A Bus Pass Instead of the Supply Closet Keys

A Bus Pass Instead of the Supply Closet Keys

I was still at the office after everyone left, looking for a manila folder my boss swore I had on my desk. The fluorescent lights kept buzzing and dimming like they were about to die. Rain was hitting the windows even though it had been sunny when I came in. I walked down the hall toward the copy room, but it stretched longer than usual, same carpet, same posters, just more doors. Behind one I heard typing that stopped when I got close. A coworker was sitting in the break room in a wet coat, and for a second he was also this guy from high school who used to sit behind me. He asked if I still had the keys to the supply closet. I checked my pockets and only found a bus pass that wasn’t mine. I felt that low, embarrassed dread like I’d missed something obvious and someone was waiting for me to notice.