Benny
By Tony Rauch


I got a new job. I really wanted to settle in and apply myself, show them what a good worker I was, so I purposely hung back and didn’t really interact with anyone at first. Also, I wanted to get the vibe of the place, see which way the wind blows, learn what to do and what not, and when. So I pretty much just put my head down, worked and observed, keeping to myself for a while – not hiding myself away or being unfriendly, but not making myself overly obvious either.

So I didn’t really talk to anyone for quite a while. One chap would stop by my desk and hang out every now and then and chat. And that was nice, made me feel welcomed and appreciated. He was always so smiley and carefree, like he didn’t have a concern in the world. I was really impressed with that attitude, and I must admit it did rub off on me a little. But the odd thing about that guy was I never saw him working. Every time I’d see him, he would be standing there, chatting it up with someone. I never once saw him at his desk or carrying any papers. I’d have to get up every now and then to look something up or get something, and sometimes I’d have to go past his desk, but it was always empty. He’d always be way over there, chatting it up with someone else, grinning away as if the rest of us were saddled with invisible heavy weights (which we were unaware of) and he was somehow without such burdens. His name was Benny.

(There were other people at the office of course – some of the standard fare and tropes – the flirt, the ass kisser, the gossip, the lying/scheming weasel, the impressionable one the liar needed to hang out with, the insecure person who had to define and hang a label on everyone, the grump, the complainer, the miserable bastard, the sweaty guy, corporal nervous, the grizzly adams mountain man, the grinner, uncle blinky, the sad-sack, the bragger, the stealer, captain stare, ms. ‘show-you-what’s-wrong-with-your-life’, the blank page, the misplacer, pig-pen, polly paranoia, the hippy, the blamer, the zombie, Mr. Indecisive, the mumbler, disco manquake, fibber magee, garbage dump desk, doctor disorganized, the saboteur, mr. bossy pants, grandpa, king Julius III, the panther, the “I still won” guy, the crier, nosey nate, the repeater, the excuse-maker 3000, the worrier, captain midnight, mr. cheapie, the problem starter, panicy pete, the fog, the hypochondriac, the black hole, and many more that were indefinable in that they were a vast matrix of personality traits.)

But everyone seemed to be a pretty good worker. I mean, why let your talents go to waste? Why not work to build a solid foundation? There’s nothing worse than wasted potential. Most seemed to keep to themselves. I guess they were busy. I was very impressed with the ones who just sat there all day with their heads down, cranking away. I was really inspired by that. That’s who I want to be, I’d say to myself from time to time, to psyche myself up – that’s who I want to be.

The place was pretty corporate and stiff. When I interviewed they even told me as much, not really coming right out and admitting it, but did convey that attribute in so many words. I told them I was pretty enthusiastic and may not fit in. I wouldn’t want to rub people the wrong way, or at least not the decent people. Some people are so insecure they can’t see beyond that and don’t like other people anyway no matter what. There wasn’t anything I could do to win those people over, and I didn’t want to waste my time with them anyway. I just didn’t want to bother the rank and file, didn’t want to upset the apple cart or rock the boat. But the two sad-looking, forlorn, funereal seeming gentlemen in dark, tight, constraining, possibly soul-crushing suits who interviewed me mentioned they could use a little color and enthusiasm in their midst, so I shouldn’t worry about my enthusiasm. But after working there a while, I found their assessment to be inaccurate – the place was not the city of the dead which I had assumed it to be based upon their description. Yeah, it was a little quiet, grey, and cold, but I also found a great deal of treasure there – that of friendship, inspiration, and knowledge. I learned a great deal about my chosen profession from these people, and in just hanging back and observing I was able to absorb a lot and also radiate some form of credibility. Also, in just listening, I heard about all sorts of great treasure – one person needed to get rid of an old dresser, another an old end table and lamp. Why I really made out like a bandit, scoring all manner of treasure over time. And this accumulation of free junk really saved me money and time in not having to waste my life out foraging for that stuff myself.

I wondered who many of these people were and what brought them here. I guess they were all just trying to cobble together a life for themselves, or trying to keep the life they built purring along. As I worked I’d listen to their conversations – all the things they did. Why these people were incredible, unbelievable – one person was out flying small airplanes, another jumping out of perfectly good airplanes at high altitudes, another running marathons, another playing in a little jazz combo, another fixing old radios, another raising a family, another cooking and gardening, another competing in ballroom dances, another fixing up old motorbikes, another involved with a church group, another volunteering for charities, another out flying giant kites, another operating model boats, another making up their own words – creating a new vocabulary, another renovating houses. Why they were out doing all manner of things, fixing up everything, getting involved, meeting people, having all manner of adventures. Their actions really inspired me to want to do something too. I haven’t figured out what exactly just yet, but you can be assured I will be out doing something eventually, that I can promise you. And then maybe I’ll too have something interesting to talk about, something worthy to share. Maybe I’ll write a children’s book about a naughty little giraffe named Melanie who likes to start fires, maybe I’ll develop some annoying little mannerisms, maybe I’ll go minimal and not own anything, maybe I’ll create a new religion, maybe I’ll take to wearing a strange wig.

