“Your face is in serious need of some cardio,” Vera snarled back. At my look of not-the-best-insult-you’ve-ever-come-up-with, she shrugged. “My brain is still sleepy.”
Vann leaned forward on his bike, lifting his bum off the seat and adjusting his bike to make it harder for himself. Because he was crazy and liked weird things-like exercise. This was the end of our friendship forever. I officially hated him. His overachieving did nothing to motivate me to work harder. This was it. This was as hard as I spinned. Spun? My brain was sleepy too.
My phone buzzed again in the holder thingy next to my handlebars. I realized I was the irritating person that brought her phone to class with me, but juggling two major clients wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Especially because of the two clients I had to juggle.
Black Soul wasn’t terrible. Our big meeting with them was still a ways off so Henry was the only one that dealt with them directly so far. Meanwhile, Ethan and I had been coordinating on kick ass campaigns that were bound to blow their socks off.
On the other hand, we also had to work with Henry. And he was a giant pain in my ass more difficult. He made things doubly more complicated. No, it was worse than that. Triply. Quadruply?
He was always up in my business. Always. And not just with his work ethic and slave driver tendencies. He was hands everywhere, body everywhere, coffee breath everywhere all day every day.
I was over him and how uncomfortable he made me. His bad jokes, his creepy stares, the way he always, no matter what I was wearing or how vigilantly I tried to disguise my boobs, stared at my chest, were out of control. I avoided him the best I could, but since we were on the same project, it was impossible to completely evade him.
The worst part was that he was probably going to get me fired in the end. Yes, he was the creep, but I was about one more unwelcomed back rub away from punching him in his throat.
And then on the other side of things, I had to work with Ezra. The man was completely insufferable. He emailed at all hours of the day or night because apparently he never slept. And who could blame him when there was so much work to do?
Just kidding. I could blame him. I could totally blame him.
We were different in this way. Where he was a complete and utter workaholic, I was a very strong proponent of beauty sleep. I had lost count of the number of emails I had sent him encouraging him to get those eight hours or hey, even six hours. But he was stubborn and determined to drive me crazy.
He also never seemed to get tired of emailing. No matter when I sent mine, he always responded within a half hour. I got that he was spending money on this project and he really wanted it done well, but the amount of attention he wanted was silly. We sent at least a couple a day and sometimes he sent multiples in a row before I got the chance to get back to him.
They would always start very early in the morning with a simple hello and have you made any progress? Then they evolved from there into back and forth verbal duels. We didn’t just email, we sparred, we went head to head and refused to let the other person win.
For instance, two weeks ago, I’d emailed this:
Ezra Franklin Baptist
Ezra Festivus Baptist
EFreakingB
Ezra,
How comfortable are you with selfies?
MM.
He’d written back,
Molly,
I’m not.
~EFB
P.S. When are we going to meet again? As your most important client, I feel neglected.
I’d rolled my eyes at the screen and then proceeded to send him thirty emails and seventeen text messages the rest of the day just to make sure he felt important.
That night he’d replied with:
All right! You win. You’ve exhausted me.
~E
P.S. How about next time you let me take you to lunch so we can avoid the spam.
Apparently, I’d exhausted him so thoroughly he could only sign his name E.
I’d replied:
Ezra,
I just wanted you to know, as my most important client, that you were well taken care of.
MM.
How about next time you bring me frites from Lilou so I can work through lunch.
The next day, a runner had shown up with steak and frites from Lilou. My entire office had been jealous. I’d sent him an email thanking him for lunch, but he hadn’t responded to that one.
Molly,
Not a big fan of the color scheme. How many pictures do you want me to post a day? You can’t be serious. Also, it’s still a hard no on the selfies.
~Ezra
P.S. Do you mind if I pass your name along to a friend? He’s apparently impressed with my recent social game and wants to know what my secret is. I told him that I’m being innovative and he laughed in my face. He wants my secret.
He’s sixty by the way. He just became a grandfather. He also owns a bakery.
I had been flattered that Ezra’s acquaintance had noticed all the work I had been doing to bring Ezra’s business into modern day. The man had zero talent for the internet. I had no doubt that he was a business genius and knew his way around the industry, but getting him to post a picture of tonight’s special or a behind the scenes look at one of his kitchens was like pulling teeth.
Ezra,
I’ll rework the graphic tones if you promise to try for at least two pictures a day. Three would be better. You have to trust me a little bit, but I think you’ll be happy with the results.
As far as selfies, I’m going to need you to get over that asap. You should practice. Send them to me and I’ll give you pointers. Use filters. Avoid pouty lips.
Once you get that down, we can move on to stories. If you think selfies are bad, just wait.
MM.
Feel free to pass along my name! It doesn’t bother me that he’s a grandpa. I can work with any demographic. I’m versatile like that.
I’d gotten a reply approximately three minutes after I’d pressed send.
Molly,
I just didn’t want you to think I was trying to set you up. I know you hate that.
~E
I might have had a glass of wine before I responded. I also might have felt like poking the bear as usual again.
Ezra,
I’m into grandpas. I want you to set us up. Also I’m really into baked goods. So, I might just use him for his pastry connections.
MM.
He’d emailed back immediately.
Molly,
Duly noted.
~Ezra.
I had been irrationally disappointed with his email, expecting more from him. But then the next day he’d sent a box from one of the coolest French bakeries in town filled with macaroons, chocolate croissants, fruit tartlets, and several different flavors of eclairs.
The note that accompanied the box said, I have connections too, ~Ezra.
I’d grudgingly shared with the people around me and tucked the note away in my desk. And then spent the rest of the day trying not to overanalyze pastries.
Last Saturday, he’d sent a work-related email that required thought and effort, and a whole gamut of skills that I pretended I didn’t have during the weekend.
I’d shot back a quick email that had said:
Ezra,
Dear Mr. Workaholic,
I know you have heart palpitations when I don’t let you work, but it’s the weekend! Take a break. You deserve it. More importantly, I deserve it.
XOXO