by Becky Monson
I have to get better at thinking on my feet. I wonder if there’s some sort of class I can take.
I look at Job Stealer, and as I suspected by his shoes and the cuffs of his pants, he’s dressed flawlessly from the waist up, as well. He stands there holding my files in his hands, looking a bit confused, mixed with irritation, mixed with something else—probably total disgust. I must leave here, right now.
“Well, I guess I’ll just be going, now that I … um . . . found it,” I say as I shake the stapler at them and try to go casually to the door that was left open when they came into the room.
Oh, to rewind this day, rewind and start over. How many things I’d do differently.
“Julia?” Mr. Calhoun asks. Here it comes. I’m about to get fired. I might puke.
“Yes?” I smooth my hair back nervously, trying as hard as I can to act calmly. I stand up a little straighter.
They can’t actually fire me over this, can they? So I was hiding under a conference table? So I was in a room that’s hardly ever used? So what? That’s not grounds for firing, is it? No, it’s not. But they might think I was spying. Maybe I should just tell them what I was actually doing so they won’t think I was spying. No, sleeping on the job is certainly grounds for firing. I should leave it alone and just pray.
Mr. Calhoun turns to the job stealer and holds out his hand for the files. “Are these yours?” he asks as he grabs them and turns back to me.
“Yes!” I say a bit overly enthusiastic. “That’s why I needed the stapler. To . . . um . . . staple these very important … um . . . files.” I sound like a babbling idiot.
He walks over to me and hands me the files. I take them and stand in the doorway for a few seconds, still waiting to hear the words “you’re fired.”
Mr. Calhoun motions for me to leave the room. He just dismisses me, just like that. No other words. I don’t say anything else. I just turn and walk out the door, shutting it behind me.
I stand close by the door to make sure I don’t hear any words like “fire” or “terminate” or “crazy stapler lady.” But I can only catch tidbits of their conversation. I can hear Mr. Calhoun say “in accounting” and something like “no need to worry” and I swear he says “has great cupcakes.” I never knew him to be such a perv. Wait, he probably said “makes great cupcakes.” That would make much more sense. Mr. Calhoun is a huge fan of my homemade cupcakes. Leave it to cupcakes to save my job.
I actually can’t believe I just got away with that. I mean, how did they buy that? This is a miracle, really.
I hurry back to my office. I want to get there as fast as I can, shut my door, and probably cry a little.
I make it to my office and quickly close the door behind me. I set the stupid red stapler on my desk and then sit down putting my face in my hands. My heart is pounding in my chest.
I’m such a fool. I must promise God if I never sleep on the job again that He’ll make them forget about all of this. Just wipe it from their brains. That’s probably not even possible. I’m quite sure God would not want me to get out of this so easily.
The phone rings and I say a silent prayer that it’s not my boss who just got wind of what happened, and is now going to fire me. Of course, someone who thinks rationally would realize that this is pretty much next to impossible. It’s only been about two minutes since I got away from the conference room.
“Hey, nerd.” It’s Brown. She lovingly refers to me as nerd sometimes—mostly because she knows how much the nerds that work at Spectraltech bother me. She enjoys categorizing me with them.
She asks me if I want to go on a break with her, and although I technically have done nothing as far as work goes today, I feel I need a break after nearly getting caught … taking a break. Whatever. I need some fresh air.
One thing is for sure, I’ll not be telling Brown what just happened. She’d never let me live it down. And I’m not entirely sure I want to relive the episode just yet, or ever.
I head downstairs to meet up with Brown and I feel as if everyone is staring at me, which is clearly all in my head. It’s only been minutes since the “episode.” It’s not possible that anyone could know. So why does it feel as if all eyes are on me?
I take the elevator down to the first floor. The bright sun hits my eyes as I walk outside. Brown is already there waiting for me. The fresh air feels good. I’m starting to feel a little better, but there’s still a hard ball of sickness in the pit of my stomach. At this point, I’m feeling like it may never go away… ever. I’ve never been one of those people that can let things go easily.
