This trailer is parked outside an old, stained building that’s been “under construction” for three years. At that small desk sits an ordinary guy, answering help desk calls for the BYTE Corporation.
“Help desk, this is William. How may I help you?”
“Yes… I can’t figure out something on my computer,” responded a frustrated older male voice. His leathery, worn, tattered face, smothered in wrinkles and sadness, was perceptible to William over the phone.
“Maybe I can help. What’s your problem?”
“Well, I’m looking for the meaning of life on my computer. The geek at the store said I could find it with this new Windows 13 model that I just bought, but I don’t see it anywhere.”
“Sir, is there something wrong with your computer?”
Will’s patience began to unravel. A dull ache spread through his lower back, and a sharp jolt of sciatic pain shot down his left leg. As he shifted in his chair, wincing, his elbow bumped a thumb drive off the edge of his wobbly workspace.
His desk sits squarely in the middle of the narrow walkway, between the barely functioning shared restroom — strictly off-limits for any long visits — and the refurbished sales manager’s office. At least once an hour, a finance assistant crosses the trailer to deliver documents, forcing William to roll his tattered gray chair back and forth like a reluctant crossing guard.
“Yes, every time I ask it about the meaning of life, it just tries to sell me a Monty Python movie.”
“Sir, I recommend that you take some computer classes. Now, if you have a genuine problem, I am here to help. Otherwise, I need to take other callers.”
The caller paused. After clearing his throat, he woefully replied, “I’m sorry. I just got out of prison. I’m new to this world. I’ve been incarcerated for twenty years for possession of one spliff, and now that I’m out, I have to work for lawyers in the pharmaceutical industry.”
William pauses, lost in thought. He pictures himself handcuffed to a rusted metal loop beneath his desk. One ankle is chained and worn raw from failed attempts to escape. All he can really do is wait for the end of the day when his supervisor unlocks him.
“Wow! That’s awful. I understand sir. Sometimes I feel like I’m in a prison too.”
Will’s calm demeanor returns only because of the newly planted depression garden he’s now cultivating.
The older gentleman continued, “You know, I discovered some strange relationships between prison and work. For instance, in prison you spend most of your time in an eight-by-ten cell. At work, you spend most of your time in an eight-by-eight cubicle. In prison, you get three free meals a day. At work, you get a break for one meal, and you have to pay for it. In prison, you get time off for good behavior. At work, you get rewarded for good behavior with more work.”
“That’s interesting, sir…” William tried his best to cut in, but with no luck. As the caller rambled on, William glanced at the small round mirror taped to the upper left corner of his stained beige computer monitor.
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