Sometime Soon

two



“You’re early,” Joan comments as I walk by the front desk at the entrance to our company offices. She comments on my arrival most every day. I’m generally on the early side, and Joan feels the need to verbalize this each morning. When walking by the front desk, I hear a variety of the following, “Leaving early”, “Going out to lunch”, “Dressed up today”, “Mailing something”, “Got a hair cut”, and it continues. I simply smile and nod at her. Her job has to be terribly boring--answering the telephone and checking in visitors all day. But maybe for a middle-aged, slightly plump woman with a variety of illnesses she’s always describing to anyone who stops in front of her desk--a job sitting all day in a hermetically-sealed, temperature-controlled office building with free coffee and snacks, isn’t so bad.

When I get to my cubicle, I’m happy to see that no one has left yellow sticky notes or other papers on my chair. No one is looking for me yet today, but it’s still early. My goal for the day is to get started on creating several white papers that the sales department can use when trying to sell and promote a new software security solution that we’re releasing in a few months. White papers basically explain the technology, and why it’s superior to other technologies and competitors. This is really some tough stuff to slog through, so I need to buckle down and get to work.

Outside, it’s a steamy August day, but inside, it feels more like a frigid winter morning with a blizzard on the way. Despite the climate-confused office atmosphere, I’m stubbornly dressed in shorts because it’s summer. But I’m forced to slip on the sweater I keep in my drawer. That’s when I see the top of Rob’s bald head over the row of cubicle walls as he bops down the hallway toward his office. Robert Reece is my boss and he’s a bit eccentric. Actually, he’s really kind of an oddball who often crosses the line into inappropriateness, but he’s nice enough to work for.

Once my laptop is booted up, I prepare for the day by softly streaming my favorite radio station over the Internet. “The Pit” by Silversun Pickups slips quietly out of the laptop’s mini speakers.

“What are you so happy about?” Rob asks. He’s standing outside my cubicle now. Rob is about average height, but he is seriously scrawny. His jeans are always belted such that large volumes of fabric are folded over and cinched together at the waist, like he couldn’t find jeans small enough to fit him. And he isn’t just bald. He’s really bald. He must have started losing his hair in high school. I picture Rob as an ostracized teenager.

“Nothing much,” I say, gazing at him sympathetically now.

“Those sales monkeys are filling my Inbox with requests for the marketing collateral. You’re going to have that by the end of the week, right?”

I blink at him. I’ve actually encountered a bit of a snafu, and I haven’t updated him yet. “Well, the feature information you gave me to include doesn’t quite match up with the engineering specifications I saw.”

Rob waves his hand at me. “Talk to Karthik,” he says dismissively. He can’t be bothered with the engineering specifics. He’s above details.

“Did you see The Bachelor last night?” he asks before launching into a rehashed version of last night’s show. Apparently, one of the women took off her panties and handed them to the bachelor by way of an introduction. I’m not embarrassed to admit that I have seen the show. I do watch my fair share of television, but I missed the panty episode. After relaying the details and receiving appropriately shocked responses from me, Rob moves on to discuss the merits of the panty handshake with other employees.

I have already emailed Karthik Singh, the engineering lead Rob was referring to, but he hasn’t responded. I will likely have to hunt him down for an answer. Karthik is easy to work with, but a bit hard to pin down. He’s the brightest engineer at BTS Systems. As such, he is harried and overworked and always looking disheveled and exhausted. I send another email to Karthik attempting to politely schedule a time in advance to chat before I am forced to ambush him. Then I buckle down and spend the next few hours responding to emails before an item marked Urgent lands in my Inbox. Bryn always marks her emails as urgent. “Meet me at Starbucks. I need your level head for a few minutes.”

Bryn works about four blocks away. There is a Starbucks halfway between our offices. I grab my wallet and mute my music.

“Early lunch,” Joan comments.

I smile, not bothering to correct her as I breeze by on my way to the elevators.



It’s a beautiful summer day. The air is still and warm, smelling only slightly of car exhaust fumes. Working in Cambridge provides an endless number of restaurants, parks, and coffee spots to visit when you need a break during the day. Bryn and I usually meet at Starbucks a few times during the week. Soon the bright summer days will give way to heavy grey skies and the unwelcome fall chill. So, I’m happy for any excuse to be outside.

Bryn is already there when I arrive. I get in line behind her. “What’s up?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “My boss hates me.”

This is a common theme for our coffee meetings. Bryn is slightly shorter and a lot rounder than me, despite always claiming to be on a diet. She works in high-tech as well, as a database administrator for a biotech company. Standing there together in our shorts, T-shirts, and sneakers, you would never know that we’re in the middle of a workday. We order frappuccinos and take them to the metal tables on the outside patio.

“I just saw my review,” Bryn says, brushing at her chair with a napkin before landing on it dejectedly.

I suck up a cold jolt of caffeine, squint from the brain freeze shock, and peer at her--waiting for the rest.

“She gave me an average rating. Again. Which means no salary increase. Again.” She plays with her straw dejectedly.

