No Ordinary Day (three)
The day it happened, another set of cupcakes for Nicole's birthday was en route to the office. I had ordered them first thing that morning. Through a stream of incessant tears, I heard JB as he grabbed on to my arm and said, "You have got to cancel those cupcakes! We can't do this now, not like this, no way, no way..." I kept nodding and somehow found my way to my desk, pulled up the bakery's website, and dialed. All sense of time eluded me. Everything felt otherworldly.
"I'm really sorry but I have to cancel the cupcakes we ordered this morning," I sputtered.
"Oh," the perky girl on the other end chirped, "that's too bad! I'm so sorry!" She exclaimed, as sympathetic as a vacuum cleaner. "I'll try to call the courier back, but they may get to you any minute now since the order went out a while ago!" I envisioned her a well-meaning but vacuous blonde who was a cheerleader at Kansas City High before she moved to New York to become an actress.
"Thanks," I choked, clamping the phone back down and grabbing a tissue.
The cupcakes did arrive, and we adjusted our grief into the belief that Yolande would have wanted Nicole to have her birthday cupcakes with us. Although Nicole is the newest one in Area 6, Yolande saw in her the strong religious faith that is central to her own life, so bonding with Nicole was a very easy process for Yolande.
Nicole made her wish and blew out three candles. In my mind, each of the candles represented all of Area 6's February babies: JB, Nicole, and Yolande. Even more people gathered in our area this time, as we found solace in each other's company in the midst of the morning's terrible, unthinkable news. JB, Pedro, and I were determined to ward off Z if he came sneaking around again, looking for free food.
Like clockwork, he did. Really odd that this was his second time appearing in the office at that noontime hour. He usually finds a way to not work somehow, so we don't see him too often, but the guy has a talent for sniffing out what he thinks is free food. Undoubtedly he saw people upset and crying, consoling one another, but he made no inquiries into what was going on. He didn't even know that one of the only people in the entire office who tolerated him so kindly - someone with whom he had worked for several years - the only person to whom he should be grateful for scoring last week's cupcakes (we found this out later) - was gone.
After the second time I saw him skulking past like a hungry weasel, it was on. I positioned myself right in front of the cupcakes and waited. It was only a matter of minutes before he walked right up to my back - the only thing standing between him and the cupcakes - and inquired about the pretty baked goods. Keeping my back to him, I turned slightly and looked him in the eye.
"We only have an allotted amount for people who chipped in for this," I lied proudly.
"Oh you only have a certain amount?" he said, peering over my shoulder.
"Yeah," I kept my eyes right on him.
"So is there enough?" he shamelessly prodded.
"No, we don't have enough for you," I hissed, my glare burning a hole in his forehead. Finally, he slunk away, sans cupcake, and we were victorious.
**************************************
If this coming work week had been any ordinary work week, we would've had our third set of cupcakes for Yolande, whose birthday was yesterday, February 17th - something I found out just two weeks ago. Instead, we'll be chipping in for a wreath to send to the home where the viewing will take place.
I called Yolande the Plant Doctor because she knew how to read the plants - what they needed, what they liked. She always helped me with mine and would be the first to remind me to water them before the weekend. It was my job to water her plants last week. I must have taken at least 15 minutes to do it.
Every day I walk by her desk expecting to see her looking up from cutting an apple or spreading a little cheese on some gourmet crackers. She usually did that between 10 and 11 in the morning. If she saw you peeking, she would look up and smile, sometimes with a single crumb on her lip which I found completely endearing. She'd listen to her talk radio and relay the news blow-by-blow to her best friend at work who sat right next to her on the other side of a tall partition. Eventually one of them would get up to go see the other and they'd carry on in excited whispers like giggly teenagers.
The new normal makes me long for ordinary days again.
"I'm really sorry but I have to cancel the cupcakes we ordered this morning," I sputtered.
"Oh," the perky girl on the other end chirped, "that's too bad! I'm so sorry!" She exclaimed, as sympathetic as a vacuum cleaner. "I'll try to call the courier back, but they may get to you any minute now since the order went out a while ago!" I envisioned her a well-meaning but vacuous blonde who was a cheerleader at Kansas City High before she moved to New York to become an actress.
"Thanks," I choked, clamping the phone back down and grabbing a tissue.
The cupcakes did arrive, and we adjusted our grief into the belief that Yolande would have wanted Nicole to have her birthday cupcakes with us. Although Nicole is the newest one in Area 6, Yolande saw in her the strong religious faith that is central to her own life, so bonding with Nicole was a very easy process for Yolande.
Nicole made her wish and blew out three candles. In my mind, each of the candles represented all of Area 6's February babies: JB, Nicole, and Yolande. Even more people gathered in our area this time, as we found solace in each other's company in the midst of the morning's terrible, unthinkable news. JB, Pedro, and I were determined to ward off Z if he came sneaking around again, looking for free food.
Like clockwork, he did. Really odd that this was his second time appearing in the office at that noontime hour. He usually finds a way to not work somehow, so we don't see him too often, but the guy has a talent for sniffing out what he thinks is free food. Undoubtedly he saw people upset and crying, consoling one another, but he made no inquiries into what was going on. He didn't even know that one of the only people in the entire office who tolerated him so kindly - someone with whom he had worked for several years - the only person to whom he should be grateful for scoring last week's cupcakes (we found this out later) - was gone.
After the second time I saw him skulking past like a hungry weasel, it was on. I positioned myself right in front of the cupcakes and waited. It was only a matter of minutes before he walked right up to my back - the only thing standing between him and the cupcakes - and inquired about the pretty baked goods. Keeping my back to him, I turned slightly and looked him in the eye.
"We only have an allotted amount for people who chipped in for this," I lied proudly.
"Oh you only have a certain amount?" he said, peering over my shoulder.
"Yeah," I kept my eyes right on him.
"So is there enough?" he shamelessly prodded.
"No, we don't have enough for you," I hissed, my glare burning a hole in his forehead. Finally, he slunk away, sans cupcake, and we were victorious.
**************************************
If this coming work week had been any ordinary work week, we would've had our third set of cupcakes for Yolande, whose birthday was yesterday, February 17th - something I found out just two weeks ago. Instead, we'll be chipping in for a wreath to send to the home where the viewing will take place.
I called Yolande the Plant Doctor because she knew how to read the plants - what they needed, what they liked. She always helped me with mine and would be the first to remind me to water them before the weekend. It was my job to water her plants last week. I must have taken at least 15 minutes to do it.
Every day I walk by her desk expecting to see her looking up from cutting an apple or spreading a little cheese on some gourmet crackers. She usually did that between 10 and 11 in the morning. If she saw you peeking, she would look up and smile, sometimes with a single crumb on her lip which I found completely endearing. She'd listen to her talk radio and relay the news blow-by-blow to her best friend at work who sat right next to her on the other side of a tall partition. Eventually one of them would get up to go see the other and they'd carry on in excited whispers like giggly teenagers.
The new normal makes me long for ordinary days again.