Trial Run by Zach Williams, 2022
The magic trick:
Highlighting a very specific modern crisis
“Trial Run” is a workplace drama set in New York. A man has come to the office on a very snowy day. There is almost no one else in the office. Almost no one. And, as we have come to learn during this week of Zach Williams stories, things get strange.
The trick that stands out here to me is the perfect tone Williams gives our narrator in terms of his constant attempt at balancing his judgment of others with the guilt he clearly feels himself – which really is kind of the stance that so many of us are left trying to reconcile in this social media age of ours. And it leaves us – as it leaves our narrator – constantly avoiding social interactions that we can’t control because of what they might do to our precious balance between judgment and guilt.
I don’t think I’ve read any other stories that get at that specific peril of modern times just like this one does. And that’s quite a trick on Williams’s part.
The selection:
“Well,” I said, “I guess it’ll be pretty dead, anyhow.”
“Definitely. Weather’s crazy.” He gave weather two hard syllables.
It was hard to know when you were done talking with Manny. I was still getting used to having him around, watching all our comings and goings. Since the mass shooting at Rantr the previous spring, it had become common for tenants of downtown buildings to staff in-house security. Manny had served in the Marines during the Gulf War. I often wondered if, there at the podium, he was armed, or how exactly he was authorized to use force in a security situation. That was management’s phrase: security situation. During the monthly lockdown drills they’d instituted, Manny paced the emptied corridors, testing the handles on the conference room doors, unblinking, while we crouched inside.
I said, “Power’s out at my place, so I’d rather be here. All things considered.”
“I’m obligated to be here,” Manny said. “Hey, just so you know. There’s another TruthFlex email. Came in just now. Delete that shit.” He covered his mouth with his hand. “Pardon my language.”
“Ah. Damn. Another one. Sorry—sorry to hear about that.”
“You don’t got to say sorry to me, bro. You know what I mean?”
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