A Happy Marriage?

Chapter 1: Rock Bottom

He just wanted to turn his alarm clock off and forget about going to work today, but he just couldn't do that knowing that he has to make so much money to make ends meet. Would it ever be enough? Working? Would it make him enough money to pay off the immense debt his stupid, irresponsible, and once more moronic brother, Merle had wracked up after being taken to prison. It is as if Daryl had been sentenced to his own time in prison. He never imagined he'd have to make so much money all because his brother fucked up. How was it fair? Is he just a doormat? Or is this what all families with delinquents deal with?

Turning off his alarm, he stretches and kicks his legs over the edge of the bed. Feet resting on the floor, Daryl rubs his eyes and places his elbows on his thighs, leaning forward in despair. He doesn't know how much longer he can take working two jobs. Shaking it off, he goes to his closet and grabs his uniform black pants and his white collared shirt, along with his green tie.

Huh, I'd like to hang myself with this green piece of shit. I end up taking it off anyway. And a white shirt, when working with greasy gears and engines? Who's the asshole who thought that up?

He gets the Greene Cycle Corporation values old ways and a family atmosphere, but not every worker should have to dress up, especially when they do the dirty work of putting together the motorcycles. True, Daryl enjoys his job, when he doesn't have to fix the mistakes of others, but it could be worse. The pay is fairly decent at $14.93 an hour. And the benefit packages aren't too shabby either. It's just the mentality of it all- being just another body in a shop of hundred and a company of thousands. No one knows you too personally because half the time someone ends up in another building in some other state or on some other floor. For Daryl, that's fine because he's a loner, but he doesn't necessarily mind getting to know one or two guys to talk too.

Looking at himself in the bathroom mirror as he brushes his teeth, he realizes that for a 28 year old, he sure looks worn. His hair is longer than he usually wears it and his eyes seem dull. They used to sparkle when he got up in the morning, with the excitement of having to work on the choppers he's loved and believed in for hours on end- but they are now dull and lackluster.  What more is his over all appearance in this in-Daryl like outfit. He is a mechanic, an engineer, a scientist, but he has to dress like some pencil pusher? Seems hardly adequate for someone in his position. For four years he's had to put up with this ridiculous outfit, and he's almost put in his two cents once or twice about it. Okay so maybe the outfit isn't the real reason he's frustrated. Maybe it's because he feels under appreciated for all the hard work he puts in. He's one of the most knowledgeable workers at Greene Cycles and yet, he's a bottom feeder, a low end hand, a grunt.

He hates the term- but that is what he is and that's what he does- grunt work. He is far more capable of doing something spectacular. Maybe making a new hybrid machine or sound canceling engines or possibly even the sickest, loudest, bad ass bike known to man. But he's just a...a grunt.

Getting on his own hog, he starts it up and just closes his eyes listening to the roar of the engine of his B.G x Grand- a bike he personally manufactured at Greene Cycles. It's his most prized possession and it cost him nothing more than his hard work. Tugging on his helmet, he gives way to the throttle and he's off. Zooming in and out of the Atlanta traffic, Daryl feels powerful, free, and most of all happy. It's rare that he ever finds happiness in his day to day life, but one thing's for sure- when he's riding his motorcycle, he's the happiest he'll ever be.

Pulling into a parking spot in the parking garage, Daryl kills the engine, but the sound still resonates throughout the cement complex. As he pulls his helmet off, he feels the cool air on his face and closes his eyes.

Another day of Hell...one more paycheck that goes to my asshole brother, and absolutely no time to relax. Huh sounds like a Monday to me.

After being held up talking to the guard, an awkward older man, Dale, who has worked here probably since the dawn of time- Daryl rushes to punch in, but once again, is late. If only he could sneak passed Dale every morning. He would be on time. He just doesn't want to be rude though. Dale has helped him out of many times since Daryl started working here.