by Lizz Lund
I nodded sympathetically and we walked back to our cubes together, armed with our respective vices: my caffeine and chocolate-fix, and Norman with his carrots. I understand Norman’s a vegetarian. But I still think breakfast carrots are weird. Couldn’t he grab an apple or raisins or something?
We parted at our crate openings to strap ourselves in our chairs, hook back into the network and tap back into EEJIT’s network. Or at least Norman did. I saw the note on my chair and sighed.
‘SEE ME.’
It was from How-weird – obviously. In large, red 37-point ink. I was surprised he took the trouble to write it on a piece of paper, and not just my chair. I shook my head, grabbed a notepad and pen and trudged toward his office.
I got side-swiped by the Ladies’ Room Regatta doing a fast shuffle off from How-weird’s office. I peered in and saw How-weird behind his desk with smoke literally fuming in front of his face.
I knew I’d contemplated Howard disappearing in some kind of Rumpelstiltskin manner for a while now, but this was a bit over the top. Dick Fellas, the Buy-A-Lots exec, was sitting in the guest chair opposite Howard and choking. I looked at Howard and then at the pile of cinders under his desk, sending up the very, very smelly smoke.
“Hi, Howard,” I waved. “Got your note… do you need me to order something?” I faked.
“WHERE WERE YOU?” How-weird shouted in 57-point, bold, shimmering italic purple at me.
“Umm, well I got a cup of coffee, went to the ladies’ room; you know… normal morning stuff…”
“YEAH, WELL I GOT SOME NOT SO NORMAL MORNING ‘STUFF’ HURLED AT ME!”
“Huh?”
At this point, Dick Fellas recovered enough to explain. “Hello. It’s Mina, isn’t it?” He frowned. I nodded. He looked me up and down and clearly looked pained. “Well, MINE-ahhh,” he drawled, “Howie here and I were discussing yesterday’s concerns, when someone very rudely interrupted us during our discussion this morning by hurling, ummm… a bag of burning fecal matter… under Howie’s desk here.”
I glanced down. Right under the very center of Howard’s desk was a smoldering, stinky paper bag, an indentation on it indicating where Howard’s fat little foot had been: he’d clearly tried to stomp it out. That explained where the fumes were coming from. And the smoke. I was surprised the sprinkler in his ceiling hadn’t gone off. I guessed he must have put it out in time. And then I saw that the contents of the smoldering bag was splattered all over How-weird’s shoes, socks, pant legs, wall-to-wall carpet, computer desk, walls, and chair. Eww.
“My,” I said. Howard gave a smoldering glare at me (no pun intended). I shrugged. “Wanna paper towel? Some Pinesol? Lysol? Clorox?” I asked.
“NO, I WANT YOU TO IDENTIFY THE LOCATION OF EVERY PERSON IN THIS OFFICE AT 8:58 THIS MORNING!” Howard blared through clenched teeth.
“I hardly think that’s Mina’s concern,” Dick said pointedly to Howard. “After all, I’ve called People to take care of this.”
Wow. He called People. I wondered what he thought I was.
“Actually, Howard, that might be kind of hard, with the exhaust fans going and all,” I said.
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”
“I mean, unless someone has to use their card to get through the lobby’s glass doors, there’s really no way to tell who came in and when.” Howard looked apoplectic. “Unless of course the building’s security guards remember. Maybe they’re taking some kind of notes?” I ended hopefully.
“CHECK WITH THEM!”
“Ummm… okay… Just a hunch here, but I’m guessing this takes priority over the insurance files?” I asked.
Howard gritted his teeth so loudly I swear he could have ground wheat. “INSURANCEFILESPLEASETAKEPRIORITY!” Ugh. I would have rather gone back and interrogated Chubaka the Guard.
Just then a couple of suits walked in. And stepped back out gasping. I looked at Dick, who looked at Howard, who looked back at me. I peered at the new suits. They both looked like they were from IBM, except they were wearing navy blue instead of corporate dinge. The guy, I didn’t know. But I sure remembered the redhead.
“Good morning,” the IBM-esque guy said, holding out a business card to Howard and Dick.
