Tom Yates felt great. He looked great, smelled great, and overall was having a great day. This wasn’t rare; Tom Yates would often wake up feeling absolutely great about himself, but unfortunately, Tom was born with rotten luck, and someone would always come along and ruin his day for him. Whether it be his children, his employees, or one of his maids, he couldn’t make it through a day without having someone spoil his mood.
Today, however, it was his wife. He stepped out of the shower, drying the few hairs he had left on his head with a towel (which, of course, he would cover up with a wig that he would deny the existence of). He stepped into his warm slippers, put on his glasses, and walked toward the walk-in closet in which his outfit would be displayed for him on a mannequin. Tom was very rich. He was proud to admit it. He took his father’s business and turned it into a multi-million dollar company. And he barely had any help; just a few million dollars inheritance. How many people can one think of that have done something so extraordinary? Probably just one, and his name was Tom Yates.
The closet was large and spacious. To his left and right were hundreds of coats hanging on coat racks. The wall opposite him had a large mirror, with vertical fluorescent lights running down both sides of it, giving the room a cheerful glow. He stood in front of it for a few moments, admiring himself. He adjusted his glasses and turned to the middle of the room, where the mannequin was with his outfit for the day.
And what he saw enraged him. He stormed over to the intercom and pushed the button next to the microphone.
“Elizabeth!” he roared.
There was a low beep.
“What is it, Tom?” his wife’s soft voice came through the speaker. “Is everything okay?”
“Just get up here,” he mumbled.
Tom slowly walked over to the mannequin again, eyeing the monstrosity. What a waste of time. Now he’d be late to work and be in a bad mood, and it was all because of his wife.
There was a knock on his closet door.
“Come in,” he said.
Elizabeth appeared wearing silk, baby blue pajamas. She looked tired. Tom didn’t know why; it’s not like she really ever did anything.
He held up the tie that was on the mannequin.
“What’s this?” he asked angrily.
Elizabeth furrowed her eyebrows, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
“It’s your tie.”
“No. No it’s not. This is cornflower blue. I specifically asked for my scarlet red tie this morning. And I specifically asked for you to tell the stylist to set out my scarlet red tie, did I not?”
Elizabeth sighed. “I’m sorry, Tom, I must’ve forgotten. It was a busy night for me.”
Tom snorted. “Busy without business.”
She gave him a look and walked towards the tie section of the room. There, the scarlet red tie was hanging in plain sight. She yanked it off its hanger and handed it to Tom.
“Thank you,” he said. “Such a simple task.”
Elizabeth didn’t say anything and began to walk away.
“And call Dr. Glover. I need a higher prescription for my glasses.”
“You don’t even need your glasses. It’s just psychosomatic.”
“Just do it,” he demanded.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes and opened the closet door.
“You know, this is why they keep your kind in the kitchen,” Tom added, laughing at his own little joke.
Elizabeth stopped in her tracks and spun around. “What did you say?”
Tom chuckled and adjusted his glasses. “Oh, you wouldn’t understand.”
She turned back around and stomped out of the room. Tom didn’t know why she was so angry; it’s not like he asked her to bring him the Eiffel Tower.
It’s probably that time of month, he thought with a snicker. He finished getting ready and headed off to work.

                         `````

“That was our biggest client. Do you realize how much you’ve cost this company?”
The room was silent. No one dared to speak except Stella, for the others knew the fate that would await them if they said a word.
Tom sat in the conference room, feet up on the table, cleaning his glasses with a cloth, listening to Stella scream at him about ‘ruining the business’ and whatnot. He was the owner. She was an employee. He’d just fire her. But he’d let her finish first; it would be more satisfying to see her finish her little temper tantrum, only to be fired the next second.
“Listen, Stel, this wasn’t my fault, okay? He provoked me. And I fired back,” Tom explained dismissively. “You might’ve taken that verbal abuse from him. It’s fine if you would. Maybe the company wouldn’t have lost the small amount of money he brings to us. But as for me, I’m basically a perfect person, and I would never do anything so wrong. I’m sorry, but it’s true. So it really isn’t my fault.”
Stella looked exasperated. “Verbal abuse? You told him to go back to Africa. You cheated him and his company, committed corporate fraud, and when he confronted you, you insulted him. When he was willing to continue doing business with you, despite what you said and did, you mocked his mother and told him his business meant nothing to us. You mocked. His mother.”
Tom shrugged. “He was asking for it.”
There was silence for a few minutes. Stella closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “With all due respect, Mr. Yates, what you said and did could potentially be the end of this company. I’ve got two little kids at home. I’m a single mom. I can’t afford to lose this job.”
“Don’t have kids if you can’t take care of them,” Tom said, standing up from his chair. He put his glasses back on, leaned close to Stella, with a nasty snarl on his face.
“Clean out your desk.”
With that, he dismissed everyone, leaving Stella in the conference room, sobbing.

