The Nobodies

by Liza Palmer

  “I know her. We were in onboarding together,” I say. They nod and I immediately hope I haven’t jinxed the fragile formation of our group in some way by being too greedy at the prospect of adding one more. She looks over and before I can think better of it, I shoot my hand up again.

  “Elise!” The people in front of me jerk around at my loud yelp, but she smiles and waves back. I let out a huge sigh of relief as she picks her way through the crowd and heads toward our little trio in the back.

  “Hey!” I say, smiling from ear to ear.

  “Hey,” she says, settling in next to Hani.

  “Hani Khadra,” Hani says, introducing herself to Elise.

  “Oh, so sorry. Elise Nakamura, this is Hani.” Elise smiles at Hani.

  “Hani Khadra,” Hani repeats. Elise and I both smile and nod. Hani has her hand up and looks like she’s about to say something else. We wait. Hani’s hand freezes mid-wave.

  “Okay.” I turn Elise’s attention over to Thornton. “And this is Thornton Yu. My manager.” Thornton smiles.

  “So great to meet you,” Hani blurts. “Elise Nakamura.” All three of us turn back to Hani. Nod. Smile. She takes a long pull from her water and sits back in her chair.

  “Have you heard about this fun fact business and how can we get out of it?” Elise asks.

  “I love fun facts,” Hani says.

  “What was yours?” I ask.

  “That I named every family dog I ever had the same name because I was too sad to ever admit that any of them had”—Hani’s voice drops to a whisper—“passed away.” There is a lull. “Mrs. Pennybaker.”

  “How many are we talking?” Elise asks.

  “Including the one right now?” We all nod. “Five.” Hani pulls out her phone from her pocket and shows us the photo she has saved as her wallpaper. It’s a close-up shot of a very happy mutt charging at whoever is taking the photo.

  Fox Two Hats and Ria immediately appear over our shoulders like Fun Fact Vultures. Fox’s outfit today is a pair of tie-dyed hemp overalls and an old Grateful Dead T-shirt. He’s paired this look with a pumpkin-colored wool beanie that sits perched on the back of his head. Another classic.

  “It’s fun fact time,” Fox Two Hats says, gesturing to the growing crowd of new employees forming around Chris and Asher in the front of the main area. Elise and I both stand and begin speaking in quick hushed tones.

  “We’ll save your seats,” Hani says, putting her cell phone on my seat and a crumpled bag of Cheez-Its down on Elise’s.

  “It’ll be over before you know it,” Thornton adds, taking my half-full bottle of beer.

  “You’ll have to tell me later what your fun fact was,” I say.

  “Oh, I didn’t do it.” My mouth drops open. “But, good for you.” I am actually speechless. “You’d better get going.” Thornton gestures to the rest of my group. I hurry to catch up with Elise. We settle in with the other new employees. Gray-Haired Dylan from onboarding is chatting with a couple of the other new hires.

  I am struggling. Nothing brings home the point that I don’t know who I am anymore better than being asked to present a simple fun fact about myself to a room full of strangers. Any fun facts I may have had about myself are being debunked at such a rate I can hardly keep track. Chris gives Caspian a nod and the music fades. I struggle to drag one true thing about myself up from the still choppy depths. The room quiets as everyone finds their seats and focuses in on Chris and Asher.

  “Thanks for gathering, everyone, I know how busy we all are,” Chris says.

  “But, there’s beer, so—” Asher adds, lifting his own bottle in toast. “We figured you guys would show up anyway.” The crowd laughs and cheers.

  “We have a bunch of announcements, but first I wanted to turn the mic over to Fox and Ria so they could introduce you to our newest Bloom employees,” Chris says.

  “Hey, everyone, thanks for giving us your attention and energy. I’m so grateful to be a part of your day and life,” Fox says. So earnest. So disarmingly earnest.

  “We’ve had eleven new hires this past month, so please make them feel welcome as they share a fun fact about themselves with you,” Ria says. She looks over at the pack of us just as Elise suddenly leaps forward. Ria hands her the microphone and I can see Elise’s knuckles whiten as she tightens her grip.