“What’s up? Got any gossip?” Brown asks as she leans up against the building and lights her cigarette.
I have no gossip for her, at least no gossip I want to share, just a rather embarrassing story I don’t want to share with anyone, ever. I still want to throw up a little. The cigarette smoke is not helping.
I’m considering going into my normal tirade about how I hate my job (this happens on a daily basis), when out of the corner of my eye I see the door next to us open, and out walks, you guessed it, the new guy, a.k.a. Job Stealer, a.k.a. the person who just caught me under a conference room table. Well, isn’t this outstanding.
“Hi!” Brown says as he comes out the door. She hides the lit cigarette behind her.
Brown likes to be in the know about everyone, so she’s always eager to meet the new people. There haven’t been any new hires in the past few months, so I’m sure she’s quite thrilled to get her little paws on this one.
“I’m Betsy Brown. I’m in sales. You must be the new guy in HR,” she says enthusiastically, holding out her cigarette-less hand to shake his. I stand behind her, hoping he won’t see me or will possibly ignore me.
“That’s me,” he says as he shakes her hand. “Jared Moody.” He states his name in a business-like manner.
“This is Julia Dorning,” she says as she gestures to me behind her. “She’s in accounting. You got the job she wanted.”
I’ll kill her.
“I believe we’ve already had the pleasure of meeting,” Jared says with a slight smile, actually more like a smirk, on his face. “I didn’t know I stole your job. Sorry about that,” he says as he sticks his hand out to shake mine.
I shake his hand quickly and then go back to being the deaf-mute standing behind Brown.
I have nothing to say. I pretty much want to die. He’s looking at me as if he wants to let out a laugh, and he probably does. I’m a joke to him.
It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not as if I’ll be working with him. I’m in accounting, and he’s in HR … Stupid freaking job stealer.
“So, this is the smoking area?” Jared asks Brown, who must’ve decided it was okay to smoke in front of him because she went right back to it.
“Yep. You smoke?” Brown asks as she inhales the cigarette.
“No. I don’t,” Jared says, still looking as if he might laugh. He keeps peering around Brown, looking at me. “Well, it was nice to meet you… Betsy, is it?” She nods at him and smiles her perfect little smile. “You too, Julia.” He nods toward me. “And I’m really glad you were able to find your stapler,” he says with that same smirk on his face, which at this moment I’d like to slap off.
I shrink back behind Brown, once again humiliated as he leaves us and heads to the parking lot.
We wait until he’s out of earshot and then Brown turns toward me, “What stapler?” she asks, looking confused, and then she punches me on the arm. “You’re holding out on me, Julia! How come you didn’t tell me you met the new guy already?” Her eyes are wide with disbelief, as if I forgot to tell her it was the end of the world or there’s a huge sale at Bloomingdale’s. “And you also failed to mention how seriously good-looking he is.”
“It was a brief meeting. Names weren’t even exchanged,” I say, a little overly defensive. I rub my arm because, seriously, she hit me hard! I don’t mean to sound like a wimp, but geez!
I look over in the dire
ction of the parking lot and watch Jared Moody walking toward his car. “You think he’s good-looking? I didn’t notice,” I say flippantly.
Of course, I did notice. He’s tall, has sandy blond hair, light blue eyes … and is so impeccably dressed. He looks like some sort of model or something, although my view of real-life good-looking men is a bit skewed. I’m surrounded by nerds.
I suppose Jared “Job Stealing” Moody is good-looking. Possibly verging on hot really. And I just stood there hiding behind Brown, not saying a word.
I should’ve acted all calm and collected toward him, like it was no big deal. I could’ve said something witty about the stapler, laughing it off as if it were an inside joke between us. “Yes, the stapler and I are once again reunited. I was really lost without it.” Our heads would fly back in laughter as we bonded immediately over that red stapler.
But that didn’t happen. I just stood there like a little mute schoolgirl, so now I’ve humiliated myself twice in front of him.
This day just keeps getting more and more horrid.
