Martin Misunderstood Read Free Page A

subsequent wiping. Test groups had quit in the
middle, forgoing their fifty dollars for want of
better hygiene. This hadn't been an issue during
the early days of toilet supply. No one had yet
done the math to realize that the thinner the
paper, the more squares you had to use. While
this had proved to be a winning scenario for
Southern for many years, lately the customer had
started catching on. Why spend eight dollars on
a cheap roll of paper that lasts one day when you
can spend ten on one that lasts for two?
    Even the bathrooms at Southern Toilet Supply
did not use their own product, a fact which
Martin knew because his desk was conveniently
located by the women's bathroom and he saw
them taking their own rolls in and out, right
under management's eye. Martin had never been
a tattler, so he kept his mouth shut. As a matter
of fact, he kept his mouth shut about a lot of
things he saw happening in the office, most of
which would have gotten any number of his
tormentors fired. Such was his lot in life: he was
too noble for his own good.
    He slowed the Camry as he pulled up to the
gate. The security guard sat in his little booth
watching the morning news. Martin caught a
whiff of marijuana as he drove by the open
window, but he kept his eyes trained ahead,
looking for a parking space amongst the sea of
pick-up trucks and SUVs. When he had first
bought his Camry someone had remarked that it
looked like the new girl on the football team.
    Martin's hands had stopped bleeding on the
short ride to work. He put a corner of his
handkerchief into his mouth to wet it, then wiped
some of the blood off the steering wheel. The
faux leather would not yield. He would have to
get some kind of cleaner. Southern CleanAway
was rated for cleaning up biohazards. He would
get one of the sample bottles and take care of the
mess after lunch.
    'Lunch,' he mumbled. He had forgotten to
bring his bag lunch.
    Martin got out of the car and used the key to
lock the door. Then, he saw his briefcase was still
in the car, so he unlocked it again.
    'Hey, Beak!'
    Martin felt his shoulders rise up.
    'Beak!' Daryl Matheson had been greeting
Martin in this manner every morning since third
grade, when Martin had first transferred into
Tucker Elementary School. His father had just
died, forcing Evie to move the family to a less
desirable part of town. Martin had fantasized
that his new school would offer new opportunities
for friendship and popularity unfathomable at
his previous school.
    Martin was wrong.
    'Beak? Hey, Beak? What's up?'
    He would keep calling until Martin answered
him. According to Taking the Bully by the
Horns , this was a recognizable pattern. Daryl did
not want to be openly disliked because it would
mean that he was a bad person. So long as
Martin responded to him, Daryl could continue
his fantasy that a 36-year-old man who lived
with his mother enjoyed being called 'Beak'.
    'Beak? Beak, what up? What's going on, man?'
    'Hey, Daryl,' Martin said. Daryl flashed a
satisfied smile and punched him in the arm so
hard that Martin dropped his briefcase. Papers
scattered and Martin grabbed for them, trying to
keep the order.
    Daryl squatted down, but made no effort to
help. 'You've got blood on your hands.'
    Martin realized that he was right. The cuts
from the plastic bumper had opened up again. He
reached for his handkerchief, but remembered he
had shoved it in the glove compartment of the
car.
    Martin muttered, 'What a mess,' as he tried to
stack the pages without transferring blood on to
them. He saw graphs and pie charts, his grueling
work for his presentation at the Toilet Supply
Industry Trade Show made visible.
    Daryl moved on to more interesting things.
'Damn, man, somebody hit your car.'
    'I know.'
    'The whole half of the front bumper is
missing.'
    'I know.'
    'That's going to be expensive. Worse than the
"twat", even. Hey, when are you gonna get that
fixed?'
    Martin felt one of his back molars move as he
bit down too hard.
    'Beak?' Daryl was