  “My name is Elise Nakamura.” Elise’s voice is loud and she’s way too close to the microphone. The feedback is immediate. She quickly moves the microphone away from her face and says, “My name is Elise Nakamura and my fun fact is that I hate fun facts.” The crowd erupts in whistles and applause. A huge smile breaks across Elise’s face as she hands Fox back the microphone.

  As an outdoorsy blond girl walks up and shares that she has one tiny dreadlock at the nape of her neck so that she can “always have a hair tie,” Elise bolts past me with a huge grin and a thumbs-up. She settles back next to Hani.

  One after another, all the new employees share something, from hiking Machu Picchu to winning third prize in a Tennessee turkey-calling contest. When the crowd dares the turkey-calling girl to re-create the bronze medal–winning holler, she obliges with an ear-piercing rendition to everyone’s cheers. At the end, just Gray-Haired Dylan and I are left. No way am I going to go last.

  When I get up to the front of the room, Fox hands me the microphone. It’s slick with sweat, and something about this heartens me. Everyone who’s been up here was nervous.

  “Hi, my name is Joan and—” I scan the crowd as everyone leans in. My name is Joan and I’m an old maid of thirty-six who still lives at home with my parents! My name is Joan and I’m maybe your mom’s age and I struggle to value myself!

  My name is Joan and I’m scared.

  My name is Joan and I’m lost.

  “My name is Joan and—” I lift my hand in the air and bend my pointer finger back with my middle finger, making it look almost like a little finger archery bow. “And I can do this.”

  There’s this lull. In those quiet milliseconds, I look at my bent-back fingers in all their weirdo glory. My stomach drops. It’s not that the bent-back pointer finger looks dislocated, but it looks just dislodged enough to be a bit of a parlor trick. A parlor trick I’ve been doing for pretty much my entire life to no one’s amusement but my own.

  I force myself to look from my bent-back finger out into the audience and realize the lull is because everyone’s trying to do the finger thing I just did. I hand the microphone back to Fox and he gives me a warm smile.

  “You did great,” Hani says as I sit back down. She looks from me to Elise. Hani opens her mouth to say something to Elise. Deflates slightly, but then blurts, “You were wonderful.” Hani pulls out the word “wonderful,” every syllable melty and lush.

  “Oh. Thank you,” Elise says. Hani nods, sits back in her chair, and smiles. As Fox and Ria finish up their presentation and say their thank-yous, Elise sneaks a quick glance at Hani.

  I look from Elise to Hani, then back over to Thornton.

  My name is Joan Dixon and I am no longer sitting alone.

  9

  Piggybacking

  It’s twenty minutes into Field and Chris and Asher have taken a very important question from the audience. They are cautious as they answer. Long pauses, searching glances at each other, and tense scrapes through boyishly tousled hair. Chris’s light blue Pumas twitch in syncopation with his thoughts. Asher flips his cell phone on his knee as he formulates his justifications. They make a good team.

  I look around at the Bloom workforce. Heads are shaking and people are muttering under their breath as Chris and Asher answer the clearly controversial question. The crowd is not happy.

  The question? Why did Chris and Asher decide to discontinue the Maruchan Instant Lunch ramen noodles in the canteen?

  “I wonder what’d happen if someone actually asked a real question?” I whisper to Elise.

  “I think they think this is a real question,” Elise says.

  How can any
one think that was a real question?

  I sit back in my chair. Then lean forward. Cross one leg, then the other. I bite my nails for a bit.

  Someone from the audience “piggybacks” off the ramen question asking what happened to the Rice Krispies treats that have very quietly gone AWOL. The office manager chimes in that the vendor they deal with stopped carrying them. But, before he elaborates further, the wet-headed blond girl from the coffee line interrupts. She’d like to “circle back” to a question she’d asked at the last Field about whether Chris and Asher would be offering a bigger variety of healthy snacks. Chris and Asher explain that they’re actually in early talks with a produce company that specializes in imperfect fruit and vegetables. The wet-headed girl sits back and snaps her fingers. Confused, Elise and I look around as several other Bloom workers join her finger snapping.

