Notes From The Cubicle Next Door

Chapter 10

The morning meeting started with me knocking over the coffee pot. Again.

"You know," I said, mopping up the mess with paper towels, "my parents almost named me Macbeth."

The conference room went quiet. Even June looked up from her notes.

"Seriously?" Sarah asked.

"Yeah. Mom thought it had gravitas." I wadded up another soaked towel. "Dad vetoed it. Said the kid would have enough problems without being named after Shakespeare's most murderous protagonist."

Gilbert snorted. "So they went with Romeo instead?"

"Lesser of two evils, I guess. At least Romeo only killed himself."

Laughter rippled through the room. The tension from my latest coffee catastrophe eased.

"My middle name was almost Ophelia," I continued, warming to my theme. "Dad pointed out that naming your kid after two suicidal characters might be tempting fate."

"What is your middle name?" June asked.

"Benvolio." I straightened up, tossing the last paper towel. "The reasonable one. Though I'm pretty sure I'm failing to live up to that part."

More laughter. Even Dave from IT, who was usually absorbed in his phone during meetings, cracked a smile.

"Could be worse," Mark offered. "My parents named me after their favorite soap opera character."

"Really?"

"Marcus Blackwood III." He grimaced. "The character turned out to be the evil twin."

"At least you weren't named after kitchen appliances," Sarah chimed in. "My cousin's kid is literally named Kenmore."

"Like the washer?" Gilbert asked.

"They met at Sears."

I settled back into my chair, feeling slightly better about my own name. "Please tell me they don't have other kids named Maytag and Whirlpool."

"Not yet, but she's pregnant again. We're all a bit worried."

The meeting dissolved into a swap meet of terrible names. Someone knew twins named North and South. Another had gone to school with a girl named Hashtag.

"My neighbor," Dave volunteered, "named their kid HTML."

"You're making that up," Gilbert said.

"Swear to God. They're web developers."

June tapped her pen against her notepad. "This is actually great material for your story."

"My what?" I'd almost forgotten about the naming traditions assignment.

"The one due Friday?" Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Or were you too busy writing elegies to potholes?"

"That pothole was fixed," I pointed out. "My reporting made a difference."

"Yes, your passionate defense of municipal infrastructure was very moving." She turned to address the room. "Anyone else have naming stories for Romeo's article?"

Hands shot up. Stories poured out. A guy from accounting was named after a race horse. The receptionist's grandmother had wanted to name her Xerox.

"My parents met in a library," I found myself saying. "Mom was researching Renaissance literature. Dad was hiding from his ex in the poetry section. They bonded over Shakespeare and terrible life choices."

"That's actually kind of sweet," June said.

"Until you factor in the naming part."

"I don't know." She smiled. "It seems to suit you."

Gilbert kicked me under the table. I ignored him.

"The tragic romantic part or the terrible life choices part?"

"Both, maybe?"

Another kick from Gilbert. I was going to have bruises.

"Well," I said, "at least I'm living up to the family tradition of making questionable decisions in libraries."

"Oh?"

"Last week I tried to reorganize the reference section. By color."

June laughed. The sound did something to my chest that probably wasn't healthy.

"How'd that work out?" she asked.

"The librarian banned me for a month."

"For organizing books?"

"For, and I quote, 'crimes against the Dewey Decimal System'."

The meeting had completely derailed now. No one was even pretending to look at their agendas.

"Okay," June said, still smiling, "as entertaining as this is, we should probably talk about actual work at some point."

A collective groan went up.

"But," she added, "I want to hear more naming stories later. For the article."

She looked directly at me when she said it. Gilbert's foot was probably permanently damaged from all the kicking.

The meeting shifted back to business. Editorial calendars. Deadline updates. The usual morning shuffle of assignments and schedules.

I tried to focus. Really, I did. But June kept glancing my way, and Gilbert kept kicking me, and my coffee-soaked shoes were starting to squelch when I moved.

"Next time," June said as we filed out, "try keeping the coffee in the cup."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Less paper towel waste?"

"But then what would we talk about in meetings?"

She paused at the door. "I'm sure you'd think of something."

Then she was gone, leaving me with a squelching shoe and Gilbert's knowing smirk.

"Stop," I said before he could open his mouth.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it very loudly."

"Just noting that self-deprecating humor seems to work for you."

"I wasn't trying to—"

"Course not." He clapped my shoulder. "Just like you weren't flirting when you told that library story."

"I wasn't."

"Sure." He started walking away. "By the way, your shoe is making weird noises."

"Thanks for noticing."

"Anytime, Romeo. Anytime."

I looked down at my coffee-stained shoes and sighed.

At least I had material for the article now.

Though somehow, I didn't think June was looking for a personal essay on the dangers of naming your kid after fictional characters with impulse control issues.

Then again, maybe she was.

The squelching followed me all the way back to my desk.