Happy Path

Unique Snowflakes

They say every snowflake is unique. During my time at IT&S, I met a blizzard's worth of unique snowflakes. But even in that blinding storm of originality, there were standouts.

Due to bank layoffs, IT&S suddenly had a surfeit of bank-owned devices. When someone left, their desk would be cleared out by some unfortunate sap like me, and their laptop repossessed. Usually the monitor, phone and chair would stay with the cubicle. Sometimes these leftovers would go missing. There was a lot of post-layoff scavenging. In fact, that's how I got my replacement his sweet cubicle that was a little more removed from the main artery than my desk.

Charles had forwarded an email with the subject line "Retrieving Orphaned Equipment". The original sender had the regal name of Barnaby Westin II. I thought maybe a barrister was coming for our extra laptops! The message instructed our group to get in touch and arrange for a return of surplus equipment. After about a week, I got around to contacting Mr. Westin II on Lync.

ME: Hey Repo man, I hear you're coming for my extra laptops. I work with Charles Tang's group in ADS.

BWII: I can drop by after lunch. Where do you sit?

ME: Near post V22.

Later that day, I was working on the budget. I thought I heard a faint knocking, but I was pretty absorbed in the task at hand. A few minutes later, there was a voice behind me.

"Excuse me?" I turned around to behold a large man with white hair, glasses and a trimmed beard that made me think of Santa. "Can you tell me where I can find Molly?"

Pointing to myself, I declared, "I'm Molly! Are you Barnaby?"

"Yes." He looked to a sheet in his hands. "I see you have a laptop for me?"

"Two, actually." I'd gone to the lab earlier to retrieve the laptops of our fallen comrades, which were sitting on my desk. Barnaby consulted his printout.

"This one's on the list," he hefted one laptop into the crook of his arm. "This one isn't." He pointed at the remaining laptop.

"We had two team members laid off in the last six months," I offered. "Do you want both of these, or..."

"Sure. I'll take both. Do you have the power supplies?"

"They're in the lab. Just let me lock my computer and we can go have a look."

"W22."

"What?"

"That's where you sit. Even though there isn't a post here, it's W22. In case you have to tell someone in the future."

"Uh, okay. Thanks." I pulled my lab key out of a drawer. "But if there's no post identifying this area as W22, how would that be helpful?"

"Some people aren't good with maps, I guess." Even with five feet between us, I could smell his breath. It was like the garbage strike in summer. Which, by the way, is of great concern to me! I encountered people with truly awful breath often enough in my day-to-day life that I was starting to get a little worried. I think we've all heard the adage that you can't smell your own bad breath. As in, you could have face melting odour coming out of your mouth and be none the wiser. I always assumed this was an old wives' tale. However, after dealing with what seemed to be a wide range of people with truly offensive halitosis, I began to wonder, could I also have bad breath? Did people leave conversations with me and think Is she harboring a dead mouse in the back of her throat? I'd been chewing a lot of gum just in case.

"Let's go get those power supplies." I led Barnaby down the hall, around the corner and into the lab. Only one team member was at the communal table, eating her lunch.