The World's Most Boring Job

A short story

Harper Owen slid her Lenovo laptop into her backpack, grabbed her apartment keys from the magnetic hook on her front door, and patted her Marmot coat pocket to double-check that her phone was there. 

Five minutes from now, about halfway on her walk to the train station, she’d forget that she’d put her laptop in her backpack, had her keys, and her phone was safely in her pocket. She’d think about returning home to get those items, her mind so anesthetized that she didn’t first consider checking if she had these with her. 

A gust tapped Harper’s back. She looked up and watched a shadow cross in front of the moon. 

It wasn’t a bad memory that plagued Harper. At twenty-six, she had no cognitive issues, brain damage, chemical imbalance, or anything like that.

Like a virus that ate away at brain cells, boredom was the affliction that whittled her memory. 

She worked at The Bearing Company, founded eleven years ago in 2015. It should be called “The Boring Company,” Harper thought. She was the project manager in charge of black insulating paint. She’d never even seen black insulating paint, let alone any kind of insulating paint. She just did research and writing. She wasn’t sure what The Bearing Company made, though she had a vague sense that it had to do with computers. Maybe oil drilling. 

Harper had wanted to be a pilot and even took a few lessons. But learning to fly was too big a burden for her checking account, so her dream of soaring above the clouds plunged to Earth. And here she was.

Every shade of black she researched had the same insulating properties. Some were blacker than others, but otherwise there was no difference. And yet, she wrote report after report on blackness. 

This place numbs my mind.

Every minute of the workday was the same. Every week, the same. Every year, the same. Weekly meetings, the same. The questions her boss asked, the same, and her answers, the same. 

Harper yawned, covered her mouth, and went back to work.

Harper was clicking her keyboard, drafting a report about the history of The Bearing Company’s use of Black Paint, when Grisham Lovett hovered over her. 

Grisham cleared his throat.

What does he want? A year younger than Harper, Grisham was also an assistant project manager who worked in a division that had something to do with reciprocal accounting standards. Grisham had once tried explaining his workday to her, but he stopped when his fluttering eyelids revealed he was on the cusp of falling asleep. 

Is Grisham going to ask me out again? 

Grisham rested his hand on top of Harper’s chair. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you out again. You said ‘no,’ and that means ‘no.’”

Harper started to say, “You can ask me,” but stopped herself. What if Grisham is as boring as me? We might die of boredom together on our first date. Fall asleep while waiting for dinner and never wake up. She shook her head. Cute as he is, I should be with somebody exciting, like a French spy, skydiver, or deep-ocean shark trainer.

“I need your help.”

“With what?” Harper asked.

“With an accounting report.”

“No can do. I have my own report to write.” Harper exhaled long and loud. “My second this month. I don’t have time to help you. Besides, why do you need my help?”

“I’m bored, that’s all. But never mind. Forget I asked.”

I’m sure I will.

“What would you do with the extra time if I helped you?” 

Grisham shrugged. “Dunno. I’d think of something. Maybe read. Maybe play a game on my phone. Maybe organize my sock drawer. Anything is more interesting than this job. I’m sure that if I stay in this place, my mind will eventually turn to Jell-O.” He sighed. 

“And yet you’re still here. Why?”

“Guess I’m the type who doesn’t quit.”

A smile grew on Harper’s face, the first time she’d felt a smile in a long time, a not-unpleasant sensation. “About that date—”

Two senior executives materialized next to them. 

Harper hadn’t heard them coming, and judging from Grisham’s surprised eyes, neither had he. 

The two assistant managers shared the same panic: Did these VPs overhear us disparaging the company? They must have. Harper and Grisham hadn’t been whispering. Stupid, stupid. Images of sending out endless resumes and eating off-brand tuna directly from the can flashed through Harper’s consciousness. Finding a new job would be difficult, given that she didn’t even know what her job skills were. 

I’m not done with my reports yet; you can’t fire me, Harper thought. But they can. 

“Come with us,” the taller of the two executives said. He tugged on his jacket’s sleeves and took hold of Harper’s elbow. 

The other man grabbed Grisham. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” Grisham said. “Are you firing us?”

Of course, they’re firing us, Harper thought.

The two men ushered Harper and Grisham into the waiting elevator.

The vice president holding Grisham furrowed his eyebrows for a moment. He inserted a key in the slot under the buttons and pressed 15, 12, 22, 41, B, B, 1, B. A green light Harper had never seen before illuminated above the button column. The elevator doors snapped closed. 

Nobody spoke. 

The elevator descended, passing through floors at four times normal speed. 

Harper’s feet left the ground for a moment. 

The LCD display flashed rapidly, counting down from 47 to 1, then B, B1, B2, and then the screen went blank. But the elevator continued to drop.

The air chilled. Harper shivered. 

After another two minutes, the elevator whooshed to a stop, and the doors opened. The first thing Harper noticed was a giant wall display of the Earth in the center, the moon to the left, the sun to the right, and an irregularly-shaped rock about a quarter the size of the moon next to it. A straight line from the rock to Earth pulsed red. 

A countdown clock on the top of the screen read: 22 hours 6 minutes 11 seconds. Below the clock was the word Erythminus.

“What is this place?” Harper asked. Her knees wobbled. Her stomach churned acid. 

“You two have lasted longer as employees than anyone else,” the man who had escorted Harper replied. “In twenty-two hours, the mega-asteroid, Erythminus, will strike Earth, extinguishing all human life. The Bearing Company isn’t what you think. We don’t make anything. We are a test center to find candidates who can survive prolonged periods of boredom, in case of an Earth-ending event.” 

“We’re the most boring company to work for and that’s on purpose,” the other man said.

Grisham looked confused. So did Harper.

“You’re a thousand feet beneath the surface. This facility is stocked with water, food, and air—ten years of supplies. Welcome to the ark.”

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