expects to hear. “Well where I sit, to the left of me is a beached whale. Three rows in front of me is another beached whale. Four cubicles across, you’ll never guess, another beached whale,” I ramble in a monotone.
I’ve actually gotten to know one of these whales. He’s a five hundred pound Samoan, and his nickname happens to be Tiny.
Now don’t get me wrong; having curves or being curvaceous is good thing but there is ‘curvy’ and there is ‘coronary,’ and Tiny is a walking heart attack.
Here lies the shocker—Tiny acquired that name because he is actually the smallest of all his siblings.
Meanwhile, all I can hear is static on the line.
“What did you say again honey?” Her voice crackles.
“Um, nothing...”
A beat. Another beat.
“Well, if you’re sure about that job, then I guess it’s okay,” she says disconcertedly. After a pause, she adds, “Really, there are plenty of other jobs out there you know.”
She’s obviously out of touch with reality. “Mom no, not really. There are no jobs out there. And—”
She cuts me off, “Look sweetie, I must dash! Vincent is taking me to the opera tonight, but you take care of yourself. If you need money, let me know and I’ll wire you some right away. ‘K, love?”
I sigh out loud as she clicks off.
Money will be the last thing I ask of her.
Seven
“KAR-SYNN,” I holler with a sense of urgency.
Her head pops out of her cubicle. “What?”
“Get over here,” I command. “NOW!”
Kars races to my cube and I seize her by the shoulders. “You will not believe this, but I am talking to a Miss Fuck-a-Lot.”
She stares at me bug-eyed for several minutes. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“No I’m not, and yes I am talking to a Miss Fuck-a-Lot.”
“No—you—are—NOT,” she says severely.
“Look! Check out her name.” I point at my screen.
Kars peers at my monitor and spells the caller’s name out loud, “F-A-U-G-H-A-L-A-T-T-E.”
“She’s French,” I explain succinctly. “She says it’s pronounced Fuck-a-Lot.”
There is an instant palpable hush.
Kars stares at me deadpan.
Seconds later, we explode into a spasm of giggles.
“Hello? Anybody there?” An agitated voice crackles in my ear.
My laughter instantly evaporates. Whoopsie! I forgot Miss Fuck-a-Lot is still on MUTE.
Remorse washes over me. I feel terribly awful for neglecting her.
Shoot! I have no idea what she’s been harping about for the past five minutes. As soon as she said her name, I pushed MUTE so she couldn’t hear my gales of laughter and screamed for Kars.
“Merde, I have to get back to her,” I say wistfully. “Mais c'est chouette, les name est magnifique.”
Kars tuts, “Sacré bleu! Zut Alors! Au revoir Mademoiselle Fuck-a-Lot.” Then she shimmies over to Ingeborg’s cubicle.
Keeping half an ear turned to their conversation, I catch some snippets, something about French people having the best names au contraire, followed by Karsynn’s wild and infectious laughter echoing through the maze of cubicles.
Poor Miss Fuck-a-Lot. Oh to be cursed with such a name.
After composing myself, I release the MUTE key. “I’m so sorry Miss Fuck-a-Lot, but we have a really bad connection. You were breaking up there for bit,” I say in my most apologetic voice and proceed to give her my full and undivided attention.
Moments later, I’m still assisting Miss Fuck-a-Lot when I hear Hillary the Giant Not Ready Nazi’s ear-shattering scream.
Uh oh, her meeting must be over now.
“Karsynn! You’ve been in NOT READY for over ten minutes. GET BACK ON THE PHONES RIGHT NOW!” The Führer blasts, sending shock waves throughout the entire center.
Karsynn stiffens, collects herself and scuttles like a cockroach to her cubicle.
When we’re not slaving away in Hell, we’re apartment hunting, which ends up consuming our entire weekend.
Pocatello Plaza is the eighth apartment complex we’ve looked at so far, and eight is certainly the charm.
“This is the one!” Karsynn cheers while doing a cartwheel in the middle of the living room.
I shake my head, marveling at her boundless energy; she’s the Energizer Bunny on speed.
As I pace the floor, going back and forth between the kitchen and living room, one word keeps repeating in my head—Love!
It even features vaulted ceilings! Ahhh. A warm and virtuous glow envelops me. I’m standing in the Sistine Chapel. Now all I need is a Michelangelo mural on the ceiling.
Gazing out the lofty bay windows, I gasp with joyful wonder; it bestows upon me a picturesque view of the Rocky Mountains.
I’m sold!
Satisfied with our decision, we sign on the dotted line.
Rent will be $950, plus we’ll have to fork over another $900 for the security deposit.