They had a room off to the side called the smashing room. I think it was an old storage or conference room. Anyway, in it were placed some old computers and telephones and such that people could smash with baseball bats and crow bars which the company had provided. There was a clear plastic riot-type face shield which you had to wear if you went in there. But they’d let you smash the crap out of whatever was left in there if you felt the urge. I sat near that room, so it was interesting to see someone stomp in there every few weeks and wreak havoc. Every once in a while someone would really let fly, I mean really let loose. You’d hear muffled crashes and distant, vague swearing and muffled profanity, and carrying on for a few moments. Sometimes, if you were lucky, if it was a really good day, you’d hear a sweet, muffled bellow of rage and frustration, or anguished wailing, raging against the impending night, and sweet sweet release. Then the person would emerge, looking exhausted but free. There seemed to be a burden lifted, a sense of profound relief, as if they had found a new religion or something. Perhaps by smashing things they had released some tension or frustration, perhaps they had excised the demons of the past that had been haunting them, fouling their way, bogging them down.

And old Benny, he was always smiling and chuckling, always glad to see you. What a great attitude. What an inspiration. Everything about him looked inexpensive though – cheap clothes, cheap haircut – like he didn’t want to spend any money, as if he knew his time here was going to be limited and of little consequence, so why even bother. That was always very curious to me – that material possessions didn’t seem to matter to him. And try as I might, I never did see him do any work, never once saw him at a desk, as if he didn’t want to be stuck behind a desk all day long, chained to a desk all life. Where as to me, my desk was a refuge, the work was exciting, I was just glad to have something to do, to contribute, to be out of the house. But maybe that was why Benny was hired – to just hang around and be nice, to spread some joy and sunshine throughout the perceived dreary work-a-day slog. Maybe that was his role – a minister of good cheer. Maybe he was a robot they kept in a closet over night, like you would a vacuum cleaner or something. Maybe they ordered him out of a catalog. I don’t rightly know.

The other thing about Benny was that I would see him around outside of work from time to time, out and about while I was running errands or out riding my bike. I never got to talk to him outside of work as he was always zipping past in a blur or way up ahead and thus out of ear range. One time I saw him riding an old bike. And then a few days later, I saw him riding a totally different bike. Who has two different bikes? And why was he riding them? Where was he going? Then another time I saw him driving an old beat up baby blue pickup truck. And then a few days later I saw him driving a little old car. Then like a week later he was driving an old red station wagon. I mean, what’s up with that? Not that it’s really any of my business or anything, but man, where did he get all those cars? Why the three vehicles? And where was he going? I would see him from time to time, but always in the oddest of places, always caught in the blur of the day or lingering in the vague background – getting his hair cut as I passed by a storefront window, up on a roof helping repair something, on a passing bus grinning and chatting it up with someone, always out and about – as if checking up on me or something. Maybe my parents hired him to just sort of “be around”.

I thought more and more about this – why was I seeing him around like this, as if apparitions of my own aspirations, as if projections of my own best self, my highest being, my idealized goals and visions of myself. I couldn’t figure it out. Perhaps he had always been around and I just hadn’t noticed it yet, I mean, not until I was introduced to him, then he stood out. Perhaps he had a twin brother. Maybe he was part of a set of triplets. I don’t know. The best I could come up with is this – that Benny was a clone, as if some company were manufacturing them for order, or as if someone somewhere was creating these clones, unbeknownst to anyone else, nice clones, polite clones, and sprinkling them about the city in secret, placing them all over to radiate positivity and good vibes, rendering all doubts to the reliquary, invalidating all doubts, rendering all doubts null and void, setting good examples, helping people out, asking about your day, making you feel at home, at ease, . . . wanting to know you.


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Tony Rauch has been interviewed by The Prague Post, Oxford University, and Rain Taxi. His books have been reviewed by MIT, Savanna Collage of Art and Design, and Rain Taxi, among many others. His stories have appeared in numerous literary journals. Rauch has four books of short stories out –

- “I'm right here,” from Spout Press (funky/jazzy/arty experimental short stories)
- “Laredo,” from Eraserhead Press (funky/jazzy/arty fairytale short stories)
- “Eyeballs growing all over me . . again” from Eraserhead Press (fairy tale surreal fantasy action adventure sci-fi short stories and story starters)
- “As I floated in the jar” from Eraserhead Press (fairy tale surreal fantasy action adventure sci-fi short stories and story starters) [to be published in the next few weeks]

For more info and story samples, refer to his website: http://trauch.wordpress.com/