Time to Stew

      There are certain things you do when you have time to stew.  You don’t really do the things you told yourself you’d do.  That room that was a complete mess is still a mess.  The garage still needs just a few things taken out before the car really fits.
      Speaking of fits, none of the clothes you said you were going to throw away got thrown away.  You found out if your favorite video chat app worked or if it sucked.
     Companies that told you working from home was a logistical nightmare and not a possibility strangely had you up and running in a home office over the weekend.  They not only had you up and running, they would contact you at strange hours to make sure you were doing the nothing they knew you had to do.  It’s like their job went from managing to micromanaging.  They knew there was nothing to do so they made up little bullshit tasks and then tracked said bullshit tasks, while expecting you to do the “job”.
     Streaming sites are like gym memberships.  You have them but you don’t use them as often as you said you would.  Just like the gym memberships, even though you don’t use them, you still pay for them.  You even have a routine all set.  Monday watch this show.  Tuesday watch that show.  It’s amazing how much time is spent just scrolling over new shit that will just get tossed to the back of the favorites list.
     Speaking of the favorites list, the list of “Favorites” is now so long that it would take you two years to get through them even with a worldwide shutdown!
     Streaming services were NOT used to people paying money and actually getting their money’s worth.  It could have been one of the things that caused the spike in pricing and the crackdown on password sharing.
     I found a pair of my favorite sweats and a sweet spot on my couch.  Most of the shows I streamed had aired their last episode 5 to 10 years earlier so I was able to binge from breakfast to bedtime.
     As long as I checked and responded to emails or voicemails at specific points during the day everything was ok.
     There was no great room clean out.  There was no kitchen redo.  There was no home gym expansion.  The attic was still a mess and the basement still needed some attention.
     There was also no fighting traffic on major highways or hunting for parking spaces in full parking lots.  For the first two weeks there was a lot of stewing and streaming, wondering and dreaming.  Even the machines enjoyed the peace and quiet.
     As a break between shows, I would watch drone footage of the empty cities.  It was amazing.  Sadly, there were also horror stories of people being trapped on cruises or in countries without a way to get home.  There were also horror stories of forced lockdowns where people were trapped in their apartments.
     People were on a hamster wheel that went from inaction to overreaction to blame to denial to hysteria and it all played out everywhere from the worldwide stage to comfy quiet little couches.
     I took my time to find a few more favorites to add to the list.  I also took the time to stew on what to do once that list was through.

World Wide Worry

     “It looks like,” said the owner of the firm stepping out of his office to conduct the emergency meeting, “things are going to be different for a while.”  The numbers of infected people had skyrocketed.  The number of people dying had also spiked.
     “Mandate has just come from California that we are to work from home until this ‘pandemic’ thing is figured out.”
     It was a double whammy.  The office had just produced and posted a video stating that this would not become a pandemic.  In that same video it was stated that this was all hysteria.  That video was quietly removed two weeks later.
     The idea that there was a worldwide worry had been kicking around in the background for the last few weeks.  It had made its way to the forefront.  There was fear for Mom.  There was fear that this was it.  We had pushed the boundaries of the planet to the point where it was finally pushing back.  
     Mother Earth had found the right combination to kill us all and start all over again.
     On another note, I was happy not to have to drive into Hartford every other day.  I remember thinking to myself, “This is terrible, BUT (provided my Mom and my sister are ok) if I never have to make this drive again and most people I care about don’t die, I’m ok.”
     After months of crushing anxiety something was really happening.  When you think the world is falling apart and it actually does, you are strangely prepared for it.  The machines are an internal terror.  They take your worst fears and run them over and over again.  They do everything to cause you anxiety and then feed off that anxiety.
     You feel like everything is ending.  When everything actually feels like it is ending, due to say a pandemic of unknown origin, you shift from internal terror to worldwide worry.  The machines can’t compete.  Because you have thought of every shit scenario and every soul crushing terrible thing that can happen, you are strangely prepared for the worst.
     It’s a twisted validation that cleans the slate and brings forth a moment of almost pure joy.  You are able to say, ‘See, things are as bad as I thought they were.”
     We were also going home because the building was shutting down for at least a week.
     “Oh my God!  This is just like that movie with that guy from Boston and that super hot English guy.  The one about the virus … you know the one where the mother and son died in the first 10 minutes.” started the secretary.
     “Seriously,” said the female rep.  “Why the fuck do you keep bringing that movie up?”
     “Because he’s hot,” she said, pouting a little.
     “Hot or not our clients will be just as freaked out as everyone else.”  He grabbed his backpack, jacket, and phone.  “Tragedy prints money!  Make those phone calls!  Now is the perfect time to shine.  Move that money before the market is a mess!”
     He was on a roll.  His eyes were wide with the coming commissions that could be made by ‘moving the money’.
     “Where are we moving them?” He asked, headed for the door, already knowing.
     “Darwin Defined Funds, where your money evolves with the market.”  We all responded.
     “All right.  Go home.  Don’t die.  Don’t worry.  The greatest president of our lifetime is handling this.”
     Things were going to be different all right.  We had pushed the boundaries and now the boundaries were pushing back.  Maybe Darwin had more to do with this than we thought.

