hold my own. Have to stiffen my spine and stand my ground when I believe in something strongly.
I watch the sidewalk as pedestrians come and go, heads bent, hurried. On their way to work, or to grab coffee, or take their kids to school. Late for the subway, late for a meeting, early. On time. People, people, everywhere.
Speaking of coffee, I wish I had some now.
I didn’t want to trickle in this morning, assuming I would find someone in the other desk when I arrived. There’s nothing I love more than playing hostess in my apartment—it’s another thing entirely to be sharing my office. Even so, I was up bright and early, showered and out the door an entire hour ahead of schedule.
So unlike me.
I did, however, draw the line at grabbing breakfast for the new half of this temporary duo—God forbid I make them feel too welcome or too comfortable. Get them in and get them out; that will be my motto for the duration of the week.
The clock ticks.
Car horns blare.
The train car on the next block screeches on its rusted rails.
Tick.
Tock.
“Well. I suppose I could get some work done,” I say to no one in particular, giving my wireless speaker a longing look. I love listening while I work, preferring talk radio or stand-up comedy to get the creative juices flowing. Would it be rude to have the speaker playing when this person finally arrives?
Tick.
Tock.
I quite literally twiddle my thumbs. Move the mouse for my computer around to pass the time when I should be working. Instead, I’m hemming and hawing waiting on this person. This stranger. Let’s face it—I don’t socialize with the construction side much, so the chances that I’m going to be familiar with my officemate? Slim to none.
I stare out the window. Putz around on social media.
I have an ad campaign to busy myself with, but I don’t touch it. There’s signage for a huge high-rise to finalize, colors for a new exterior to look at and who has time to screw around?! Not me!
“Ugh.” I heave myself out of the desk chair, irritated and impatient, stomach fluttering like it did my freshman year of college waiting on my first ever roommate. Will she want the bed I chose? Will she be a total bitch? Will she be tidy like I am or a complete slob like my sister Shannon?
Tick.
Tock.
It’s just past eight o’clock in the morning. Around here, the workday has officially begun for almost everyone in our building, and my cellmate has yet to arrive.
My stomach growls, and because I skipped breakfast to make a hasty trip to work this morning, I resign myself to the breakroom, where I know there’s at least a muffin or bagel or two.
I snicker, remembering yesterday—Phillip.
Phillip, the guy who loaded up his bagel with expired cream cheese to be stubborn and prove a point, then barfed it back up in the garbage can in reception. He might have been cute in his standard-issue company polo and jeans—but the sounds he made when he gagged?
Disgusting, and also hilarious.
I bet when he gets the sniffles, he’s useless for days.
A “man cold” my mother calls it when my dad gets sick. One sniffle, one cough or slight fever and my father is laid out flat, bellyaching on the bed as if dying of some incurable plague—like a child.
Drives my mom nuts.
My mind strays to the image of him, hunched over and vomiting in Paul’s trash, and Paul beside him, eyes wide, hand on his mouth as if he were about to wretch, too.
There was no time for me to mention that one time in fifth grade during English class, we were seated on the floor listening to our teacher, Mrs. Galvin, when suddenly, I threw up in Renee Hall’s lap. When we were sent to the bathroom to clean ourselves up—me apologizing profusely—Renee threw up in the sink.
So yeaaaah.
Definitely not worth mentioning my own humiliation, instead enjoying Phillip’s.
The look on that guy’s face…classic mortification when his horrified gaze met mine from across the lobby. I was the last person he wanted to witness him puking.
Honestly? I kind of feel terrible for him.
Okay fine, on a scale of one to ten, I feel terrible negative zero, because witnessing that moment was a gift from above—ammunition for a rainy day, in case I ever bump into him, or need a favor.
Shoot, come to think of it, why didn’t I film it with my phone to use as evidence?
In any case,