Benny wondered when he would find his voice. Every day he walked in through the automatic doors, sat at his desk, turned on his computer, ate a banana, and answered emails. He listened to his coworkers talk about inane things in their lives -- dogs, kids, cars, parents. Sometimes he turned on a radio to tune them out, but most days his boss turned his radio on even louder, so there was no point. And at least once a week, his boss came out to pick on him. For drinking the last of the coffee, for throwing a can in the garbage instead of the recycle bin, for coming back ten minutes late from lunch. Sometimes different every time, but something stupid always.
Every night as Benny drove home, he wondered why he didn't speak up. Why he let the days pass this way, why he let himself get stepped on, why he let his spirit die. He used to have dreams, and ambitions, and passions. Now he had benefits, summer hours, and a 401(k). What had he lost for what he had gained? Was it worth it?
Where was his voice?
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