-Henry David Thoreau
Monday, 11:00 A.M.
I inhaled a breath of air. I'd say it was almost stale, but it had this hint of decaying perfume. Can perfume decay? It must because this floor has the distinct stench of decaying perfume. Like someone decided to create a cocktail of perfume and sewer water.
I was standing here on this department store floor in an act of desperation.
I was broke.
And in dire need of some "work ethic" or just ethics in general (direct quote from my parents).
And let me just state right now, for the record, that it was not my fault that the garbage disposal broke. It was a freak accident and if someone had been under the same circumstances, they would have tried to dispose of their brother's buzzing door alarm the same way. It was not because of "boredom" or lack of respect or insanity, contrary to my parent's beliefs.
I needed a job - This job, unfortunately.
And although I know I am too much of a quirk and an airhead to actually benefit this company in any way, shape, or form, the woman from human resources who employed me did not. So alas, here I am.
Okay, so let me begin my tale of misery by discussing one of my latest (and most disconcerting) woes. There is this stupid name tag that the people in HR insisted I wear. It's hideous and uncomfortable and really, an overall burden.
Ugh...
Really, who needs to know my name? No one uses it. I accept many names. Any name, really. Hey you, lady, new girl, and just about any other random grunt or hand gesture. The hand gestures, I've found, are most popular with the foreign crowd or the senior citizens who like to usher me over to where they're standing. Like I don't have enough to do that I can just drop everything I'm doing to come help you decipher between a freaking black necklace and deep blue necklace.
"New girl" is the ever so creative name my coworkers from the cosmetics department and men's department devised for me. Cosmetics and men are the only two departments within a 30 foot radius from my department and the only two departments that have any significance whatsoever to me. No one else in the store needs to know my name. You see, I must stay within 30 feet of my area at all times and men's and cosmetics are the only visible territory from my confined prison. I seriously think it's one of my bosses scare tactics, but it works because I never leave that area. I have this strange feeling that something will jump out and tackle me to the floor if I cross the borderline.
So, now you see, the name tag has zero value. It's worthless and annoying and an inconvenience. The tag just sits there on my cardigan all lopsided and pathetic, much like myself, actually.
Deep breath. Now that the name tag is secure and flopping sideways on my shirt, I must take my first steps out of the customer service area and to my department. Okay, first step. Here I go. My foot is departing from the tiled floor and slightly into the air and in front of me. First step completed! I'm picking up my pace slightly; walking now with what I think is safe to call a semi-confident stride. My chin is raised now and I'm walking like a pro. Approaching the men's department counter and I'm doing great. I feel like a quick wave to acknowledge my coworkers in men's might even be achievable at this point. I lift my hand and...ugh, damn, stubbed my toe. No wave for you, men's department!
Ah and finally, I am approaching the accessories counter, in all its fake silvery glory. A peculiar buzzing noise erupts the minute I step foot behind the counter. Oh, it's the phone. The phone!! How do I answer this? Is there a protocol? Do I make up my own prtocol? Do I have to act arrogant or use an accent?
"Accessories, this is Milly, how can I help you?" I chimed.
Lame, I know. But it was my first instinct.
"Milly? Oh, Milly! Hi!," a voice erupted from the other end of the line.
"Penny? How did you get this number? I don't even know this number," I said puzzled.
"Really, it's quite easy. I just called the store and asked them to direct me to your department."
I had no idea that was possible!
"Oh, well, okay. So, what's up?"
"Um, I just had to ask you something," Penny replied nonchalantly.
"You have an accessories question?"
"No, not really. Just a general question. Anyway, something so exciting happened today, Milly!," she shrieked into the mouthpiece. Loudly.
"Penny, you do realize it's against the store's policy to allow personal calls on company time. I could get fired for this if your necklace isn't dead or broken or something or if there's no real jewelry emergency," I warned.
Is that even such a thing? A jewelry emergency?
"Oh, you're fine. I told the nice woman who answered the phone that your dog went into appendicital arrest and that you starred in a show alongside your dog for public access when you were a young lass (Penny likes to pretend she's Scottish sometimes. I don't get it.) and you two had grown very attached, which is why you needed to hear the news immediately. She seemed very sympathetic."
A-pen-dis-it-il arrest. I have no reason to believe that an appendix can go into arrest. It's either alive and kicking or kaput, right? I grow more concerned for that girl each and every day.
"Okay Penny, shoot," I replied indifferently.
"Alrighty," she remarked happily.
The only girl I know who uses the word "alrighty" with genuine sincerity.
"This morning I boarded the bus to visit Wilbur (her cousin's boyfriends brother) and I sat down in my usual window seat, three seats from the front (she has a usual seat).
She paused momentarily to build the suspense.
"Congratulations, Penny," I mocked, taking advantage of her dramatic silence.
I could tell she rolled her eyes on the other end of the phone. "Well, this morning, I didn't sit alone. Someone sat next to me! He was so dreamy, too. He had on this really cute sweater vest kind of thing and these black rimmed glasses."
I dig the "old school" sweater vests, but Penny seems to just dig the "old" sweater vests. Like the kind Chandler Bing wore on Friends. Attractive on the right person, like an 80 year old, but not so much on someone from the younger crowd.
"So, get this," she squealed. "He recited me this little poem kind of thing. It was so sweet! He said that he saw me before too, like he's been watching me!"
"Like a stalker?"
"No."
"Psychopath?"
"No, Milly, not like that. Don't take the romance and intrigue out of it. It was sweet."
She's going to end up on a milk carton one day. I'm sure of it.
I glanced at the clock. Ooh, 5:38. 8 minutes down, a lot to go.
"He told me that he saw an angel and that she smiled at him from the subway one night, but she was with another man. And then he said that he didn't lose any sleep though, because he had a plan. He was talking about me, Milly! I was the angel!"
I had no words. I never thought that someone could butcher a song so badly or surpass the tackiness of a pick up line. She had absolutely no idea that that odd stalker man had been quoting a James Blunt song. Or maybe he was just singing along with the song on his iPod, but Penny was too delusional to realize that he wasn't even talking to her, he was just singing!
"It was funny, though, Milly, because I don't recall being with another man. Maybe it was two weeks ago when Uncle Bernie and I went to the Christian bookstore to get a birthday present for my mother. That had to be it. We rode the subway that night, much to my mother's dismay," she speculated.
"Yep, that must've been it, Penny. You know what? I think he sounds like quite the catch. Did you get his number?," I inquired.
"No."
"Okay. What was the point of this phone call, Penny?"
"I just wanted to tell you the story. It was so exciting, wasn't it?"
"It sure was, Penny. I'm going to go now."
"Okay, bye Milly, I'll call you later and tell the story in more detail."
I put the phone down. The minute it clicked into place, it rang again. Good riddance.
Ugh, it had to be Penny again. The phone didn't even hit the base before it rang.
"Yellow, Milly's the name, accessorizing is my game," I answered.
"Um, hello, Milly. This is Janet (my boss). I just wanted to let you know that Lisa is coming down to show you how to use the watch repair kit."
"Oh, okay," I replied awkwardly.
"So, she'll be there momentarily. And Milly, next time, you can just say hello and state your name and department, okay?
"Okay." My cheeks fumed with red. The way she paused after Milly, I could just tell, was not a good sign. She was learning of my incompetence already.
ARGHHHH!
I dropped the phone back on the hook, swung around and noticed someone admiring watches next to my counter. She extended one hand and placed the other on my shoulder. Eww, invasion of personal space, lady.
"Hi, I'm Edith from men's. I just wanted to say that I'm so sorry to hear about your dog."