  “It’s good. That means they like it,” Hani whispers. Elise and I nod.

  I look over at Thornton, who has one long leg crossed over the other at the ankle. I look back over at Elise and Hani. Hani is scrolling through Mrs. Pennybaker’s personal Instagram feed as Elise smiles and leans in. Here’s Mrs. Pennybaker hiking Runyon Canyon and here’s Mrs. Pennybaker playing peekaboo under the covers and here’s Mrs. Pennybaker writing her first novel on a tiny dog-sized laptop.

  How wonderful it is to be sitting with new work friends as we breezily look through fun photos of one another’s pets and talk about pleasurable hikes. What a relaxing and community-building experience I’m having in this permanent job of mine.

  …

  …

  “I think they think this is a real question.”

  …

  …

  “I never thought I’d see the day when you wouldn’t try to figure it out.”

  …

  …

  “Doesn’t this bother you?” I whisper to Thornton.

  “Which part?” Thornton asks. He pushes his foot down and tilts his chair back, teetering dangerously on the back legs of his chair. He rocks back and forth with annoying, youthful ease.

  I blink and fidget as a feather-haired man in the front row has a “comment more than a question” regarding the benefits of natural light and whether Chris and Asher have thought about going “bulbless.”

  “What part? This.” I motion to everything and everyone around me. “All of it.” Thornton clunks his chair back down onto all four legs. He leans forward and lets his elbows rest on his knees, his beer lazily dangling in his long fingers. I feel like I should say something to break what is fast becoming an awkward (for me), intense (for him) silence. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

  My voice is quiet … and real. It’s my voice. No weaponized niceness. No forced carefreeness. I don’t think I noticed its absence. Thornton is thinking. He looks over at me, tucking a chunk of hair behind his ear.

  “Sure it does. But—” He leans in closer, his voice now a low gravelly whisper. I can smell the beer on his breath. “It feels like—you know that wooden block game where you pull pieces out and if it goes off balance—”

  “Jenga.”

  “If I recognize I’m bothered at having to sit here as grown adults ask their bosses to provide snacks for them like they’re their parents, then—” Thornton pulls out an imaginary Jenga piece, throws up his hands and we both watch as the whole tower comes tumbling down.

  “Yeah,” I say, staring at the invisible wreckage.

  “So, I’m appreciative of their beer and for the money to pay down my student loans while I figure out what I want—”

  I interrupt, “What you want to be when you grow up.”

  “No, while I figure out what I want.” His eyes lock on mine. “Period.” Thornton sits back in his chair. He looks over at me and I nod.

  “Yeah,” I say again.

  “It’s not going great,” Thornton says with a frustrated sigh. I sit back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest.

  What do I want?

  I let one of my hands loose. What do I want? Place it over my mouth. What do I want? Rake it through my hair. What do I want?

  Then shoot my hand up into the air.

  Asher makes eye contact with me, sees my raised hand, and his gaze slips away.

  “Joan, right?” Chris asks, pointing at me.

  “Yeah, yes,” I say.

  “You have a question?” Chris asks.

  “Hi, it’s my second day here, so forgive me if this is a little basic…” A wave of giggles and snorts ripples through the audience. I look over at Thornton.

  “Remind me later to tell you what ‘basic’ means,” Thornton whispers. TBH, I’d rather you just didn’t. I take a deep breath and continue.

  “Does Bloom have a mission statement?” The giggles die down as the audience looks from me to Chris and Asher.

  “Mission statement?” Asher asks.

  “It’s a formal statement that outlines the values of—”

  “I know what a mission statement is, Ms.—”

  “Joan Dixon. So, what’s Bloom’s? I’ve looked all over the website, as well as all the supplementary content, and couldn’t find one.” I lean forward in my chair and hold Asher’s gaze. It’s not a kind gaze to hold. His dark brown eyes are not a place you linger, every moment feeling a deeper sense of connection and understanding. No, Asher Lyndon’s gaze is both violent and irritated.

