Missed Connections

Missed Connections: Chapter 13

It's 10:43 a.m., and my heart is racing, though unfortunately not from the pot of coffee I inhaled at home in the hopes of at least appearing awake this morning. The UPS guy walks in with five big boxes on a dolly and drops them in front of my desk, blocking the doorway, and thrusts his electronic board in my face to sign.

"First name?"

"Sarah."

"First initial of your last name?"

"J."

"Have a good one." He walks out whistling obnoxiously, leaving the boxes.

Now, not only do I have to call back six clients about various things, catch up on the laundry, and prep four rooms, but I have to deal with these boxes. I've also had to pee for the last forty-five minutes.

"Gee, it sure must be nice to have your job." Ziggy's client vacantly smiles at me. "It would be so relaxing to work here."

She has no idea. My smile must be manic, but I play along, wanting to scream. As soon as she's gone, I focus on my tele-nemesis.

It's been ringing nonstop today, as if some people have "I'm busy. Please, no one call now!" radar that signals them to phone at the worst times. And the fact that I'm a teensy bit hungover isn't helping.

But ten minutes later, the messages are sorted out, the phone is quiet, and I dash to the back and fold laundry like an origami artist on speed. The load fresh from the dryer burns my hands a bit, but I forge ahead. Fifteen minutes later, the shelves are stocked, the last load is in the dryer, my hair sticks up all over from static electricity, and my throat burns for a drink.

And I still really have to go to the bathroom. My thirst can wait; my bladder cannot. I rush into the washroom and pee like a racehorse, sagging with relief.

And then notice someone's used all the toilet paper and not replaced it. I can't bear drip-drying on top of everything else this morning. Please, I hope, reaching into my cardigan pocket. Yes! I'd tucked a couple of tissues away, and thank God for that. The bathroom is filled with my annoyed swears, muttered quietly so no one hears them, as I finish up and head for a drink of water.

Instead, I find Fern. "Hello, Sarah. Have a seat."

I become aware of the fact I'm sweating, frizzy, and annoyed from the laundry. I must look red and deranged, so I surreptitiously smooth my hair and blot the tiny beads of sweat from my upper lip as I sit at my desk.

Fern hands me a cup of spicy herbal tea and rolls a chair over by my desk. She settles into it and sips her own tea. "Is there anything you want to tell me?" Her intense gaze isn't quite a glare, but I still feel uncomfortably scrutinized. Does she know I'm hungover? Butwhy should that matter? I was here on time and have been working steadily since I walked in the door.

Is this about Blake? Surely flirting doesn't violate the "no dating coworkers" policy. Best to play dumb. "About what?" I blow on and sip my tea, wishing it was cold water instead of a steaming beverage.

Honestly, even with the air-conditioning, how can they drink so much hot tea in the summer?

"Anything at all. I'd never judge you; you know that. And even if something was wrong, you could come to me. I'd never be anything but fair."

"I appreciate the offer, Fern, but I don't have anything to confide."

It's clear she really wants me to tell her a secret, but there's nothing I want to tell her. Is this the way she makes friends with people? Does she do this as one of the steps in her energy programs? People confess weird secrets, and they laugh and bond over herbal teas?