Howard stood up to take the card and shake hands, but ended up stepping further into the molten pile of poop. There was a disgusting ‘sqwoosh’ sound, and the bag puffed out yet more fecal fumes. The IBM dude dodged back out of Howard’s office into the threshold. I wasn’t far behind him. Dick look strangulated but there was no room for him to escape, what with the throng in the doorway. Howard smoldered.
“My associate and I were in the area, on a separate matter, but thought we should look in,” he said through a pleasant smile. Howard looked at the guy’s business card, turned green and fell back in his pleather chair.
“Gosh, you guys are really on it. I had no idea the dry cleaning business was that competitive,” I said. Everyone looked at me. “I guess you’re here because of the smoke smells in the carpet and such. And I’m sure Howard’s pants need a really good dry cleaning now.”
Red flushed.
“MINA, WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? THESE ARE U.S. MARSHALS!” Howard shouted, waving the IBM guy’s card at me.
“Really?” I said. I took the card from Howard and read it. I stared at Red. Had the fumes gotten to me? I could swear she was the new girl I met at Mrs. Phang’s Lickety-Split Cleaners. Why else would I think she and this guy were peddling door to door dry cleaning services?
“Young, umm, lady,” the old IBM-like guy began, “I think there has been some misunderstanding here. I’m a U.S. Marshal. And Ms. McMay is my associate.” He smiled conclusively. “We were just leaving town but read about the Buy-A-Lots arsons, and EEJIT’s recent troubles.”
I stared blankly back at him. I really couldn’t see the connection. Who didn’t want to fling a flaming bag of poop at a Buy-A-Lots? Or How-weird, for that matter? “Coincidentally, Ms. McMay is from this area, so she convinced me to make a stop before we left,” the guy – Mike Green – said pointedly, indicating Red. He finished, “We’ll be on our way now.”
“Sure, sure, no problem. Thanks lots for your help,” How-weird replied, getting up from his chair and wiping his foot on the carpet. Real smooth, I thought. Ick.
Howard and Dick gave the U. S. Marshal and Red a custom tour back toward the elevators, with lots of backslapping on Howard’s part. Poor Red.
I shuffled down the hall and into Bauser’s cube. I opened the pen drawer where he kept his spare keys to his filing cabinet, and inserted a ruler. SNAP! went the mousetrap he routinely booby-trapped to break the fingers of snoops. I pulled out the dented ruler and adjoining mousetrap, opened the drawer and took out Bauser’s spare keys.
I went through Bauser’s files, which are really well organized, and took out all the pertinent insurance files. I also took out the hard-copy listing of everyone’s hardware information, just in case there had been smoke damage and someone insisted they needed a replacement. Then I logged in through Bauser’s system and used the company access codes to download more insurance stuff from the admin directory onto a flash drive. I closed out, gathered up the paper files and re-locked Bauser’s cabinet. Although I thought the point was probably moot. I thought about replacing Bauser’s finger-trap but figured I’d probably lose a finger setting it back up. So I pocketed the keys, and planned on handing them back to Bauser when I saw him. Which I hoped was soon.
I got back to my cube and sealed the files in an oversized plastic overnight pouch, since it was the only available unsmoked envelope in my cube. I figured this was safest since there were a bunch of odd/small sized notes in the files that probably shouldn’t get lost.
Then the non-heavens rained down on me. And my cube. And my computer. And me. While the fire alarm sounded. Apparently the fire alarm sprinkler system did work.
Since Howard had also decided last month that part of my duties as Office Manager in
cluded being the resident Fire Safety person, I had to go cube by cube and get everyone out of the building. Which would be easy: I didn’t think anyone was actually at EEJIT today besides me, Norman, the Ladies’ Room Trio, and Howard and Dick. Mr. Green and Red had left the building before we started flinching in the showers. So I grabbed the overnight pouch, then began making my way up and down rows of empty cubicles and got soaked. I held my hand to my eyebrows Pocahontas-style so I could see across to Norman’s cube. Norman was sitting at his computer with his towel draped over his head and his laptop. “HEY, NORMAN,” I yelled, “YOU GOTTA LEAVE! THIS ISN’T A DRILL.”
“I KNOW,” he yelled back, “AND I’M WET, NOT DEAF.”
Oh.
I clung to my pouch and purse and continued my rounds. Even through the men’s room. Eeeecccchhhh. Once I was done in there and had stepped out again, I saw the IT lab door open. Inside was Bauser.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING? THIS ISN’T A DRILL!” I shouted, tugging at his sleeve.
