Chapter 8: Anxiety

Year: 1985

“Christ, Sandy, lay off the aerosol. I think my cigarette’s going to explode every time you walk by.”

“That’s Mrs. Aidavani to you,” she replied matter-of-factly, masking her disgust.

Corban's complaints echoed across the newly installed cubicles, his grating tenor as irritating as the constant beeping of the fax machines. Beside him sat a young man, his acid-washed denim jacket barely concealing a worn, homemade Joy Division t-shirt. His scuffed Florsheims did little to help him blend into the neon-soaked conference room, only adding to his out-of-place appearance.

“So,” Corban continued, glancing down at the paper to confirm his employee’s name, “José, can you describe this so-called anxiety?”

“It’s not any one thing,” the young man started hesitantly. “It’s the combination. And the combination of things changes.” He noted Corban’s eyes locked on him—a rare instance of protracted attention. Feeling more confident, he continued, “Am I doing too much, too little? I missed my dad’s retirement for a few extra hours. Who am I letting down there? My dad, myself, the company for feeling bad about working more?”

“I’d call that ambition,” Corban interjected.

“Maybe,” the young man half-heartedly mused. “I feel a hidden dread when I don’t work, and an increasingly familiar pointlessness when I do.”

“Look,” Corban started with a touch of genuine positivity, “your numbers are looking great. Finish out the quarter strong, and then let’s talk about increasing your responsibilities—maybe put two people under you.”

After wishing the young man well, Corban watched him leave. He slowly turned toward the empty room. A thought entered his mind: We need something to distract. He noticed his toe cap trapping a swath of corduroy from the Sacco, the fabric itself trapping a single Styrofoam bean.

“It needs to be something familiar,” he muttered, pressing harder on the bean. “Something we all know, all want, all crave.” The bean, now flattened, barely held its shape. “The ultimate distraction, the ultimate answer.” His toe was flush with the floor.