Due Diligence

      Normally around this time of the year I would’ve been deep into hibernation.  Between the jolts and the job hunt I was still going out, albeit on a limited basis.  I wanted to just disappear.  My senses weren’t really that sharp.
     It took me a little time to realize it, but once it did it hit me like a bolt.  Marrianne’s husband was named Kyle.  Who was Karl?  It made sense now.  Of course, she was more interested in Karen’s guy from work story.  Was it a slip of the tongue or had she also found a new friend?  
     I would have noticed it sooner if the night before hadn’t left me feeling fuzzy.  Maybe I was overthinking things.  I hadn’t done my due diligence.  I would ask her the next week.
     Maybe she wasn’t really interested in either story.  At this age people were tired of hearing about random acts of stupidity, hook ups, crushing anxiety, and complete uncertainty with the world.
     I remember being on twit/face/insta/space years ago watching a woman we all knew have a public meltdown.  There was a lot going on in her life but a lot of what was going on in her life was for show and attention.
     In one of her posts she laid bare what she thought was the greatest tragedy of the moment.  There were tear emojis and exclamation points galore.  After about two hours she had received 5 responses from her 600 friends.  There was an all caps plea of ‘DON’T YOU PEOPLE CARE WHAT’S HAPPENING?’.
     Underneath was a small answer.
     “It’s not that no one cares.  It’s that so many people have so much going on in their own lives that they may not be able to respond right away.”
     “But this is important,” she responded with sad eye emojis.
     “I’m sure it is.”
     And with that it was done.  Two hours later there was a post of puppies that got 150 likes.  She, like so many other people, had gotten what she wanted, engagement.  There was no solution to the problem given.  There was no hint that the problem was actually solved.  There was no reason to think that the presented problem was actually a problem.
     Conflict driven reality shows with no real stakes or consequences are the most popular things on tv, streaming, etc.  Maybe people don’t mind hearing about random acts of stupidity, hook ups, crushing anxiety, and complete uncertainty in the world as long as there is a layer of distance.  They have so much going on in their own lives.
     If you get too close, the terror takes its toll.  The distance is deliberate.  I still had my questions:
     Who was Karl?  Was there even a Karl or was it a slip of the tongue?  How would Karen’s weekend go?  How would this potential new gig work out?
     Other than those few little things, I was happily headed into hibernation where my due diligence was to disappear into the distance. 

Bread Crumbs

      “She didn’t actually say that, did she?” asked Marrianne flopping back on to her living room couch.  “Seriously?”
     “I don’t make this stuff up.  I just report it.”
     I told her about the new job opportunity, the conversation with Karen, and the ‘Oh Hey!’ from yesterday.
     ‘Abby’ had caught her 5 a.m. flight and was kind enough to let me sleep in the room until checkout time.  She did let me know if I ran up the tab on drinks and breakfast, she would find out my real name and track me down.  I had actually tried to give her my name a few times but she wanted no part of it.  When people want to get lost, they don’t leave bread crumbs.
     I needed a coffee with hot chocolate.  Marrianne loves caramel with cream.  Her house was on the way and I needed to tell someone about what might be the last great act of debauchery.  Right now, sharing wasn’t for Karen.
     Marrianne and I had never dated.  I tried when we were younger but she had casually explained that she liked her men 6’ 2” or taller.  She was 5’ 10” barefoot.  If she wanted to go out with her hair up and dressed in a pair of heels, she was an impressively imposing 6’ minimum.
     I was 5’ 7” on a good day …. with a full head of hair.  Us holding hands in public would look like photos of supermodels walking with their little kids to get ice cream.  I am not tall enough for her vagina to acknowledge my presence as a suitable suitor.  She does not date Scale Model Men.
     I bring a decent ear to the table and I don’t break things when I’m around.  Lately the exchange of dinner ideas has been pretty good.
     Normally a mid morning mocha and a quick conversation could ward off a world of worry.  Today wasn’t the day.
     Her face was a bit pensive.  
     “Is this too much too early in the morning?”
     “No.  It’s Karl and the kids.  Things are just getting ...”  Her voice trailed off.
     “Do you need anything?”  I worried I had overstepped.  “Should I leave?”
     “Thanks for the caramel with cream.  Yeah, I have an 11 o’clock and I just want to make sure everything is ready for the presentation.
     “I just can’t believe she said that.”
     “I know, right. ‘And if we aim just right’..” I started.
     “No, not that.  Karen and the guy from work.  Those things never …” Her voice trailed off again.
     “You’re a mess,” she said, changing the subject.  “Shoot me a text when you get home - BEFORE you pass out - so I know you got there safe.”
     “Yes, Mom,” I said letting myself out the front door.
     As I drove home it struck me that I had come across a few bread crumbs Marrianne thought were lost.

