[i]Trudge. Trudge. Trudge.[/i] Each step echoes hard off the concrete walls of the stairwell, along with the jangle of keys and coins in my pocket. This climb feels way too steep for my aching feet, even though I'm barely up one floor from where I started. I wasn't made to be a night guard. I only took this job to pay rent. At least it's quiet most of the time, and nobody bothers me during breaks. When there's not a stupid fuse I have to replace instead, that is. And the box is all the way up [i]there[/i]. [i]First floor.[/i] Today started out so well, too. I was admiring the microwave I brought in to heat up my coffee. At least until the lights went out when I plugged it in. I don't see why I couldn't have been assigned to a newer building with better wiring. Or, you know, a more interesting job. With a better paycheck. That doesn't require a degree. I don't mind sitting in school, but homework should just not exist. Especially if you can't rush through it the night before. But this is fine. It's quiet. It's all good. [i]Second floor.[/i] My kids aren't too chuffed about me having to spend so long at work though. I got them really expensive Christmas presents to make up for it, and they didn't even thank me. I bet the way they've been acting up at school is just to spite me. I know, I know, being a parent's a big responsibility and all. I keep thinking I should take them out more, or give them dinner that isn't fast food, or even play with them at home. But it's like they don't even want to try to deal with me now. What, a few arguments and that's it? What am I supposed to do? Besides, I still need time and money for myself. I can't just give that up, I'd go crazy. [i]Third floor.[/i] Which I'm not, by the way. Crazy, that is. Even if my partner managed to drag me to therapy once he decided he didn't love me anymore. Now [i]that[/i] was a wasted year of my life. It was all “you're not thinking about how he's feeling” and I was all like “well why doesn't he communicate more” and the therapist is like “he is, you're not listening enough, let me recommend some classes” and it's total bullshit, I'm standing there in front of you listening to him every damn time I'm here, what more do you want? Maybe if I'd done more homework. Oh, right. Have to figure out how I'm going to buy food next month. There's still that letter on my desk saying how I'm not going to get any child support payments anymore, and I spent my next paycheck on those stupid presents. [i]Fourth floor.[/i] There's the box. I took fuses off the list a while back without buying any because I needed to save up for that microwave. I know I'm not supposed to use that money for the break room, but they don't really expect me to work without hot coffee, do they? So after I pop the box open and take out the blown fuse, I take a few pennies out of my pocket and start shoving them into the slot. With my winter gloves on so I don't get electrocuted, of course. It takes a few minutes of cursing to get the pennies jammed in there good enough, but once they're in, the lights come right back on. I love the Internet sometimes. I turn around and head back down. Feeling good again. [i]Ground floor.[/i] As I open the stairwell door, the smell of smoke hits me in the face.