My dad can finally tell by the look on my face that I am closing the conversation for further discussion or arguments, and he has given up on the beer/sex/whatever the fuck analogy. He grabs the newspaper he set down on the counter when he first walked in, tucks it under his arm, and walks over to one of the small tables by the front window to drink his coffee. Regardless of the mood he had put me in, seeing the four black, round tables set up in front of the picture window at the front of the store makes me smile. They had just been delivered the prior week and seeing someone sitting in them, even if it is my father, made me giddy. This is my store and those are my tables and nothing can mar the elated feeling that gave me.
The chime above the door sounds again, and I glanced over to see my friend Jenny storm in with an angry scowl on her face. Never in a million years have I ever picture myself being friends with someone like her. She is runway model beautiful and the things that come out of her mouth rarely make sense, but she’s proven to be a good friend in the few months since I've met her and would help anyone with anything they asked without a second thought. Much to everyone’s surprise, Jenny had managed to grab onto Carter’s best friend, Drew, and wrap him around her little finger. Drew is the biggest man whore you will ever lay eyes on, but for whatever reason, Jenny is able to tame him. Somewhat.
“Hey, what’s going on?” I ask Jenny as I round the counter to meet her halfway. I glance down at my watch and see it's only eleven in the morning. “Why aren’t you at work?”
Jenny works for the same computer design company she has since her freshman year in college.
She had started off as an intern and quickly made her way up the ranks and was now one of the most talented graphic designers they had on staff. She helped me out in a pinch when I was opening my store and made all of the flyers, brochures, and business cards in her free time and refused to take any payment. It had been one of the main reasons I decided I liked her.
Anyone who doesn’t charge me for services rendered is good people in my book.
Jenny laughs manically at my question about work and crossed her arms in front of her. “That’s a great question, Claire. And the answer would be, I got fired,” she replies before bursting into tears, flinging her arms around me, and burying her face in my shoulder.
Oh Jesus God no.
I awkwardly bend my elbow and pat my hand against her lower back. She still has her arms wrapped around me in a vice grip and that’s as high as I can reach. I shove my other hand into the pocket of my jeans and pull out my cell phone, sending a quick “please help me, God” text to Liz next door.
Jenny continues to cry, sniffle and every few minutes wail. After subtly spitting out some of her hair from my mouth as she burrows further into my neck and shoulder, I anxiously glance down at my cell phone wondering how much longer I will need to pretend I enjoy soothing people during breakdowns before Liz gets her ass over here and rescues me. It probably won’t be very friend-like of me if I start freaking out that there might now be a pile of someone else’s snot pooling on the shoulder of my tee-shirt. My phone buzzes in my hand and I crane my neck over Jenny’s shoulder to see the message.
I am busy with customers. You are going to have to MAN UP and comfort her yourself. Start acting like you have a vagina for fuck’s sake and hug her.
XOXO – Liz
I grit my teeth at the knowledge I am on my own in the pits of consoling hell.
“There, there,” I say, patting her on the back again. I really think I should have been born a guy. I don’t know many women who get skeeved out by displays of emotion. If I see a woman crying, I usually run in the other direction. I am not one of those people that throws my arms around her and tells her everything will be okay—because it probably won’t. It will most likely suck just as much whether I hug you or not, so it’s probably best for everyone involved if I just stand off to the side and let someone else do the touching. I feel much more comfortable wallowing in anger and stewing about something privately until my head explodes. That's natural. Hugging and crying and snotting all over someone isn’t.
“Didn’t you just get a raise? Why in the hell would they fire you?” I ask as I worm my way out of her arms and try to subtly back away from her.
Don’t look at the snot on your shoulder, don’t look at the snot on your shoulder. I know you can feel it there, but for God’s sakes, DON’T LOOK AT IT!
Jenny finally releases her hold on me and uses the back of her hands to wipe the tear streaks off her face. If only she would have done that with the snot instead of using my shoulder.
“I don’t have any idea why they really fired me. They gave me some song and dinner about positive attitude.” she pouts.
“You mean dance?” I ask in confusion.
“Claire, focus! I got fired! This is no time for talk about dancing,” she yells.
I take a deep, calming breath and put my hands on my hips to keep from strangling her.
“Okay, so they fired you because they didn’t like your attitude?” I reiterate.
Jenny looks at me incredulously. “I know, right? I told them I was the most positive person in that dump.”
“Verbatim?” I ask her.
“I didn’t forbid them anything. What are you talking about? Are you even listening? Have you been drinking?”