Bryn has been at this job for about three years, the same time-frame for which I have been at mine, except I have received raises and promotions. I can’t understand why she stays. When first hired, she’d done very well. Then her manager left, and an “evil” new one was brought in, completely stalling her career.

“Was there any reason given for your rating?” I ask.

“Not really. There is a section listing Areas to work on. It was blank.”

“Average is better than poor? Right?”

She glares at me.

“Can you talk to her about it? Ask her what the story is? Aren’t managers supposed to meet with you about your review?”

She shrugs. “What’s the point? She hates me. I’m doing the same quality of work I did when my other manager was there, and he loved me.”

“Was anyone else complaining?”

“Not that I could see.”

“Maybe everyone is getting rated average.” I raise my voice to be heard over a bus rumbling by. “Maybe you have to be extraordinary to pass muster with her.”

“Maybe she’ll get hit by a bus,” Bryn says smirking, eyeing the passing MBTA vehicle, obviously picturing her boss being flattened by it.

“Well, you have two choices,” I begin, about to give advice I’ve already given her many times. “You could look for another job--or you could talk to her. Those are your options. Well, besides wallowing.” I try to be sympathetic. Bryn is stagnant in nearly every part of her life, and I can’t imagine anything less than a crowbar changing that. She is constantly complaining about her job, or her weight, or her life in its entirety, but doing absolutely nothing to change things. “Update your resumé, at least,” I suggest. “It might make you feel better.”

Bryn nods, sipping her frappuccino. “How was your dinner last night?” She asks changing the subject.

“The food and the service were lousy--as you knew they would be, but Katie is good. You should call her. This is getting ridiculous.”

“Did she say anything about me?” Bryn asks without quite meeting my eyes.

“No.”

“Have she and Mike set a date yet?”

“No, they’re still discussing it.”

“Is everything okay with them?”

“I guess. Look, just call her and apologize already. She would never intentionally do anything mean to you. I’m sure she thought that guy was very nice. She thinks everyone is nice.”

Bryn stops fidgeting with her straw and eyes me over her drink. “It’s not just the terrible fix-ups.”

“What is it then?” I ask, curious about her suddenly serious expression.

She shakes her head at me, her dark bob shimmying across her round face, and glances at her watch. “It’s nothing. I’ve got to get back soon.”

I decide to let it go. She’ll tell me eventually. “Well, I guess I won’t have a chance to tell you about the guy who picked me up at Café Blue last night.”

That stops her cold. “What?” She eyes me with new interest. “What happened?”

I shrug with casual disinterest. “I got to Café Blue early and thought I’d get a drink. This guy at the bar came right up to me and offered to buy me one.”

“You wore the strappy sandals, didn’t you?” Bryn had talked me into buying them.

I smile and nod.

“See?” She pats my arm. “Dressing like a girl sometimes doesn’t hurt. Are you going out with him?”

“I don’t know. When we started talking I got a phone call I had to take, and then Katie showed up and we didn’t really get a chance to chat. But later he had the waiter give me his card, and he asked me to call him.”

“You’re going to, right?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug.

“Uh-huh.” Bryn murmurs with obvious disapproval. She looks at her watch again and begins clearing her napkin and straw wrapper off the table.

“What?” I ask.

“You won’t call him. And even if you did, you’d find something wrong with him.” She stands up and I follow, disconcerted that she seems angry with me.

“I don’t find things wrong that aren’t there,” I argue to her back.

Bryn stops on the sidewalk and turns to me. “No one is perfect.”

“Don’t try telling me that I’m too picky. Anger-management issues are deal-breakers, as are alcohol issues and unemployment. I’m discriminating. Why would I want to saddle myself with someone who has all kinds of problems?”

“You wouldn’t. But you don’t know that this guy has any issues, and you still won’t call him. Will you?”

I open my mouth to argue, but I know she’s right. “I’m tired,” I finally say, my shoulders slumping.

She nods sympathetically. “I know. Me, too. But we can’t give up.”

I could have mentioned that she was doing nothing on the dating front these days. Nothing she’d told me about, at least. It was the one part of Bryn’s life that hadn’t been stagnant, before now. But I kept that thought to myself. I couldn’t figure Bryn out lately. When Katie first introduced us over a year ago, I thought Bryn was a perfect partner-in-crime. She was another single friend to spend time with, and those numbers were dwindling. She was far more outgoing than I was, so going out with her provided unexpected adventures. It was her idea to head to the Bahamas this past winter. But since we’d been back, she’d been acting differently. She hardly ever called me to go out. I could call her, I supposed, but she generally initiated our outings to new restaurants and clubs. Mostly, she had to drag me with her. But in the end, I always enjoyed myself.

I sigh. “Okay. I’ll call him.”

“You could sound more enthusiastic. But at least you’re agreeing.”

“Is everything okay with you?” I finally decide to ask. “You haven’t seemed like yourself lately.”

“I’m fine. And if my boss could meet with a terrible accident, I’d be even better.” She turns to go, but hesitates. “Oh Andy, if you decide to go out with this guy, take your cell phone with you and tell someone where you’re going. You know, in case he’s a serial killer.” She smiles sweetly and heads off back to work.

“Very funny,” I yell at her retreating back.