  “Bloom doesn’t have an official mission statement. Chris and I talked at length about how we wanted the concept of innovation to be our mission statement. I know that’s not customarily what companies label as a mission statement, but…” Asher trails off, allowing time for the audience’s self-satisfied “hmphs” and “tsks” to die down. Yeah, what a bunch of mission statement–wanting squares! Asher inhales and the room falls silent once again. “But, for me…” He looks up to the raftered ceiling. Thinking. The main area is quiet as a tomb; even the coffee machine has been muzzled. Asher makes eye contact with me. His scrutiny hits me like a punch. “The secret to success in this internet age—at least, from what I can see—isn’t trying to be everything to everyone, but exactly the opposite. To support the daily lives of people in a granular way.” Asher smiles. “Or, in your own words, Joan—a more personal way.” I nod. “One to one.” Asher puts his hand on his chest. “For all that technology has changed people’s lives, we essentially remain the same.” The audience erupts in finger-snapping fireworks.

  I search Asher’s answer for something to hang a follow-up question on, but I come up empty. I can’t help but smile. Here he is, this alpha tech-bro earnestly speaking from his heart … and as far as I can tell, he—quite purposefully—said absolutely nothing of substance. Seeing my smile, his face relaxes.

  This is a classic technique of well-trained public figures. Pad your answers with inspirational clichés and heartfelt generalizations, so people don’t realize you’ve completely dodged the original question. Like magpies, we’ll focus only on the shiny bits: Supporting people in a more personal way is a good thing! Technology has changed people’s lives, but he’s so right—we are still the same! I love working for a company that values one-to-one service!

  Asher Lyndon is good.

  “Does that answer your question?” Asher asks.

  “Actually, no,” I say. Asher’s smile fades. People in the audience shift and turn around in their chairs to get a good look at me.

  “What are you not getting?” Asher asks.

  “Without a mission statement, how do your employees know how they fit into not only the day-to-day business at hand, but the future of this company in any kind of meaningful way?” I ask. Murmurs spread throughout the audience. Asher looks from me to Chris. Chris sits back in his chair. Asher looks out at me.

  “This feels like a bigger conversation, so…” Asher trails off, scanning the audience. A black-haired man in the front row lazily raises a single finger. Asher calls on him.

  “Piggybacking off that, will you and Chris be amending your policy on bringing dog
s into this new building? And if we’re not allowed to bring our dogs into work, will Bloom provide a stipend so we can take them to doggie day care? A lot of us adopted dogs because we were allowed to bring them to the last workspace, so … something to morally contemplate.” The congratulatory finger-snapping sounds like rain falling, drowning out any heated moment I thought I had going with the whole mission statement thing.

  As Asher details the ins and outs of their new building’s draconian no-dogs-allowed lease, Chris cuts in with their planned future partnership with several local doggie day cares and then mentions the possibility that the Bloom workforce will be eligible for discounts as well as charitable and volunteer opportunities.

  I am stuck. Motionless at the edge of my seat. My chest is still puffed out, shoulders tight, hand still held slightly aloft like I’m back in a reporters’ scrum waiting for the next opportunity to be the loudest, my succinct, blistering question at the ready.

  “You tried,” Thornton says, jerking me out of my momentary paralysis. I whip my head around and turn my body all the way toward him. My voice comes out as a violent, offended whisper.

  “On top of no one knowing what ‘piggybacking’ means, how was I just eclipsed by ugly fruit and dogs?” Thornton laughs. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile, let alone laugh, and … it’s wonderful. I don’t bother to scan the audience to see if anyone is insulted by Thornton’s laughter, because why would I? They’d probably finger-snap him for being impulsively joyous.

  “No one cares,” Thornton says, shaking his head.

  “How can no one care what this company stands for, let alone what it actually does or how it’s done?”

  “Ah, there’s your problem: no one here cares what Bloom does or how they do it.” Thornton motions to the rapt workforce as they listen to Asher explain how fostering a senior dog will earn you paid time off. “All they care about is snack-sized hummus and bringing their dogs to work.”

  “That can’t be all they care about,” I say.

  “It’s all they care about right now.”