There’s This Girl (Something Different)

      “What is that?” I asked, almost spilling some of my fourth glass of wine, standing in the doorway.

     She just laughed and rolled her eyes.

     “You’re kidding, right?  You’ve never seen this before?”

     “I’ve seen this before but …”

     “Butt … very funny.  I see what you did there.”

     It was my turn to roll my eyes.

     “I’m four glasses deep.  Any attempted witticisms on my part would be best in that thing.” I just pointed because couldn’t think of the word.

     “I mean that thing is better than the leather chairs in the lobby.  I hear it gets you cleaner.”

     Something about Karen and movie night had caught me off guard.  The friendship always had and always would come first.  As nice as it would be to explore more, the tradeoff is usually a friendship lost.

     The Derich thing was different.  The friendship might not be over but there was a bit of nastiness that had been explosive and, seemingly necessary.  He was struggling with the fact that he wasn’t where he wanted to be.  His life was a complete success by most standards.  He had a great job where he, until recently, did nothing.  His wife made enough money so, if he wanted to, he could just sit at home and play Mr. Mom.

     In his mind the man was supposed to be the bread winner.  He wasn’t.  He was mad at me because, my life wasn’t where he felt it should be, either.  We still hadn’t spoken since the blow up at the bar.  His daughter Riley was almost two and I still hadn’t met her.

     At some point I would have to find time to fix what was fucked.  Tonight was not that night.

     “You’re pretty articulate for four glances of wine,” she laughed at herself.                       

     “Glances.  It would be so much less expensive if we could just glance at bottles and get buzzed.”  She was amused and she was amusing herself.

     She told me to call her Abby.  Her goal was to disappear into something different.   She had just sat down at the bar and started talking.  I was convinced she thought I was someone else.  

     My goal was to wash away the world then work off the hangover from home the next day.  I would drown the machines in just enough alcohol to take the edge off but not so much that I couldn’t safely get home.

     She was funny, attractive, and interested with no strings and nothing to lose.  That’s a combination that wins every time.  She also had the presidential suite at the hotel.

     “It’s the executive bidet,” she said wrapping her hair back in to a ready for fun bun.  “Or as I like to call it, an ‘Oh Hey!’, because that’s how I feel every time I use it.”  Her voice slowed.

     “I like it because I know what’s about to happen,” she smiled.  

     “I know when it’s about to happen,” the smile disappeared and she pulled me closer.

     “And if you aim just right, it feels pretty damn good.”  Her kiss was deep and deliberate.

     The rest of her conference had been canceled and everyone was scrambling to get home before everything shutdown.  She had found a five a.m. flight and was looking to kill some time before she got back to her life.

     The machines were running rampant.  The job was just a job.  There was another option on the horizon, that was just a job, too.

     Metaphors have never been a great aphrodisiac.  I mean, the world was falling to shit.  Maybe it was more than just a metaphor.  Maybe this was just the distraction we needed.  There was no question of Karen.  There was no fighting with friends.  Her history was a mystery.

     We washed the world away for the next few hours.  We didn’t really know what was going to happen.  We didn’t really know when it was going to happen.  We did know that if we aimed just right everything would feel pretty damn good.

There’s This Guy

      “Last movie night until May,” I said stretching until my back cracked.

     Karen had been quiet the entire film.  No questions about the characters.  No complaints about the subtext.  Total silence.

     “You ok?”

     There was no mention of my bad French and no complaints about the prominent color theme.

     She shrugged.

     “You aren’t sick or anything are you?”

