And Lucinda said, “You know, I was hoping you would.”
“I guess that must have seemed pretty random. The truth is I wanted to just get you a watch, but Kelly checks the receipts and I thought that would look bad, but I figured Cinnamon Sugar Blast Oat Cubes is a food item, so technically it’s okay.”
Lucinda looked at the picture of the free Minions wristwatch on the front of the box. “Why did you want to get me a watch, Debbie?”
“Well, sometimes I look at you when I’m walking by your office to Conference Room H, and—”
“You look at me?”
“No, not like in a creepy way—I just mean I see you.”
“Okay.”
“And I see you check your phone a lot, and every time you do, you make this angry face. I feel so bad, it makes me want to come in and give you a hug—and I know that’s inappropriate, but I thought: Maybe if I got her a watch, she wouldn’t have to check her phone so much.”
Lucinda looked back at the box, then back at Debbie. She thought about how pure Debbie was, how young and unsullied. She thought about how sad it was that one day Debbie would fall in love with someone who would at first appreciate all that was special about her, but eventually learn how to take her for granted. She thought about how this person didn’t deserve Debbie, this person who didn’t know how rare it was to be loved by a person so tender.
“You know, you’re a lot better than the last receptionist we had.”
Debbie blushed. “Oh, I’m just doing the best I can. Every morning, I remind myself: Debbie, you’re doing the best you can, and that’s all that you can do, and that’s enough!”
Lucinda realized this was maybe the longest conversation the two had ever shared. “I’m going to miss you around here when you ship off to law school,” she said. “Where are you applying?”
Debbie laughed. “Oh God, no, I’m not— No. I could never get into law school. I’m just happy to help out at a place like this. I think the work the guys do here is so important and good.”
“Just the guys?”
“I’m sorry. The women too. I didn’t mean any offense.”
Lucinda smiled. “I think you’d actually be a good lawyer. You’re very observant. You should take the LSAT.”
“I have,” said Debbie. “Three times.”
“Oh.”
“It’s okay,” said Debbie. “You know, I used to be super-bummed, but the truth is you can get over anything with enough time. That was the other part of the idea behind the watch, the first part being the thing about you not having to look at your phone. The other part was so that you could remember that time was passing. For most things, really, the only thing to do is just let there be time.”
“Well, thanks again,” said Lucinda.
Debbie nodded. “You know, I always thought I would be a lawyer, but I kind of live my life by the law of: Hey, if it’s not meant to be…you know?”
“Yeah,” said Lucinda. “I feel like I once wrote a memo on that law.”
Debbie laughed. “You’re really funny.”
Okay, Lucinda thought: So I’m funny.
No, she thought: I’m really funny. I am above-average funny.
* * *
—
On Monday, Gavin swung by Lucinda’s office to ask how she was doing on that memo about whether a ferret could be classified as a service animal in Colorado.
And Lucinda said, “I’m doing fine, thanks.”
And the truth was she was doing fine, which in the scheme of things was not as good as good, but loads better than bad.
“I like your watch,” said Gavin. “Minions.”
“Yeah,” said Lucinda. “Minions.”
She returned her gaze to the computer screen and got back to work.
More of You
That You Already
Are
Being a president of the United States is the easiest thing in the world basically. The main thing is you gotta show up on time. I know this because one time I show up like three minutes late, which is still technically on time basically, and Mr. Gupta just about bites my head off.
Six fifteen means six fifteen, he’s like.
And I’m like, I’m sorry, the traffic—which isn’t even the real reason I’m late, but that’s just what I say now, because one time when I was late at this Quiznos I worked at, I told my boss it was because of Ramona, and at first he was real nice about it, but I could tell it bummed him out, and then like a week later I got fired because he said my “family situation” was interfering with my “job performance,” which wasn’t even true really, because I could still make a killer sub like nobody’s business, but anyway now when I’m late I just say it’s because of traffic.