“I HAVE TO SET THIS INTO BACKUP,” he screamed politely back at me. I shrugged, stepped into the hallway and wrung my hair into a puddle. “THERE,” Bauser cried. “C’MON, LET’S GO.”
“WE HAVE TO USE THE STAIRS.”
“OKAY, LET’S GO,” he replied, and started to lead me into the lobby foyer and to the stairway door.
“I HAVE TO MAKE SURE NORMAN’S LEFT.”
We raced back to Norman’s cube. Norman sat transfixed at his terminal. Bauser thumped the back of Norman’s chair. “I’M COMPILING,” Norman yelled.
“NO, YOU’RE NOT: I SET US INTO BACKUP MODE. YOU’RE COMPILING IN TEMP – IF IT’S NOT DROWNED,” Bauser yelled.
“Shit,” Norman said.
“IT’S OKAY; I GOT YOUR BACKUPS AT HOME.”
Norman sat up, took the towel off his head and we left.
We made our way down the back stairwell, also deluged with showers, through the lobby and out the doors. Where a real thunderstorm was raining on our parade. I couldn’t see a thing through the torrential mess, so Bauser and Norman led me by the elbows and under the awning of PizzaNow! across the street. I wiped my eyes and blinked. Once I was out of the pouring rain, I could see.
“Jeez, Mina,” Bauser blew.
“What?” I asked.
“Talk about leading Helen Keller from the woods,” he said. I squinted back. I looked over at Norman. He had somehow smuggled his laptop out with him. Wrapped in hermetically sealed plastic. Huh. I didn’t know we had hermetically sealed plastic. Which was somewhat surprising since I was in charge of ordering that kind of stuff.
Bauser and I looked at him. “Are you logged out?” Bauser asked.
“No.”
Their eyes locked. I was confused.
“Same session?” Bauser asked.
“Concurrent.”
“Crap,” I said.
“You mean there’s more burning crap?” Norman asked.
“No; I forgot my stupid purse,” I said.
“Are you kidding me?” Bauser asked.
“Well, I can’t drive without my keys,” I began. He shrugged. We heard the alarm go silent.
“We’ll meet you at your house,” Bauser said. I looked at him. Then I looked at Norman. Norman nodded.
“It’s early in the day. I can’t go home yet. The girls are still here,” he replied simply. I shook my head. With my weird pets, odd neighbor and church lady crowd, who’d have thunk it that my house was any kind of sanctuary?
I gave Bauser the pouch with the insurance stuff and told him I’d meet him at my house. I wasn’t worried about Bauser or Norman having to be let in, since Ma was camped there. Then I raced back into our building to the tune of sirens in the background. I limped back up seven flights of stairs to EEJIT, opened the door to the lobby and everything went black. Again.
I came to strapped to a gurney being hoisted down the stairs. Which was probably why I started screaming like a banshee, which scared the volunteer rescuers. They responded by dropping me. The gurney responded by racing down all seven flights and lurching bumper-car style out of the building, through the courtyard and into traffic. I shot out, clattering and screaming, smack dab in the middle of Queen Street.
Soon, a few confused volunteer Fire Police and ambulance workers surrounded me. Once they realized I was conscious and irate, they unstrapped me, picked up their gurney and went home. I rubbed my head and sat on the curb. A fella in a trench coat came up and looked at me, then stared at the building. “I’m sorry,” I said, rubbing my head, “but I think all the offices are closed.”
“I AIN’T NO DAMN OFFICE WORKER!” he raged. “I’M A BAG MAN!” Then he huffed away. This bagman was clearly not from Lancaster.
I tried to stand up but my knees saw double.
“HEY, MINA!” a voice called from what sounded like very far away. It was Trixie, and she was sitting on the curb right next to me. “Oh boy, you look like heck,” she said. Heck? You see what I mean? That’s about as edgy as it gets with Lancastrians. “C’mon, I’m taking you home,” she said. I shook my head and saw stars.
“Ma,” I bleated.
“I know,” Trixie said.
“And Aunt Muriel. And Vito. And Bauser, and I think Norman… oh my.”
“What is this, a convention? C’mon, you can’t keep sitting here on the curb. Somebody’s doggie will piddle on you.” Made sense to me. “Although you might not smell too much worse. What in the world happened to you?”
