*beep beep beep beep beep beep beep*
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*pat…pat*
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*beep beep beep beep beep beep beep*
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*scrabble*
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*beep beep bee-WHAM*

_____

I hate alarm clocks.
Its 6:40am. It should never be 6:40am. Its just one of the crappiest times to get up in the day. It denotes a bad job. A bad life. All the good jobs are either done by people who wake up really early or really late. Six-forty means a grey little office, a grey little computer and a grey little life.
I'm part of an administration team in my office, and its less impressive than it sounds. We're the ones in the background, doing all the menial stuff to balance our companies sweeping statements. We're the clauses. The terms and conditions. Not sure how to cook our food? Please see pack for details. Got food poisoning from one of our products? Please see lawyers for details on how to lose a lawsuit.
God, how I hate lawyers.
At least the morning routine doesn't cause much of a problem. I sail through my apartment, donning clothes, brushing teeth, having wake-up coffee, wishing I'd had the coffee before brushing my teeth, smoothing hair, finding phone, finding briefcase, losing phone, desperate search, found, late, gone.

I cant remember the last time I had a proper breakfast. I stop off at a Starbucks, wait in line with all my fellow six-fortyers, pick up another coffee, a muffin and a bottle of water to at least imply some level of healthiness later in the day. Cant stop, already late, eat on the run.
I hate all the corporate crap that gets peddled to all the working plebs in the world. Sounds sweet, I know, coming from a guy who just came out of a Starbucks, but I'm in a rush. Honestly though, the world is made up of rich companies in rich countries legally robbing poor countries of people and resource to make money out of their slack-jawed workers. They get us addicted to drugs that are no fun and prohibit those that are. They hold the world upside down and shake all the money out, and take all they can for themselves.  People would boycott them, if they weren't dazed by the pretty adverts and threatened by the big legal departments. I'd boycott them, if I wouldn't starve as a result.
The world is run by companies now.

I think of myself as a good person. I give to those in need, don't skim anything off the top and try to stay away from bastard companies. My apartment is probably the most ethical you'll find in this country. No blood on my hands. But sometimes, you just have to lose some moral high ground to make the day run smoother.

As I enter work, I brush the muffin crumbs off my shirt. The water's in my bag now, the coffee gently cooling in my hand. I'm into the office, I throw my jacket over my seat, sit down at my desk, bring up the reports, the unfinished documents, the crappy intranet that the company has forced on us and the general debris of an unsatisfying job. Apparently some TV channel reps have been trying to get on-site, trying to get footage of the food preparation area. I forward the email down to Legal, and bring up the report on Financial Efficiency that I should have finished last night. Ten thousand words, and I've managed all of six thousand. I bring up the data Accounting sent me last week, and start to type. And type. And type.

It takes me seven minutes to realise I've been re-typing the same paragraph three times. I sigh. I'm a good person, so why do I have to deal with this? Why do I spend every day making this evil little shit-hole money? That's how it works I suppose. Evil is subtle. Good's just dumb.
Time for a drink. I trot down to the vending machine and feed it coins until it finally coughs up a cola. Return to desk, realise I've got a bottle of water in my bag already, feel guilty, drink coke anyway. Same as every other day.

It takes me until 1pm to spin out enough bullshit to bring the report up to ten thousand words, and another report, sent straight from the stomach, tells me that I've missed lunch. I curse quietly; the cafeteria'll be closed by now. And so, like a hermit coming out of its shell, I creep, blinking into the afternoon sun.
Lets see…there's a nice, independent café about fifteen minutes away. Too long, considering my lunch hour technically just ended and my company thrives on technicalities. There's a Mickey-D's across the street. No time, no time. I sigh, go in, glare dispassionately at the "5-A-Day" sign and order some fries. Hell, there's some potato in there somewhere. Probably. Back to the office it is.

Its 7pm now, and I've got to get out. I will get out, just as soon as I've finished validating this goddamn report. Add in company logos, take out any possible cracks that an intelligent person could lever open, file, save, print, exit, exit, log out, log off, turn off, done.

This is my day, day after day, and has been for three years now.
I sip a bit of my water.
I'm a good person. I am! I seem to be the only one in this entire stupid city who realises that all the glitter and shine and smiling faces is just to cover up a big , brooding conglomerate of companies. I try as hard as I can to stay away from their products, their smiles and their lies. But I've got to live, same as everyone else. Sooner or later, they get you.
My eyes pass over the Starbucks cup sitting on my desk, the McDonald's packaging sitting next to it, the Coca-Cola bottle in the bin and the goddamn report humming out of the printer at the far side of the office.
I'm a good person.
Shit.