Fran ... the Neurotypical

Inspiration for this comes from Paige Layle on TikTok who made the offhanded comment that "Neurodivergent people don't write about Bob the Neurotypical, who works a corporate job", and hearing that, I knew I needed to write exactly that. Of course, I had to talk about Fran, because it was more fun for me that way.

It's Tuesday again, and Fran hates Tuesdays.

It wouldn't be so bad, except that Tuesdays come after Mondays, and Mondays are The Worst™. And of course, Tuesdays come before Wednesdays, and those are equally unpleasant.

Okay. Fine. It would be so bad, no matter what. And Fran knows it. So she reaches over to silence an alarm that hasn't gone off yet, and she brings herself to a half vertical, still barely awake. Swinging her legs off the bed, she picks up her phone to check her schedule.

"10pm. Bed." she reads aloud as Carol King's "I Feel the Earth Move" starts blaring from the mp3 alarm clock next to her. She lets it play to "I feel the sky tumbling down" before hitting the button to kill the alarm. Couldn't let the message become positive. Almost automatically, Fran sets the phone back where she had picked it up from moments before and walks to the washroom 15 feet away. She starts the water running, undresses, and steps in. Some time passes, and she stops the water and steps out, wrapping a towel around herself to avoid the dripping.

In less than no time, she is dressed and downstairs in the kitchen. The coffee isn't running yet, but she's ahead of schedule, like normal, so she eats while she awaits her much needed caffeine. Fran can't get through a Tuesday without her coffee. It simply is not done.

The coffeemaker beeps its proud announcement that the sweet bean juice is ready, and Fran is already pouring herself a cup and turning off the hot plate. She takes up her purse from the table next to the garage door, climbs into the car, and sets off on her way to work.

The 90 minutes she spends commuting are gone before she has a chance to even complain, and she sits down at 8:59am to begin work. She doesn't notice the time passing. She never does. So she's shocked when Linda and Jerry from three desks down tap her and say they're going to lunch, and they'd like her to join them. "What's for lunch?" Fran asks, as usual, and as usual the answer is "Hayao's Sushi in the Strip", but she had known before asking, and the trio were already at the door, so what did it matter.

Lunch is over, and they return to their respective desks, continuing their tasks and assignments.

Fran is startled at 5:45pm by the sound of her phone ringing, as a chain of jingle bells in a holiday tune. "Fifteen minutes," she mumbles to herself, silencing the alarm and beginning her end of day routine. Finishing at 5:59pm, Fran stands up and heads for the door.

"Cutting out early there, Franny?" Dave, the manager. Every day. And every day, Fran waits five seconds to answer, points at the clock, and says "6 o'clock Dave. See you in the morning." then continues to her car.

In a flash, the 90 minute return commute passes, and Fran starts cooking supper, right on schedule. One of those quick suppers from a box. Lasagna. And a salad to keep her figure in check. She finishes eating around 8:15pm and heads to the door. Today's paper is still there, so she picks it up and does the crossword, finishing right at 9:28pm, as usual.

She's upstairs and turning on the water within moments. She disrobes, steps into the shower, and the time passes. She stops the water and steps out, wrapping herself in a towel. She brushes her still wet hair gently and puts it in a protective cap, then dresses herself for bed.

Her head is on the pillow at precisely 10 pm, and before she knows it, she's asleep.

- - - - -

It's Wednesday again, and Fran hates Wednesdays.