They picked a Monday morning for this.

Beep, beep, beep.

The noise is paralyzing. Its high-pitched scream cuts through to every one of my individual brain cells, reverberating like a child's teeth chatter when he heads out to school on a freezing cold morning.

Beep, beep.

Will there be no end to this irritation? The sound is close enough that I can feel my skull vibrate. I press my head against the window and mutter a few obscenities under my breath at the driver.

How long does it take to pick up some trash?

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

"Mario! Watch it!"

The sound of aluminum garbage can lids clattering to the pavement pushes me farther to the edge. I collapse into my chair.

Eyes closed, I begin to rub my temples, slowly focusing on the sound of meticulous fingertips coaxing keyboards to spit out the latest and greatest on education news. This noise is much more gentle, almost soothing.

Beep, beep, beep.

This time the interruption comes from right below my second-story window. I'd give anything for my silent scream to be able to escape my cubicle and make the men below cringe in fear. It would be worse for them if they heard it for real.

If only.

Beep, beep.

"Yo, Mario, what did I just say? You gonna run over my new boots?"

A man — the cursed driver, I assume — guffaws.

A phone rings on the other side of the long fluorescent light-lit room. With my luck, it will go unanswered.

The microwave door slams closed in the break room and a hungry editor quickly punches in a time, no doubt eager to devour her frozen lunch and be on with her afternoon.

My neighbor slowly cracks each of his knuckles and sighs rather dramatically. He lifts his coffee mug, hesitates, clicks his mouse seven times, and takes a loud sip, slightly slurping.

Beep, beep, beep.

The sound is farther away, in front of the building perhaps? I exhale slowly and open my eyes. Will this day never end? I glance at the time in the corner of my computer screen.

Crap, I'm late for that meeting.

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