So then Mr. Gupta’s like, If you can’t make it a priority to be here on time, I’m sure I can find someone who will.
And I want to be like, Come on, man, I’m like three minutes late, but then I know he’d be like, And look at all this additional time we’re wasting arguing about it. And, sure, then I could be like, Yeah, but no one is forcing you to argue with me, you could just let it slide—but the main thing you gotta know about Mr. Gupta is that Mr. Gupta is never going to let anything slide, so you’re better off usually just cutting your losses, which I guess is also one of the things you gotta know if you want to be a president.
So instead I’m just like, I’m very sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.
So then you go see Emika at Wardrobe to pick up your costume. You’re supposed to show Emika your park ID with your picture and your presidential number on it, so she knows what suit to pull, but if you’ve been there more than like a day, Emika knows who you are and she’s getting your costume before you’ve even pulled out your wallet.
You walk into the room and Emika lights up and is like, Well, if it isn’t President Arthur! Technically she’s not supposed to say that, because according to park policy you’re not really President Arthur until you put the costume on. Park policy is very specific on this point—I guess because one time Thomas Jefferson was going around town all like, I’m Thomas Jefferson, and trying to get free shit out of it, like milkshakes or whatever, and picking up girls, and when that got back to park management, Mr. Gupta got his ass chewed out by the guys at corporate, so then we all got our asses chewed out by Mr. Gupta.
Anyway, Emika’s real friendly and she’s got great stories even though they’re never really about anything. I guess it’s more the way she tells the stories. Like the story could be: Teddy Roosevelt lost a button and Emika had to sew on a new one—but from the way she tells it you’d think it was the most interesting story in the world, full of twists and turns and heroes and villains. One time Valerie took a double shift, because I guess Emika had to go to a wedding, and when I walked into Wardrobe and saw Valerie in the morning, that was probably the worst day of my life. Also, that was the day the doctor told us Ramona’s sickness had spread to her bones, so it was definitely a real bad day. I’m not saying the two things are related necessarily, Valerie sitting in for Emika and my sister’s sickness spreading to her bones; all I know is I feel much better every morning when Emika’s there. Nothing against Valerie—I just like Emika better.
Anyway, after you get your costume from Emika, you go into the changing room and put your big giant head on, and then—ta-da!—you’re a president. Being Chester A. Arthur is like the easiest president to be, because basically you just have to stand around outside the entrance to the Rutherford B. Hedge Maze by the Bridge to a Better Tomorrow over the River of Racial Intolerance, and sometimes Lincoln walks by, and then people ask if you’ll take their picture with Lincoln, and you’re just like: Sure, I’m Chester A. Arthur, I’m not doing anything.
And okay, some days it feels like, what’s even the point of being a president if you’re just going to be Chester A. Arthur? Like,
there’s this other guy who started on the same day I did and he gets to be Franklin Roosevelt, which is a doubly sweet gig, because first of all, everyone loves FDR, but the even sweeter part is you get to sit down all day, except for during the 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue Revue, when at the end of your New Deal song, you stand up for like five seconds, and it’s a huge fucking to-do. You get a round of applause just for standing up, and you don’t even have to do a soft-shoe routine like Calvin Coolidge does. But also, if you’re FDR, the shitty part is you gotta memorize all these facts about FDR, who was president for like a hundred years just about, and people are always coming up to you, asking questions like “What’s the only thing we have to fear?” and “What do you have against the Japanese anyway?” and if you get them even a little bit wrong, then some kid’s jerk parent is going to complain to park management, and then you know Mr. Gupta is going to get all up in your ass about it, so all things being equal, I’d rather be Chester A. Arthur, honestly.
Some days Benjamin Harrison wanders by for a couple hours, which isn’t so bad, because at least it’s someone to talk to. Benjamin Harrison is an all right guy, so long as you don’t get on the subject of this extra-large fuck-doll he got on the internet. You would think that would be a real easy topic to avoid, because how often do extra-large fuck-dolls come up in everyday conversation? But Harrison spent like eight hundred bucks on this thing, and I guess the more money you spend on something the more you want to talk about it, even if the thing is a big silicon woman that you have sex with.
