Crushed
Between Noname and me.
Words were exchanged that were not about some mistakes I made. No, real words! With commas and a full stop. And smiles. There were also smiles.
One of the bosses passed my desk, leaving a sheet of paper with bad word art on it, depicting a slice of pizza (I think), a plate full of pasta, and something that was blackened or smudged to a black unrecognisable blob by the printer. Sepia pasta perhaps?
"Tomorrow! World Food Day!" the paper said in black bold print. "Don't forget!"
"It's world food day tomorrow," the boss said brightly, "everyone brings food from their own country. What are you gonna make?"
And then she was already gone, blonde hair whipping the air behind her, depositing world food day announcements all over the office. She even placed some on the ground, so people could see them when they were walking to their desks, looking at their phones.
Clever, huh?
"What are you going to make for world food day?" Noname asked, from across the other table. He had taken out his earphones which were now dangling around his neck and smiling his little smile. (Some people have huge, blinding smiles, which they smile with their entire faces, and other have these very small, shy smiles that look as if they want to hide in the corners of their mouths.)
Here is what I heard:
"Shall we make out in the elevator? Or shall I take you on one of the round, unstable looking canteen tables? Or do you prefer carpet burns on your hands and knees from that cheap, charcoal grey, paperclip-littered office floor?"
Slowly my brain reworked what he had actually said, separating hormone-drenched wishful thinking from reality ... letter by painful letter. Discreetly I pressed my lips together and swallowed the enormous amount of saliva down.
"Oh, you know, I have two countries to pick from, so it's kind of hard," I replied nonchalantly.
(DAMMIT, shouldn't have said that last word, now I have to look at my screen, pretending there is something happening on there, nervously clicking the mouse. Clickclickclick. Don't think about ... hard ... , nothing's hard around here, you fool! Click. Why did I have to say 'hard'? Click.)
"Maybe I'll pick something up at Coles or so. What about you?"
He laughed.
"I am from here, so ... er, nothing really ... sorry!" he said, still smiling. I noticed that laughing made him red in the face. As if he was embarrassed or ... hard.
OK.
Time for me to take my medication.