Russ Bickerstaff

Index

From her vantage point, Tanjerine could see a vast grid of cells stretching off into infinity. There were little things that were particular to each individual cell whether it be a maximum security prison, whether it be a minimum security prison, whether it be solitary confinement or a relatively spacious cell for two. They all kind of looked the same on this level—even the ones from other ends of time—other eras. She could see them all and they all looked kind of alike.
Satisfied that her devices had gotten the proper readings, Tanjerine paused to grab firm hold of the door handle. Prolonged time spent outside the corridor made her nauseous and it helped her a great deal to grab hold of something solid—and solidly connected to the corridor. When the measuring apparatus had finished its readings, it swooped back into the corridor. She followed it out and locked the door behind her. The Sound of a dozen infinities moving into each other could be heard everywhere at once for Tanjerene. This was followed by the sound of two surfaces in intense friction and a solid, unmistakable pop.
Tangerine staggered about a little bit on the tile floor of the corridor. “This never gets any easier,” she blurted aloud.
“That’s because you’re not giving it a chance,” the equipment said with a degree of genuine sympathy.
“I don’t recall asking you your opinion,” Tangerine shot out with a bit more force than she’d expected to.
“But you’d just said...” the equipment ventured cautiously,
“Yes,” Tangerine said, “I know, but I didn’t mean it as a question.” “I understand,” the equipment said, “My apologies.”
“Mine too,” Tangerine said in a conciliatory tone. “Shall we get on to the next bin?” She asked a bit frantically. The equipment nodded politely at this and moved ahead down the corridor. Tangerine followed. She was glad she’d decided to wear flats today. When she’d accepted the job last week, she really had no idea of what to expect. Being on her feet for as long as the job required was exceedingly taxing. Getting through an entire shift in heels was unspeakable torture.
Tangerine and the equipment made it to the next door, but it was difficult to tell how long they traveled to get to the next door. With no set distance from door to door and so much else about the corridor being variable and in places, completely impossible. The ceramic tile of the floor seemed a bit un-shifting and certain.
The equipment hovered at the door eagerly as she approached.
“Go ahead,” she said opening a computer terminal, “Lay it on me.” With that, the equipment uttered a long string of letters and numbers that would have to become familiar to her if she was going to be able to make it even another couple of weeks in this job. She quickly typed the numbers into the laptop and ran the search. A slowly rotating hour glass let her know that the terminal was searching for the bin number. Tangerine looked around a bit as the laptop terminal did its work. She glanced over to the equipment, which was eagerly eyeing the door, humming quite excitedly about the whole thing. The equipment’s enthusiasm was something Tangerine was firmly certain of would never really be able to get used to ... or even tolerate.
As difficult as the job was on so many different levels, Tangerine pictured the equipment’s enthusiasm being the final straw for her . . . really there was no other way for this job to end. . . it was far too weird to be anything else. She’d mentioned this to the equipment, but it didn’t seem to do anything other than rattle in reaction. Typical, really—all of the truly annoying things in her life had also been hopelessly fragile.
The laptop unit made an exceedingly satisfied binging noise. Tangerine looked at it to see a description of the place in impossibly complex text that was probably exceedingly interesting for anyone who could read the text in question. Tangerine had a sinking suspicion that the last people who were able to read that particular bit of text and others like it had probably been dead for a very, very long time.
“Okay,” she said to the equipment, which nodded and went to access the door. There was the sound of two bodies tumbling about in a rainstorm coated the hallway. The door opened and Tangerine found herself looking out over an infinite sea of closets. All of the storage space of all the closets of all the world never really seemed significant on an individual level. It was a good thing she was no longer allergic to dust—to the best of her knowledge, anyway. The stuffy mustiness of all the storage area in the history of the human race could quite easily have knocked her into a quivering mass of histamines, but the drugs they’d given her—the shots, immunizations and such that they’d given anyone working in the corridor, was more than enough to cover just about any health problem she would run into.
The shadowy realm of every storage space in the history of the world took no time at all in getting to her. She shuddered a bit, glancing over to the equipment to see that it was hard at work doing whatever it was that it was supposed to be doing. She shifted about uneasily at the ledge beyond the door overlooking it all. Shadows seemed to be shifting everywhere, but it was difficult to tell precisely what was going on from the ledge. The perspective of seeing all of a certain kind of space at once kept individual images within the immensity of it all seem kind of more important, but it was difficult to say.
Standing there amidst all of the closets that there ever were, Tangerine could feel a phone call coming in. She’d hoped that it hadn’t been something important, but it was just as she’d feared: the phone was NOT ringing—merely letting off an alarm that let her know that she had a break coming up. More good news: the day was only half over.