I sighed and gave Trixie the punch list about Flower, tomato juice, a pound of bacon, and perfume. Trixie sniffed. “Well, you do smell mostly like bacon, at least,” she admitted.
We got up – or that is, Trixie dragged me up, and I wobbled.
“Where’s your purse?” she asked.
“Purse?” I parroted stupidly.
“THE THING YOU KEEP YOUR WALLET AND YOUR KEYS IN,” she said loudly. Apparently Trixie was confusing being concussed with being deaf. I shrugged. Trixie shook her head, got me up, and marched me back toward EEJIT’s offices. After accosting several policemen, EMTs and an off-duty nun (by mistake), Trixie gave up on my handbag.
“The officers said they’d keep an eye out for it,” she said. Her eyes got slitty.
“You’re not gonna use this as an excuse to get in touch with Appletree again, are you?” I winced. I couldn’t take Trixie’s on-again, off-again romance. It wasn’t so much because of the other woman thingy. I just couldn’t handle the lack of continuity. And her breakdowns always made me nervy. If Trixie could get broken down that easily over a romance, I didn’t stand a water ice’s chance in Central Market in summer. That is, if I ever weathered another romance.
Trixie replied, “I’m a taxpayer. Not using available police resources is wasteful.” She looked off dreamily into the distance. I winced. Yeeshkabiddle.
Because I didn’t have my handbag, I didn’t have my car keys. So Trixie drove me home. We pulled into the driveway behind Ma’s and Aunt Muriel’s respective cars. Bauser’s car was parked in Vito’s driveway. A few other cars parked at the curb. The way my skull was thumping I really hoped all the other cars belonged to the neighbors. Or Jehovah’s Witnesses. It didn’t really matter, just as long as they were attached to persons who were not inside my home.
Trixie put her Jeep into park, pulled heavily on the emergency brake at the foot of Mt. Driveway, and shut the engine off. I saw the door to Vito’s house open, and out popped Mike Green and Red.
“Hey, Trixie, lookit,” I said, pointing my watermelon sized forehead toward Vito’s. Trixie paused checking her lipstick and stared. “That’s Mike Green, the U.S. Marshal who was in Howard’s office,” I said.
She considered, then said, “He’s cute. For a Marshal. I guess. What was he doing in Howard’s office?”
“Well, at first I thought it was because of Howard’s dry cleaning, because the redhead who’s with him was Mrs. Phang’s substitute the day I was supposed to bring in V
ito’s dry cleaning and just picked up instead.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Trixie said, “you mean those two aren’t a couple?”
“Nope.”
Trixie applied more lipstick, fluffed her hair, adjusted her cleavage and hopped out of her Jeep quicker than you can say, “Date night.” A guy in uniform – even a suit – is like the pull of the moon on the ocean to Trixie. She just can’t help but make waves. I sighed and thought about banging my head but someone had just done that for me. I scrunched down inside the Jeep, closed my eyes and wished I was someone else.
“HEY, VEEE-TO!” Trixie sang out, waving her arms akimbo and galloping across my driveway to Vito’s and up the front porch in two gazelle-like strides. Green and Red swung around and stared like raccoons caught in a dumpster while Vito poked his head outside the front door like a genuine culprit. Trixie stared at Mike Green and grinned. It made her look like Bloody Mary from ‘South Pacific’. Mostly because she forgot to check her lipstick and her two front teeth were smeared with ‘Blind Date Burgundy’.
Red stared at Trixie’s teeth and Mike Green stared at Trixie’s cleavage. Typical reactions from some not so typical visitors. Vito saw Trixie, exchanged stares with Red and Green, shrugged a ‘whaddaygonnado?’ with his shoulders and slunk out onto the front porch.
“Hey, Trix. How’s tricks?”
“Oh, fine, Vito, just fine,” Trixie beamed. She was clearly triumphant that flouncing up the porch steps had yielded some good bosom bounces. I made a pact with myself not tell her about her teeth later. “Oh, so sorry, Vito! Didn’t see you had company!” she lied. She might not have been from Jersey, but sometimes she could sling it with the best of us. No wonder we’re buds.
“No problem, Trix, no problem,” Vito said. But he looked a little stressed, like there was a problem. “This here’s, uh…”