                        `````

The next morning was just like any other for Tom. He woke up, looked great, felt great, and boom—someone ruins it.
For once it didn’t start at home. When he woke up, his five kids had already left for school, and his wife was still sleeping. She never did anything. She was an utterly terrible mother and wife.
Tom went outside and saw his jaguar waiting, next to the front gates. They had a new driver today; someone he hadn’t seen before. The window of his car rolled down and revealed the new driver. Tom stopped dead, turning suddenly pale (which, of course, wouldn’t be visible under his spray tan). The driver was a black man.
“Hello, Mr. Yates!” he smiled at him. “My name is Chris. I’ll be your new driver!”
Tom didn’t move or speak. He held tightly onto his briefcase, which contained his MacBook laptop and his wallet. That’s exactly what this man would be after.
It wasn’t that he was racist… no. Tom didn’t discriminate. He was the most accepting person you could ever meet. No one was more accepting than Tom Yates. He just had to be smart; he didn’t want to get robbed.
Tom ignored Chris’s greeting and got into the car, mumbling his work address. Throughout the car ride, he could see Chris peering into the rearview mirror, plotting a scheme to steal all his money. When they reached his office, Tom got out immediately, slamming the door shut, without saying goodbye.
“Wait! Mr. Yates!” he heard behind him. Tom turned around.
Chris got out of the car and began to walk towards Tom. He was holding something, but Tom couldn’t see what.
Oh god… he was going to get mugged. He panicked. His heart began to pound. Quickly, he ran into the office building, still clutching his briefcase. He turned around to see if Chris was still there.
He was. Tom watched as an elderly couple caught sight of Chris, gasped, and quickly switched sides of the street while mumbling racial insults. He felt glad that he had helped the couple see the man Chris truly was.
“Racists!” Chris shouted after them, before getting back in the car and driving off.
Tom rolled his eyes at that word. He didn’t understand why people were always calling everyone racist and sexist and homophobic. It really just made no sense to him. You get treated the way you deserve to get treated. You’re not denied opportunities because of your race or gender. Anyone can make it to the top if they are willing to work hard enough, like Tom did. If only society would understand that.
Tom, feeling more at peace after seeing Chris leave, began to walk inside when suddenly, someone bumped into him.
He immediately fell to the ground face-first. His hands didn’t quite break his fall. His glasses fell and shattered, and he hurt his wrist.
Tom got up to see the man who pushed him. It was a short, elfish man who looked like he was on the verge of tears.
“I’m s-s-so sorry s-s-sir!” he stuttered. “I didn’t see you there!”
Tom stood up furiously. “Are you blind? Watch were you’re going, Helen Keller!”
After firing him, Tom reached for the shards of his glasses. He shook with anger. He needed those glasses. He needed them. And now they were broken. He felt like throwing up. He really needed those glasses.
Tom let out a cry of frustration. How was he supposed to go through a day of meetings with top-level executives of important companies when he could barely see anything? It was all that idiots fault. He would tell his wife to order him a new pair, he decided. He needed a new prescription anyway.
Taking a deep breath, he hastily made his way up the stairs, preparing himself for the dreadful day ahead of him.

