Microsleep

Short Story by Tomas Zandir

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I remember the day very clearly. After a bad night’s sleep—I had a lingering cold—at nine in the morning I dragged myself to my desk. Within minutes, Janine from accounting busted my ass about a totally legitimate expense account item I had submitted the previous week. They told me I had to get Larry Ridley’s initials on the form before they would cut me a check. Trouble was, Ridley was an asskisser who would like nothing better than to get me into hot water with Emily Strang, the department head. Strang was a tough cookie who did not tolerate deviation from their personal interpretation of company policy.

By mid-afternoon, my head hurt and I could barely keep my eyes open. I had worked too many late nights trying to get the new software rolled out. And now this. Could my assignment suck any more?

I squinted at my computer screen. The numbers on the spreadsheet did not add up. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Four-thirty. A half-hour to go. I yawned and shook myself awake.

Five o’clock. Strang had walked by my desk fifteen minutes earlier, handed me a file folder and told me to review the report before end of day. I rubbed the back of my neck and took a deep breath.