The Adventures of Bob

Once upon a time not so long ago there lived in a nondescript suburban house in an inconspicuous neighborhood in a quiet Mid-Western town a fellow named Robert John Smith, and he was boring.

A man accustomed to and adjusted by strict habits, he followed a set routine every week-day. After first getting up from sleep at 7:15 AM and attending to his personal matters, he would shower for precisely eleven minutes at a lukewarm temperature not exceeding 99 degrees fahrenheit (or approximately 37.22 degrees celsius, for a metrically-inclined mind, which Bob, as he was called, did not possess), while rubbing a bar of generic soap on one of his washcloths that he had acquired at the wedding shower twenty-two years ago to lather it up and then moving the washcloth across each part of his body to clean them. After rinsing the soap off, and hanging the cloth in its place on a transparent plastic tube in the bath he would dry himself with a towel equally old as the aforementioned washcloth, and carefully lay it on the floor to soak up the water that invariably seemed to find its way out of the bath. (His wife Linda Jane would generally attend to the laundry left by his transit about a half hour later.)
In the meantime Bob would finish his toilet by brushing his teeth, flossing, applying appropriate levels of antiperspirant, shaving with an electric razor, and combing his hair into a professional cut. Having done all of his errands in the bathroom, he would head back into the bedroom to dress. His standard style of dress, and in fact the only things that he owned for going outdoors besides the old shirts left over from his college days, consisted of a white shirt, black trousers and suit, and a solid gray tie, each of which were ironed as necessary before being worn. The Smiths studiously made sure Bob’s clothing was washed or dry-cleaned every weekend, and he never wore the same outfit more than one day of a week (not that anyone could tell the difference) so that his garb was always immaculate, heading off any inquiries about hygiene or fashion that a less constant person might have invited by never seeming to change their wardrobe.
Being so attired, save for the suit jacket which would hang at a convenient location near the door waiting for him when he exited, Bob would take his morning repast while listening to the radio weather and traffic reports. He had unsweetened generic oatmeal made with water for week-days, along with a healthy serving of several dietary supplement pills containing all the nutrients he couldn’t be troubled to get from other sources. Afterwards he would wash his mouth out with mouthwash as he always did after consuming a meal, kiss his wife, pick up his wallet, keys, notepad and ink pens from their places and put them in their spots in his pockets, put on his coat in the entry hall, say, “Good-bye” to anyone who happened to be listening, unlock and open the front door, step outside and close it, lock it again with his door key, and begin walking towards his sensible gray Civic. On days that were projected to rain he would bring along an umbrella.
After getting in and adjusting his seat to his preferred specification, his ten-minute drive to work would be typically quiet and uneventful. Arriving at the legal firm, Bob would park in his designated space, nod a greeting to the doorman, and go to his office to work accounts and numbers until lunch-time. He was a law accountant, and he enjoyed it.

 

Author: James Gryphon

My passion is and has always been for doing things that interest me that nobody expects me to do. Without any expectations in the mix to sully my affairs, I have a particular interest in writing, computing (vintage Macintoshes in particular), and in all types of play, whether video gaming, tabletop board or card gaming, or sports. I hope to be able to use these interests as the foundation of a lucrative and beneficial career.

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