He’s like, Normally these things go for thousands of dollars, but I got mine cheap because I got it used.
And I’m just like, Cool, man.
And he’s like, Some people think it’s weird. But I don’t think it’s weird. It’s just masturbating. Everybody does it.
And I’m just like, Yep.
And he’s like, If I told you that you could have the best orgasm of your life for eight hundred dollars, wouldn’t you take that deal?
This question is totally bonkers to me, because I can’t even picture having all of eight hundred dollars at one time, just lying around, waiting for me to do something with it. Like, could you imagine being like: Hmm, what should I do with this Almost a Thousand Dollars? I guess I could use it to pay for half a month of rent on this shitty apartment I share with my mom and my sister, or maybe I could find a pretty lady and take her out for a real dinner, like to a place with cloth napkins and everything. Or how about I upgrade to a better cable package, with like those fancy movie stations, so Ramona doesn’t have to watch junky talk shows all day? Oh, wait! I know! Why don’t I go online and see if I can’t find a fake plastic woman for me to jack myself off into?
I don’t even know where I’d keep one of those things. Like, do you also have to buy a special closet for it? I don’t have space for that shit. Harrison keeps his in the back of his van, but I guess if you’re me, you just keep it in the living room?
I’m sure Ramona would get a kick out of it. She’d give it a name, like Noreen or some shit, and when I got home from work, she’d go, Your new girlfriend Noreen and I had the grandest of days together. Did you know Noreen was a child tennis phenom before her stroke left her completely immobile? Fascinating woman. Elegant lady.
And then Mom would pull me aside and say, You have to get rid of that thing. Ramona spent the whole day talking to it. She asked me to make it a cup of tea.
And then I’d take it back to my bedroom and try to have sex with it, but instead I’d keep thinking about how sad it was that she was a child tennis phenom who’d had a stroke. So, all things considered, it’s probably better I don’t get the extra-large fuck-doll.
But Benjamin Harrison isn’t a bad guy ninety percent of the time. And sometimes he has interesting things to talk about, like one time, he saw the new X-Men movie, and then on Tuesday, he told me the whole story, so I didn’t have to pay to see it myself. That was pretty decent of him, and he didn’t have to do that. He even acted out some of the fight scenes. He also always has good gossip about what’s been going on around the park, on account of him being a floater and all, so sometimes he can tell you shit like: a little kid peed all over James Monroe. That’s hilarious, because first of all, if you knew James Monroe even a little bit, you’d be like: Fuck that guy. But also because second of all, Founding Fathers Square is about as far as you can get from Wardrobe, so you have to imagine Monroe having to walk all the way across the park covered in little kid piss, and just picturing that could be the highlight of your week pretty much.
So whenever Harrison wants to talk about his extra-large fuck-doll that he keeps in the back of his van, and I want to be like, Dude, shut the fuck up, nobody cares, instead I’m just like, Come on, man, there are kids here. And that usually does the trick.
If any guest at the park wants to talk to you, which basically only happens if there’s a long line to talk to one of the important presidents, there’s really just two things you have to know about Chester A. Arthur: one, I became president when President Garfield pissed somebody off and got assassinated, and two, my primary achievement was the Pendleton Reform Act. Then, if someone asks you what the Pendleton Reform Act was, you can probably jump off the ground and fly to Hollywood and kiss a supermodel on the mouth, because you are definitely in a dream right now, because literally no one ever asks a follow-up question about the Pendleton Reform Act.