I make up an excuse to leave and go back to my office. Apparently, in her annoyance at my neglecting to tell her about how I met the new guy, Brown forgot about the stapler. Thank goodness. I don’t know how I would lie myself out of that one. I probably would end up telling her the truth, and she’d remind me for the rest of my life. I’m already going to have to deal with this Jared person anyway, and he’s clearly not going to let it go.
The rest of my day is pretty mundane, which is good, mainly for my heart. I’m still having palpitations every now and then.
I do another dreary report for Mr. Nguyen, which seems very familiar. I’m having serious déjà vu. This has been happening a lot lately. I even do a quick scan of past files to see if I can find this particular budget report, but I can’t find anything.
At the end of the day, Mr. Nguyen comes by my office to grab a report he requested. He looks at the report while in my office, and then he asks me a few short questions about it. Then, he acts as if I’ve done something wrong and as he leaves, I hear him muttering something about having to do it himself.
Well, he can do it himself if he wants to. He won’t get different info than I did.
It’s not like I actually understand it. I mean, it’s just a bunch of numbers to me. I get the data from Mr. Nguyen himself. So, if there’s a problem with the report, it’s most likely his fault.
I don’t get my boss. He’s odd. I’m not even sure if he likes me at all. He seems to act like I’m just an annoyance he needs to have around.
He wasn’t my original boss. I was hired by a woman by the name of Lucy who I actually liked quite a bit. She told me she saw my potential and had plans for me. But then she got pregnant and left to be a mom. I do admire that, but I hate how she left me in the lurch … and now I have to work for Henry Nguyen.
I’ll never forget the day I met him. He came into my office and introduced himself. He looked at me strangely and nodded his head, and that was that.
He’s a short little man of Asian descent. He’s a strange one, that’s for sure. He has one long pinky nail on his left hand. I have no idea what it’s for, and I’ve never asked him. Brown jokes that it’s his “coke” nail. I did not understand the reference at first, because of my lack of slang knowledge, apparently. I doubt that Mr. Nguyen is a druggie, but you never know.
I noticed throughout the day that the office was all a-buzz over the new guy. All the women are so excited to have something more appealing to gaze upon than the nerds we are surrounded by. He’s brought a little bit of excitement to Spectraltech.
I can’t lie. Despite how we met and how I acted the last time I saw him, I, too, am feeling a little excitement … mixed with embarrassment, mixed with annoyance from him taking the job I wanted. It’s all mixed up and confusing.
Brown is now preoccupied with getting info on this Jared guy. She makes it her job to know everything about everyone at Spectraltech. As usual, she’s been doing her thing, diligently searching for information on him. I got an email from her earlier:
Been searching for stuff on the new guy, have come up with nothing yet. Very mysterious. Do you have anything? Meet me downstairs in ten. -B
I wrote her back and made up some excuse for not meeting up with her. I just want to stay in my office and not see anyone today, namely, new guy and Mr. Calhoun. Also, the more times I talk to Brown, the more chances I have of her remembering the stapler and then she’ll grill me about it until I give in.
If I didn’t know Brown better, I’d assume she was trying to find out more info because she was attracted to Jared. But Brown isn’t like that. She just likes to go digging in other people’s business. It’s her thing. Plus, she has a boyfriend that she claims to be totally in love with. I’ve only met Matt a few times when he’s come to a company party or has met Brown for lunch. From what I can gather about him, he’s quite perfect for her, just as good-looking as she is, and also bubbling over with self-esteem. They are cute together—in a way that kind of makes you want to throw up. They’ve been together for five years, and she says he is “the one.”
I’ve always been baffled by “the one” theory, like there’s just one person out there for each of us. I have, well, zero persons out there for me at this point, and according to Webster’s dictionary, I may never find a “one” before I go to my grave. I shall die alone like all the other spinsters.
