed her lips. "Looks like we're going to have to invest in a pair again. Guess I won't be eating for the next five days!" Macy had owned her astonishingly low heels for so long, they were practically begging to be laid to rest.

Looking at the road ahead, Macy packed up her deadpan humor, pushed herself away from the window, and proceeded to the next intersection. She would have to move quickly if she wanted to get home before it became too dark and dangerous. 

As Macy turned the corner, she found herself surrounded by civilization again. There was food, people, and more importantly, cars! It took Macy a couple of tries to draw a taxi. The many that passed her up didn’t seem to notice her waving, whistling, or standing with a hitchhiker thumb out. She was irritated and exhausted from trying when a yellow cab stopped a couple of feet ahead of her. The moment she walked up to it and grabbed the door handle, another hand simultaneously reached out. It was a woman. Slightly older and also dressed in business attire, this woman was most likely wearing all of the jewelry she owned.

“Sweetheart, would you mind taking the next one? It’s been a long day,” said the woman persuasively.

“I don’t think you know the meaning of ‘long’.”

Macy and the woman began to nudge each other at the hip until Macy bumped her beyond the cab’s backdoor, and then said, “Excuse me, but this one’s mine.”

The older woman yelped in offense but Macy disregarded her cry, she squeezed herself into the car, and said to the driver, “13232 Valor Street, please.”