Then at the end of the day, you change out of your costume, and you return it to Valerie in Wardrobe, or sometimes Emika, if Valerie and Emika switched shifts. I like seeing Emika in the morning, because then it feels like it’s going to be a good, normal day, with no surprises, but if Emika and Valerie switch shifts and I see Emika at the end of the day, that’s not the worst thing in the world either I guess. The only problem is I feel bad giving my sweaty costume to Emika for her to clean, which is I guess the downside of Emika working the night shift. I like to imagine Emika coming in to work in the morning and pulling my costume out of the dryer, clean and warm, maybe even holding her cheek up to Chester A. Arthur’s chest, to get a little of that warmth.
Anyway, that’s like a typical day, or it was before all this shit started going down. The shit starts on a Sunday, of course. Shit always starts on a Sunday, I guess because that’s our last day, so if management wants to flip some switch that makes everything go all bat-ass nutty, everyone can cool off over “the weekend,” which is what we call Monday, and then when we come back in to work on Tuesday it’s like nothing ever happened.
Anyway, I’m already in a bad way (on the day the shit starts going down), because the night before Ramona gets a bad reaction to her new medication, so I’m up all night, keeping her company while she throws up every twenty minutes. We try to make a game of it, where every time she barfs, I ask her a question about one of her favorite things.
Hey, Ramona, what do you think of the new Drake album?
BARF.
Really? You used to love Drake. You don’t like the new stuff?
BARF.
Wow. Strong reaction. Guess I should delete all the Drake songs off your phone. Guess you hate Drake now.
And Ramona smiles, even while barfing, and is like, You’re so stupid.
And I’m glad I could be there for Ramona and make her smile, but the end result is I’m real tired at work the next day, which is not the way you want to be when shit starts to go down.
At this point, Van Buren’s been on leave for about a week, on account of him taking his wiener out and waving it at a bunch of deaf kids during the fireworks show. It’s not that he’s a pervert, he tried to explain; he just got confused between deaf kids and blind kids. I guess Mr. Gupta didn’t go for that explanation, because after a week, word trickles down that Van Buren’s not coming back. And not just that Van Buren, Harrison says, any Van Buren.
I don’t get it. I’m like, What, are we just not going to have a
Van Buren?
And Harrison’s like, Would you miss him?
Next thing is, Mr. Gupta’s calling an all-presidents meeting, after hours. This is serious business, an all-presidents meeting. Mostly, news goes out in small groups, and by the time they call in my group (my group is Group 5), word’s already spread anyway. Last time I can remember an all-presidents meeting was when Madison was racist to one of the guests, so Mr. Gupta called us in all at once so he could tell us: Don’t be racist. And Madison’s like, But what if your guy really was racist? Like, what if he owned slaves? And Mr. Gupta’s like, Yeah, okay, but still: don’t be racist.
This time the meeting’s about Van Buren.
I’m sure you’re all wondering why Van Buren isn’t here, Mr. Gupta’s like.
And Franklin Pierce is like, Because he showed his wiener to those deaf kids.
And Mr. Gupta gets all flustered and is like, No—well, yes, but that’s—
He takes a moment to regain his composure.
I’m sure you’re all wondering why Thomas Jefferson isn’t here, Mr. Gupta’s like.
I look around. I hadn’t noticed, but sure enough Jefferson isn’t there. In fact, a lot of people aren’t there.
Mr. Gupta smiles and is all, I’m sure you’re thinking, How are we going to open the park next week without Andrew Jackson, or James Monroe, or John Adams, or even…George Washington?!
I look around. Yeah, pretty weird.
Well, Mr. Gupta continues, what if I told you we could get ten presidents for the manpower of one? And not just people pretending to be presidents—real actual presidents?
Just then, the door to the Extra Office Where No One’s Allowed opens and a white lady in a suit backs out into the bullpen holding a long chain. And she calls into the extra office like, Come on. Come on, buddy.
A low groan comes out of the Extra Office Where No One’s Allowed, and Benjamin Harrison and I look at each other, like, Well, this is some shit, huh?
Someone Who Will Love You in All Your Damaged Glory Page 18