The Mandela Effect

Ch 2

 Jon opens the frosted glass door and enters the wood paneled waiting room of his department offices. The room is empty and the lights have already been turned off.

Jon feels along the wall by the door and turns on the overhead florescent lights. They come on and cast a harsh, white light on the entire room. Jon thinks about how out of place these lights were in such a beautifully crafted office. It should be lit by incandescent bulbs, or oil lanterns, or maybe even candles.

Jon crosses the waiting area and tries the door to the inner office. It is locked.

Shit, Jon thinks to himself. He had not planned for this and he just knows Mark wis outside laying on the horn, despite the fact that Jon couldn't hear it.

Jon knocks at the door, hoping someone would hear. After a few moments with no response, he knocks harder and presses his ear to the door. He doesn't hear any movement behind the door. He tries to consider his options.

Jon unwrapps the bag's strap from around his neck and sits it on the floor next to the door. He stepps over to the frosted glass window next to doorway.

Please, Jon thinks, as he gives the window a push. Luckily, it gives way and opens.

They told Lucy dozens of time to remember to lock the window; but, just this once, he is glad she forgot. He slides the window open the rest of the way and leans in. It had been some time since he had to maneuver his way in like this, but he still remembered how: if he hugged the wall with his hand, and reached over the edge of the desk, he could barely reach the door handle.

It is dark inside the secretary's cubicle, and the office within, but he couldn't have seen anything anyway. He'd have to operate by touch. Jon closes his eyes and allowes muscle memory to take over. It takes a lean, and he grabs the wall to keep from falling over, but finally he hears what he was listening for.

***click***

The lock releases and the door pops open just slightly. Jon steadies himself with his hand on the wall and leans back into the waiting room. He even makes sure to slide the glass window closed before grabbing his bag and entering the inner office. After closing the door behind him, and locking it; he makes sure to lock the forgotten window as well.

Jon must have walked that hallway ten thousand times. Even in the dark, he can make his way with no trouble. He walks three doors down on the right side and stops in front of the fourth door. He pauses for a moment, worried that someone else had locked his door, but he tries the knob and it turns. He steps into his office and flips the light switch. A warm yellow light floods the space.

Like the outer waiting area, his private office is wood paneled. As far as he knew, it was the original paneling from the building's construction. Unlike the waiting area, he refused to let them install florescent lights. Instead, he kept three small lamps with incandescent bulbs.

It takes everything he has not to immediately move to and fall on the brown leather couch against the wall. He isn't particularly tired, but it is a force of habit. He always come back after class and lay on the couch to rest and grade papers. He knows he can't even sit or he'll never get back up.

Instead, he goes to the other side of the room and grabs the suit bag, hard easel case, and the rolling luggage sitting there. Luckily, before getting everything situated, he remembers that he'd forgotten to pack one item. He moves to the back of the office and to the large, ornate wooden desk that takes up most of the rear wall. Reaching into the top left-hand drawer, he pulls out his passport with his boarding pass and ticket tucked inside. Jon laughs at himself before heading back to the luggage.

It takes some doing, but Jon finally gets everything balanced and settled so that he can move reasonably well. He takes another look around the room, mentally checking to assure he had everything, before heading back to the door. He takes one last look inside and catches himself. He reachs down to the small stand next to the door and grabs a set of keys from the basket there; the basket where he always left them. Generally, the lock on the outside was more for show than anything else. But this time, since he'd be gone for a few days, he would lock the door behind him.

Jon walks back down the darkened hallway to the waiting room. He exits the inner office and closes the door behind him. Luckily, he looks down and sighed. There, where he had left it before, is his messenger bag.

Damn it, Jon thinks, before taking a moment to resituate his burden to make room for his way laid bag. Finally, he has everything settled, and makes his way out the waiting room door.