The week of December 18th was usually an odd one for Tom. It was the busiest of his whole year; back to back meetings with the most valuable clients of the company. He didn’t usually come into work. When he did, however, he was treated like a king, which he absolutely loved.
This particular year, however, was special. The people around Tom suddenly… changed.
He watched the scene unfolding before him in horror.
“Don’t talk to him, John. He’s probably plotting another terrorist attack.”
Two employees, John and Craig, were crowding around the desk of another worker, Ethan. Tom knew him. He vaguely recalled teasing him at one point in one of his prior visits for the religion he practiced: Islam. He remembered Ethan to be a very intimidating man; he always acted like he was up to no good. Suddenly it didn’t seem that way. He seemed less hostile and more… normal.
Ethan ignored John and Craig, but Tom could see their words affecting him.
Tom clapped his hands together. “Get to work. I don’t pay you to roam around being immature kindergarteners.”
John and Craig cleared his desk, leaving Ethan to his work. Tom watched him. He wasn’t doing anything, just sitting at his desk, working. Minding his own business. On his screen was an Excel spreadsheet, not a Wikihow on how to make bombs. It was strange to Tom… he could’ve sworn he used to be much different.
After they left, Ethan turned around in his chair to face Tom, a small smile on his face. “Thank you, sir.”
His stomach hurt. There was a weird feeling flowing through his body… he’d never felt this way before. It was probably because he didn’t have his glasses. When he didn’t have his glasses, his head hurt. That was probably affecting his whole body, he decided.
Tom looked at his Rolex. Fifteen minutes until his next meeting. He needed fresh air. He would take a quick walk and come back for the meeting.
Tom ran downstairs, not bothering to take the elevator.
“Everything okay, Sir?” the secretary called after him as he ran.
He didn’t respond. He ran through the revolving door and was hit by the cool December air of New York City.
Well, at least it was supposed to be cool. He looked down at the ground. Where was the snow? He took off his hat and gloves. There wasn’t any need for them. Wasn’t it supposed to be 20 degrees? This was New York—in December. It used to be colder. They never had such warm weather at this time of year.
He inhaled deeply, but rather than fresh air, it was cigarette smoke that greeted his nostrils.
He coughed and looked around. There were people flooding the streets, as usual. A young man, maybe in his early twenties, was standing nearby, leaning against the wall, talking on the phone. He was smiling and laughing. Seeing the young man smile provided a sense of solace to Tom. It was a black man, and for once in his life, Tom didn’t see a black person to be threatening. Maybe they weren’t so bad…
His stomach started hurting again.
There was a tug on his sleeve.
“Excuse me, sir,” a man said. Tom covered his nose at the stench that emitted from his tattered clothes and grimy body. “You seem like a wealthy man. I don’t have money to feed my family. If you could spare a dollar—just a dollar—my son will have food to eat.”
Tom shook his head and tore away from the man. Since when did homeless people live in New York?
What was going on? How did everything change all of a sudden? He didn’t remember his employees to be so rude. He didn’t remember Ethan to be kind and regular. And since when was New York warm? Nothing seemed right anymore.
Maybe he wasn’t in New York. Maybe this was a different country. Maybe someone had kidnapped him. Maybe he’d passed out when he fell.
Something brought him out of his thoughts. Someone (Tom couldn’t tell who) sprinted past him through the busy streets, knocking a few people over. 
“Hands up!” he heard in the distance. He spun around and saw a police officer holding a gun up in front of the young man he’d seen before. He was still on the phone. He slowly brought the phone away from his ear and put his hands up in the air. The boy looked petrified. The officer and the boy exchanged a few words. He was shaking so badly that Tom could see it from the distance he was at.
“What happened?” Tom asked a woman next to him.
“There was a robbery at that store across the street,” she replied, pointing to a convenience store right across from where they were standing. “They’re trying to catch the guy who did it.”
“Well it wasn’t him,” Tom said. “I’ve been standing here about ten minutes; this guy’s been here the whole time.”
The lady shrugged. “They always suspect the black guy first.”
Tom was taken aback by her words. He suddenly understood what had happened with Chris in the morning.
People had crowded around to watch. The boy looked up at the phone he was holding nervously, quickly brought it down to his ear, and began to say something.
Boom.
A single gunshot echoed through the air, silencing the horde of spectators watching and taking videos on their phones. The body of the young man lay on the ground, unmoving. No one spoke.
Tom’s ears stopped working. He saw a flood of police officers show up, their mouths moving. They were saying something to the crowd, but he couldn’t understand what. One of them grabbed Tom by the shoulders and moved him aside. The crowd cleared out, and everyone went about their day. 
Tom stumbled and sank to the floor, beginning to cry. Where was the happy, joyful, perfect city he’d called his home for fifty-seven years? This didn’t used to happen. The police officers helped people, didn’t kill them. The people in his office used to actually be funny, not disrespectful. They didn’t seem mean, but now he was beginning to think otherwise. He’d been blind. He’d been on earth for more than half a century and he was blind.
His wife was wrong. He really did need those glasses.
Tom’s stomach was hurting again. He took his phone out and called Chris, asking him to pick him up. Those clients could wait.
His jaguar pulled up in front of the building.
Tom hastily got into the car.
Chris’s eyes met Tom’s in the rearview mirror. “Is everything okay, sir?”
Tom looked back at those eyes looking at him through the mirror. There was no malice in them. He wondered what he would see in his own. Perhaps anger. Hostility. Insensitivity. Thoughtlessness.
Ignorance.
Tom refused to cry, as much as he wanted to.
“I’m okay.”
The car ride was a pleasant one. There was a lot of traffic. Tom asked Chris about his life. He had a wife and three kids. They were triplets, which Chris said was a handful. His wife worked as a night nurse, so he was the parent who was in charge of them, mostly. His life seemed tough.
Tom thought about his own wife. She didn’t allow nannies to take care of their children; she believed they needed a mother’s personal touch. Tom always thought she did this because she was stupid. Maybe it was because she was caring.
“What were you trying to tell me this morning?” Tom asked.
Chris laughed and reached into the glove compartment, pulling out a stack of papers. “Your wife gave me these before I picked you up this morning. She said they’re some important papers for your meeting. Apparently you had lost them.”
Tom remembered that. He thanked Chris and took the papers.
“Oh! I almost forgot—you have an appointment with the eye doctor this afternoon. You need new glasses, right?”
Tom didn’t say anything. He leaned back in his seat and looked out the window introspectively.
“Sir?” Chris turned to look at him.
Tom cleared his throat.
“Cancel it. I don’t need them anymore.”