Mr. Plimpwicket sat at his desk, watching everyone work. Some of his co-workers were having animated discussions at their desks, others were rushing in and out of meetings. Nobody paid him any mind. He took a sip of coffee and stared at the blank computer screen in front of him.
Mr. Plimpwicket sat in one corner of the break room, eating his usual lunch: an apple, a ham sandwich, a bag of salted chips and a little bottle of orange juice. His co-workers mingled, discussing their lives over bowls of pasta and leftover pot roast. Nobody said anything to him. He took a bite out of his sandwich and stared at the water cooler.
Mr. Plimpwicket sat wedged between two people on the train. They didn’t seem to be bothered that they were taking up part of his personal space. He voiced no objection. The train was crowded, as it always was at that time of day. Everyone had the same look of boredom and exhaustion, except for a select few that managed to show traces of enthusiasm. He scrunched his shoulders closer together and stared out the window.
Mr. Plimpwicket unlocked the front door of his modest little house and walked in. He placed his briefcase on the floor and was immediately greeted by a voice from the kitchen. “Are you home already? Did you get the milk like I asked? You remembered it was skim, right? God, what a day it’s been. You wouldn’t believe what Sandra said to me today. The toilet’s backed up, by the way. We’ll need to call the plumber. Where is that milk?”
Mr. Plimpwicket sighed and stared at the floor. He could never be invisible when he really wanted to be.