another day, another ten million dollars.
this was monson’s little joke, which he repeated at the end of almost every day at the office, the little office he shared with fenson.
fenson did not find the joke funny, nor did he think anything monson said or did was the least bit amusing or interesting or edifying.
the joke was that monson and fenson somehow “made” about “ten million dollars” on an average day, even though they personally only got their meagre salaries of five thousand dollars a day. and that they received this pay for work whose purpose and meaning, if any, they had never understood.
monson and fenson both lived under the shadow of being found out. they feared - knew - that one day their employer - the intenational agressiveness fund, inc, - would suddenly realize that their efforts were meaningless and would terminate them.
monson put on a happy face and tried to make the best of it.
fenson hated monson, the international aggressiveness fund, and everybody and everything else in the universe, especially himself, and prided himself on not being taken in by any sweet talk or pie in the sky or by anything at all.
monson and fenson never saw each except in the office or its immediate surroundings, and never asked each other about their lives, if any, out of the office.
on most days they went their separate ways on their lunch hour, but if the weather was really bad with rain or snow or wind, they would get a sandwich or burger at the little cafeteria on the ground floor of the office building. when they did this, they would sit at the same table together, as it did not occur to them to do otherwise.
one day, which happened to be the day before christmas, the wind was howling and the snow was blowing, and monson and fenson were sitting together, the only two customers in the little cafeteria.
monson was eating a cheeseburger dripping with catsup, and fenson was eating a tuna salad sandwich with avocado and watercress, when suddenly fenson fell over dead.
the local emergency service was called, but nothing could be done for poor fenson, who had apparently died instantaneously.
as luck would have it, nellie bly, a cub reporter for the times, happened to be in the area looking for human interest stories in the “big storm”, and she interviewed monson.
a little checking by nellie bly revealed that monson and fenson were apparently the last two so-called “clerks” on the planet, and nellie proposed, and her editor agreed, that that made a very good human interest story.
nellie wrote the following story.
hector monson was heartbroken when his longtime coworker and companion, alex fenson, died suddenly when they were taking their lunch break yesterday, christmas eve, in the cafeteria in the ajax building in pioneer square. monson and fenson worked as data retrieval specialists for a large international conglomerate, analyzing and collating their data using an abacus, and recording their conclusions on paper!
they are believed to have been the last two “clerks” anywhere in the world, although this reporter would be happy to hear from anyone with information to the contrary. the occupation of “clerk” has a long and honorable history, dating back at least to the times of amenemhat and hammurabi.
he was like a brother to me, hector monson stated. just a great guy, always good for a laugh, with a song in his heart and a twinkle in his eye. i will miss him. he loved life, but life will not be the same without him.
hector told this reporter he was prepared to soldier on without his buddy, but admitted he did not know what plans the international aggressiveness fund, inc, had for him.
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