The Delivery Girl

12. Patience

Julie

I pride myself on being a patient person.

But Hayley is testing my patience like no one has before.

Her long, acrylic nails tap noisily against her keyboard, making it sound like she's using a typewriter. Even when she's not typing, she drums her nails against her desk just as loudly.

Her water tumbler is a glittery and shiny, reflective silver, sort of resembling a disco ball. It somehow manages to constantly catch the light in just the right way, reflecting blinding beams of sunlight towards my face.

She always keeps her oil diffuser running, constantly switching between different oils, even when it feels like the air couldn't possibly take any more scents. It's like being trapped in one of those bath and body stores.

"Um, Hayley?" I whisper. "Would you mind turning your oil diffuser to a lower setting? And maybe typing a bit more quietly?"

She turns around and gives me the most unimpressed look I've ever seen.

"And...um, maybe moving your tumbler to the other side of your desk?" I barely squeak.

She frowns at me for so long that I start to uncomfortably shift around in my seat.

"I'll... consider it," she says cooly before turning back around.

It reminds me of dad when Mei and I used to ask for things when we were little. We never got the thing, of course, and had to sit through long and tedious lectures instead.

I awkwardly return my attention to my spreadsheet. I'm tracking the services each of our big clients have hired us for and analzying patterns that we can capitalize on for future sales pitches. As a software engineer, using spreadsheets for simple tasks like these are a breeze. I have most of the useful formulas memorized and end up automating most of Hayley's processes.

It takes me less than an hour before I email it back to her, explaining how she won't have to manually calculate the numbers in this sheet anymore.

I peek over, seeing my email pop up on her screen. She opens it and briefly reads it before turning around. "Not bad, Julie," she says. Her lips tug into a weak smile, but her eyes remain cold. I can't tell whether she's impressed or annoyed.

"Thanks, I can show you how to do it," I offer.

She frowns a bit before shaking her head. "That's ok, it seems like you can handle it without me," she says and turns back to her computer.

Why does it feel like she hates me?

I decide not to tell her that I also cleaned up our database of clients. I wrote a script that merges duplicates and makes simple grammar corrections. Whether or not it was her who did the messy data entry is irrelevant.

–

I take a deep breath to calm myself before picking up the phone. Most of the calls I've taken so far have ended with me forwarding them to Hayley when they lose their patience with me. "Hello, Sterling Studios, how may I help you?"

"Hi there, I'm trying to reach Raphael Jones," the voice says.

"No problem, one moment please." I quickly open up the staff directory spreadsheet and search for the name and number. "Please hold, I'll transfer you."

I carefully reread the instructions for forwarding calls that I wrote down during my training with Hayley. It's stupidly complicated. Why can't there just be a transfer button?