Besides, I really, really don’t want to live in the trailer for much longer, but it’s cheap while I’m saving up. In a few more months, I’ll have the down payment and then it’s sayonara, Pine Estates.
Someone knocks on my door, and a moment later, my intern Kevin pokes his head in.
“Paper lanterns are here?” he asks.
I point to a corner of my office, the one I use as a staging area for the upcoming wedding of the week. It’s piled high with brightly-colored seat cushions — the bride didn’t like the standard colors that we offered — sparkly gold tablecloths, five-foot-high glass tubes to hold flower arrangements, the lanterns Kevin is looking for, and bags upon bags upon bags of M&Ms with the bride and groom’s initials on them.
To my credit, I’ve eaten absolutely none of them even though there are way more than they’re going to need and I’ve been on hold for what felt like a year.
Kevin grabs the lanterns and takes off, leaving me still on hold. I glance up at the clock again: five minutes until the meeting. I squeeze my eyes shut to quell my rising anxiety, because if I weren’t stuck on the phone, I’d be there already.
I like being early, by at least five minutes if not a little more. I don’t like feeling as if people are waiting on me, and I especially don’t like that feeling if some of those people are my bosses.
The seconds tick down on the clock. I have visions of all my coworkers arriving in the meeting room, milling around, getting coffee. Calmly putting their folders and notebooks down on the table. Everyone perfectly relaxed, knowing that they still have several minutes before the meeting begins. Everyone but me, because at this rate I’ll probably run in there two minutes late, with a post-it probably stuck to me somewhere.
I check myself for stray post-its while I wait. None.
Finally, after another excruciating minute, the other end of the line clicks.
“Hi, and thanks for holding,” says a brand-new voice. “All right, Miss Tulane, I’m happy to tell you that we’ve updated your address on file and sent it to Pool Accessories On Fleek LLC, and it looks like the Wet And Wild Pool Party Floating Mechanical Bull With Real Bull Sound Effects And Bonus Accessory Drink Floats will be on its way to you very shortly.”
“What? No,” I say, sitting up straighter in my chair. “There’s been a mistake. I didn’t order that, my card was stolen and I asked for it to be canceled.”
He just makes a noise. It sounds dubious, and not terribly unlike a bull. I think.
“Please don’t send me a mechanical bull,” I say, starting to panic. “Or a thousand pounds of wrapping paper. Or a ton of candy. I’ve got absolutely nowhere to put it and I really, really don’t want it.”
“Hmmm,” the new person on the phone says. “Can you hold for a moment?”
“Yes,” I say, but the hold music is already on again.
I look at the clock again. Three minutes until the meeting. I could hang up right now, but then I’d be throwing thirty minutes of wait time down the toilet, and I don’t like that possibility either.
You can be a minute late, I tell myself. You’ve never been late before, and besides, it’s an all-staff. Montgomery won’t even start the thing under five after and no one will notice when you walk in.
I get out of my chair and start pacing my office as far as the phone cord lets me, which isn’t very far.
Two minutes. I remind myself that thousands of people all over the world are late to meetings all the time and usually nothing bad happens.
At last, the line clicks on again.
“All right, ma’am, I’ve spoken with a representative at Pool Accessories On Fleek and apprised them that you do not want the mechanical bull,” he finally says.
I sigh in relief, leaning against my desk and slump over.
“Thank you,” I say, looking at the clock. If I power-walk, I’ll still be exactly on time.
“However, they asked me to tell you that if you do receive a mechanical bull, you can just ship it back at no cost. Just give them a call and they’ll pick up the tab.”
“No!” I say, too loudly.
“I’m sorry?” he asks.
They’re going to send me the damn bull. I know it. I know, deep down in my bones, that there has been some sort of deep rift in communication in the depths of this particular financial institution, and I’m going to get a floating mechanical bull in the mail. With bonus accessory drink floats.
Also, I have one minute to get clear across the building to the wedding season kick off all-staff meeting, and I’m going to have to run.
“Listen,” I said, standing up straight. “I would very much appreciate it if you could make it clear to the bull company that I do not want a mechanical bull. I don’t have a pool. I don’t like bull riding. I have absolutely no use for a mechanical bull and if you send me one, I’m not going to send it back. I’m going to keep it, put lipstick on it, name it Martha, and never ever pay for it, is that clear?”