“The Ice Age” by Dan Leach (Fiction ’20)

The Ice Age

Years ago, when I worked in the claims department of an insurance company, my supervisor called me into his office to discuss what he referred to as my “marked decrease in productivity.” He provided me with an official-looking document that ranked all the workers in terms of their contributions to the company. My name was at the bottom. “I thought you were supposed to be smart,” he said. “So what’s the problem here?”

I considered his question for several seconds, then made the mistake of telling him the truth. “I’m sorry, sir,” I said, “but lately I’ve been depressed.”

Something about this answer made his hummus-colored mustache twitch. In the silence that followed, he picked up a fountain pen and began to slap it against his knuckles in a gesture that meant, I don’t have time for this bullshit.

“Depressed?” he said, still slapping.

“It’s something I’ve struggled with since I was a kid,” I said.