Youth's Mist

Youth's Mist Ch 4

Pann

Happy Tuesday. I woke up early, ate a healthy breakfast, and successfully packed a healthy, but tasteless lunch. As I walk down the sidewalk, I can't help but feel happy. Optimism is a state of mind, and my mind chooses to see everything positive today. My ever-persistent neighbor did not take my morning paper. Life is good. The summer day is bright and warm. An added plus, since today is Tidy Tuesday at work, we get to dress down. So, I laid on my bed and got my size 12 jeans zipped up. It required a pair of pliers and an amazing amount of arm strength, but they're up and I'm not telling anyone that special technique.

Feeling triumphant and in a determined march I enter my workplace and shout a "Hello!" to our always frowning receptionist. Nope, not going there, not even her sour expression and pursed lips, will darken my good mood. Besides she's cute and tiny, and guys flirt with her constantly. Maybe she frowns because she can see the sunny outside world and is stuck inside like a fish in a bowl or a hamster on a wheel. It could be she's secretly jealous of my hair that looks fabulous today, and I'm totally rocking my new designer heels. Maybe I should bring her a funnel cake? Have a smile; share a smile, or at least that's what my mom always used to say.

Entering my own personal cubicle and placing my purse and bento box in its usual daily location till lunch time. I adjust my chair and suddenly realize deep breathing will be a bit of a challenge today. My jeans are at maximum stretch, and it seems to be cutting off some much-needed oxygen to my brain. No problem. Stay positive Pann. I can stand a lot and burn more calories. It's all good.

Searching for my pen, I notice an envelope on my desk. I think, "hmmm, that's odd," mail doesn't run until after lunch. As I pick it up and slowly tap it against my right temple. Tap, tap, tap, as if telepathically thinking of the contents, the information within will jump into my mind. Maybe the higher-ups have finally realized I'm a gifted artistic professional that deserves her own corner office with a view of the sculpture in the city park. Or, could it be a reward of some kind? Cash? No, that's tacky; a check is acceptable though. I'd even take a gift card... and cash. Lots and lots of cash. Forget that. It's tacky. That was the negative Pann talking, and she's not allowed time in my brain today. Perhaps even a trip to an exotic foreign island location? I weigh it in my hand, balancing it, it's so thick. How many papers do you need for an airline ticket or a key to my new office? I can already visualize myself, sitting at my new desk, feet propped up, while staring at the city park sculptures with jets of water shooting out. Getting even more excited or it could be the lack of oxygen to my brain... I'm really hoping the mystical images in my mind will become a reality when I open the letter. Grabbing my handy letter opener from my desk, I begin slowly, slicing the seal open and the suspense builds until....

"Hey Panini," my co-worker, Jim, shouts coming around the left side of the cheap fabricated partition. "Sorry to hear you're leaving us. I hate when the sexy ones are let go first!" I stare, mouth agape, as Mr. Unwelcome continues, "we never got around your busy schedule for that date, so I left my phone number on your desk. I can meet you anytime, except Tuesday and Thursdays when I'm video gaming with my guy posse. Sorry babe, no girls allowed. But if you really want to, I can ask them tonight if you can tag along on Thursday. Just remember you can't touch me while I'm gaming. I'm a serious gamer, and can't have distractions. Just call and let me know when we can hook up."

My first thought is to remind him how much I've hated the nickname "Panini" since my first day of working here three years ago, and the next thing to do is to incinerate that note with his phone number. Lastly, me actually touch him? I'd rather touch a litter box of week-old clumped cat pee. But my brain gets stuck on the words "let go." Go? Where am I going? Is there some field trip to a doggie company, and I missed the inter office memo? Who'd want to go there? Yuck. This must be what an out-of-body reality feels like when it's hitting a stunned person. As if I'm hovering above myself and looking down at the whole scene playing out for all my nearby co-workers to hear. Before words can form and come out of my now open mouth, which I can only imagine resembles a fish out of water, gasping for air, Jim, Mr. Never Ever Would I date, leaves as quickly as he entered.

Mentally returning to my earth-bound body; I realize my former corporate letter fantasies are not going to come true. Instead, I look at the envelope as if it contains the world's most deadly snake. Its bright white coloring, company logo stamped in the top left portion with sharp corners that could attack like fangs, cut and cause premature death before I hit the floor. Considering the tightness of my jeans, I'd have to fall without bending at the waist.

Sadly, I mentally start to unpack my bathing suit, sun block, my current romance novel, and passport. I tuck away my fantasies of corner offices, personal secretaries, or cash. Sniffle. I sure could have used that cash.

I unfold the letter and begin secretly jinxing my boss with two weeks of constipation. Quickly, I scan the contents, barely reading, but catching phrases that say "company downsizing," "tough decisions were made," and "good references included in attachment." Good references? You have got to be kidding me. When the rent on my studio apartment is due, I'll just show them my "good references" from the job that let me go!

"Well, slap me in a slingshot," I whisper to my drab gray three-walled cubicle, "I'm unemployed." Intending to stand for a much-needed deep breath I notice a box, placed on the floor beside my desk. It must be for my abundance of personal items to be easily transported out the door. How nice, my parting gift is a cardboard box. Maybe I can live out of it or rent it out for extra income? Looking around getting ready to pile all my personal items into the brown "poop" colored box, it feels like a fog starts lifting from my eyes.

Stay positive, Pann. Well, I'm "positive" this day can't get worse, I'm "positive" Jim will die a lonely bald man, and I'm "positive" these jeans are much too tight. Realistically, I've made no close friends while working here. It was a lousy, limiting job and just like that I shake the cobwebs and get up. Grabbing my purse, bento box, a family picture with my parents, an electric stapler I bought just last month, and Jim's cootie laden note, I purposely avoid the offending tasteless box. Marching to the front desk, to the ever-perky girl with perpetually turned down corners of her mouth and slap Jim's note on her desk.

"Jim really likes you, call him, but make sure you tell him you're only available on Tuesday and Thursdays, oh and he loves being called JimBo," I tell her and she actually smiles. Today must be from the twilight zone. Was that juvenile? Sure, but I'm positive I won't regret doing it.

I exit Meridith Moments for the last time, and feel the small satisfaction of leaving my butt print on the glass door, as I push my way out. Taking a deep breath, I inhale the smog of a passing car. Why did I ever want to continue living in the city? I mentally lecture myself—I will NOT go home and eat a pan of brownies and watch "Pride and Prejudice" for the thirtieth time this year, nor will I sulk and cry over a crappy job I never liked.

Throwing my head up, shoulders back, I shout to no one in particular, "Look out world; I'm going to march to the beat of a different drum!"

I may have scared a few other passing pedestrians, who have now started walking away in a hurry, but I am Woman, Hear me Roar! Confidently, and positively taking my first brave steps into a new life...and plop into an unforeseen mud puddle in front of me... Well, there go the new designer shoes.