Whatever. I’m sure Brown will get info on this Jared guy like she always does. Then she’ll share it with me, and I hope it’s some good, dirty stuff, like he’s actually a hermaphrodite or an ex-con, or maybe even a stripper. Then I can be grossed out by him, and the embarrassment won’t be mine any longer, but his. I’ll just feel sad for him and his stupid, perfect hair and stupid, perfect blue eyes …
At exactly 5:30 p.m., I pack up my stuff and start heading out to the parking lot. I rarely work late because … well, I hate my job. Why stay late at a place you hate? I don’t have much to get home to though, no plans tonight, per usual. Tonight, I just want to get out of my work clothes, get into some sweats, and relax in front of the television. I need to do something mindless.
As I walk out the door of that dreadful building and head toward my car, I hear someone calling my name from behind. I turn around and see Mr. Calhoun struggling to catch up with me.
“Julia!” He waves at me as he gets closer.
Oh my gosh, did he follow me out to my car to tell me I’m fired? He probably did. I knew I couldn’t get away with that.
But wait—he has a pleasant look on his face, so maybe he isn’t going to fire me. Plus, we are in the parking lot. Firing me here would be highly unprofessional, right? Not that I’m the best judge of what being a “professional” is.
“Yes?” I ask as he gets closer to me. I try to act all calm and collected, hoping he won’t bring up the whole hiding-under-the-table incident.
“Julia,” he says my name again and pauses to catch his breath. He’s got to be at least three hundred pounds. Poor, sweet, Mr. Calhoun. He has a kind face, and I’ve always had a soft spot for him. He kind of reminds me of my grandpa … only bigger.
“I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind making the ‘proverbial’ cupcakes for the new hire, Jared. I thought it’d be a nice way to welcome him to the company.” He uses air quotes when he says “proverbial.” Mr. Calhoun always seems to add the word “proverbial” to most of his conversations and presentations. Most times it’s incorrectly, I might add.
I smile slightly. I know what this is about. “Sure, Mr. Calhoun. No problem. Vanilla or chocolate?”
“Hmm, I don’t know,” he puts his hand to his chin as he ponders. “I’d say, maybe a little of both?” He winks at me and smiles. I know very well that the cupcakes are not for Jared, but I’ll play along. Mr. Calhoun loves my homemade cupcakes and jumps at any chance to get me to make them. I don’t know why he feels as if he has to have an excuse every time. He could just ask me. It’s not
as if I have a life or anything. Of course, he probably doesn’t know that.
“No problem. I’ll bring them in tomorrow.” I turn to walk toward my car.
“Thanks, Julia. Have a good night!” he says enthusiastically as he turns to walk back toward the building.
Mr. Calhoun never leaves the office early. He’s always here. I’ve even suspected that he’s worked through the night before. I can’t imagine him having that much work, but perhaps he’s avoiding his home life or something. Brown heard that he was having some marital issues.
Oh! Maybe him and Martha? Oh no. Don’t picture it, don’t picture it, don’t picture it … too late. Gross.
At least I have some plans for tonight. Cupcakes! I love to make cupcakes, and I make the best, if I do say so myself. Just the right touch of vanilla, but the secret is in the frosting: two sticks of pure butter—the salted kind, four cups of powdered sugar, one tablespoon of my homemade vanilla, and a touch of cream to thin it out. It’s amazing.
I’ve been told that I should go into business, but I have no idea how I would venture into something like that. I don’t think I’m daring enough to do my own thing. I also have an enormous problem with procrastination, which I’m pretty sure does not make for a good business owner.
I’m thinking of ways I’ll decorate my cupcakes on the drive home, which is making it so much less mundane than the commute typically is. I’m a little particular about my cupcakes. One might say “anal-retentive” if one were being rude. My sister Anna has used those exact words when referring to my relationship with baking.
Speaking of the spoiled brat, I see her car in the driveway at my parents’ house as I pull up. I’m sure she’s here to ask for money, or new clothes, or a new car, or something like that. Either way, I’m sure she’ll get it. Anna is brilliant at getting things from my parents. They are so gullible when it comes to her. Neither of them will admit it, but I’m pretty sure she’s the favorite.
