Wendell Walks to Work


Wendell woke to the wail of a warbler on a Wednesday. Which to Wendell was the worst of all days. Wendell rose from his bed and walked to the washroom, all the while expecting this Wednesday not to waver from the wonted.

At the thought of the next eight hours of work…Wendell whimpered. After the wetness of his wash wore off, Wendell began his walk. Despite the welcoming waves from his wretched neighbors Wendell was whist all the way. Upon arrival Wendell wriggled into the elevator which was wedged wall-to-wall with workers.

The wayfarer nearest the door asked Wendell “What floor?”

Wendell replied by wincing then raising three fingers, though not on the same hand. The other passenger gave him a weird look before realization washed over his face.

“Oi sorry Wendell”

Wendell winced again.

“You’re on twelve right?”

Wendell was still mid-wince and simply nodded his reply.

Twelve floors later the doors opened and Wendell waddled off of in the general direction of his workspace. Wendell barely made it the width of the walkway before a weighty hand wrought his entire body around.

“We need to speak in my office.” Wendell’s supervisor wailed through another wince.

The walk was a short one but Wendell was perspiring long before the pair wound up face to face at a wide wooden desk. A large weekly calendar was between the two workers. The big red W for Wednesday had a whirl of red ink surrounding it.

“I think you know why you are here Wendell.”

The wince was the only witness Wendell’s boss waited for to continue.

“We here at Wilhelm, Wilhelm, and Watson need the most productivity out of our workers.”

The wince became a slight wobble.

“Which is why I have made a very heart-wrenching decision.”

The wobble began to waver as Wendell began to stammer…


His boss continued his wringing.

“I am sorry Wendell but it has to be done.”


“I couldn’t wait any longer but I wanted you to know that I haven’t let the word out.”


“Even Watson and Windhelm don’t know yet. I wanted you to have to time to clear out your desk. I’m sorry Wendell, but you’re fired.”


Wendell’s boss stared at him for exactly two seconds before his eyes glazed over and he fell face first into the wide wooden desk; his body already turning a whitish hue. When the paramedics arrived and asked Wendell what happened, he simply frowned and pointed to the big red W on the office calendar.

Wendell hated Wednesdays.


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