     “So there’s this guy at work,” she sighed.

     “That’s a good thing, right?”

     “Meh.”

     “But you’re getting back out there.  Getting back in the groove.”

     “I don’t need to be back in the groove.  I’ve been out there.”

     “And?” I asked.

     “And, meh.”  She shrugged her shoulders and slumped a bit.

     “But this guy from work thing?  What about this?  Is this a good thing or a bad thing?”

     “I don’t … I don’t really know, yet,” she said swatting away the questions with her hands.  “It’s just a thing.  It doesn’t really matter now that the world’s ending does it?”

     She had stood up and clicked the news app on the TV.  The infection numbers were steadily rising.  Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and she was in comfy slate gray sweats.

     “What are you going to do?” she asked.

     “Probably go to Mom’s.  Make sure she’s stocked up on supplies.  It’s not horrible.  They haven’t shut the world down yet.  They should, but they haven’t.”  

     I took a deep pull of wine.

     “What about you?”

     “Well, the guy from work is supposed to come over this weekend., but we’ll see.”  She got strangely quiet as soon as she said it.

     I felt the machines flutter.  It must have been written all over my face.

     “You can’t tell Tom,” she pointed at me.

     “Tell Tom what?  There’s currently nothing to tell.”

     “Thank you,” she said giving me a hug.  “Thank you.”

     The hug lasted a little too long.  My heart was beating hard enough that I knew she felt it through my chest. 

     “Deep breath,” I whispered.  She took a deep breath and as she exhaled, I stood to my full height and felt her back crack from the base of her spine to the nape of her neck.

     “I’m going to miss these hugs,” she said still hanging on tight.  “I like this.”  She nuzzled her cheek onto my shoulder.

     “Think of Connie, and Tabitha, and Caitlin,” whispered the machines.

     “I like this, too,” I said slowly breaking the hug. “That’s why it stays this.  Anything else gets messy.  And I don’t want to mess this up.  The friendship comes first.”

     There was a hint of disappointment in her eyes.

     “You once asked me how someone with such little arms could give such big hugs.”

     “Still haven’t figured that out.”  The machines whirred quietly.

     “That’s because it’s hard to hug somebody at arm’s length.  You have to let them in close enough to feel it.

     “I wish you could see what I see.”  She turned the tv off and dropped the remote on the couch.

     “I do, too.”  I looked in her eyes then turned to the door.

     “Let me know how this ‘guy from work thing’ goes.”  I stepped out the door and down the walkway.

     “Maybe,” I heard her say as I walked to my car.  

     By the time I turned around to wave good-bye, the door was closed and the interior hall light was out.  There was no question about the character.  There was no complaint about the subtext.  Other than the grinding of the machines, there was total silence.

The Push Back Part II

      Brisket, Mac & Cheese was packed with people.  I had a plan.  The process was simple.  Call ahead.  Put in an order.  Pick up the order.  Walk back to work.  Eat that tasty bbq brisket, Mac & cheese, or brisket, mac, cheese & curly fries.  Shut the door to my little office.  Nap for an hour.  Things usually worked out.
     That day was supposed to be a sit down meeting.  Normally you called ahead for a pick up because things were busy.  You always had your pick of places to eat in the restaurant, even on the busy days.  Every once in a while, I would change my mind and just eat in the corner or out on the patio, depending on the season.
     It was still cold out.  You could sit next to the window and watch the people walk by.  You could sit in the pit, the nickname the waitresses came up with for the center of the restaurant. You could also sit at the bar.
     Sitting at the bar was dangerous.  It wasn’t as dangerous as Lakeside or The Yard.  Lakeside and The Yard made the drinks strong all day, every day.
     At BMC it was like the corporation heads had come to the bar and specifically asked them to water down the drinks until after hours.  The days of the three martini lunch were dead … unless you knew the bartender.  Thankfully, I didn’t.
     That day the window seats were taken, the pit was packed, and the bar was barely visible.
     “What’s going on,” I asked the overwhelmed bartender.
     “It’s the Ala Tima Holla conference at the convention center.  It’s been nonstop for the last two days.”
     “Well damn!  Looks like the bills are paid and the food will be on the table this week!”
     “They’re tipping me like I’m one of their sisters,” She said leaning to shout whisper.  “Rent’s paid, too.  What do you need, Hun?”
     “Business lunch.  I’ll take a water for now.  If it falls to shit I’ll take a Jack and coke, a real one.”  I winked and she winked back.  I could always shut the door to my office and nap for an hour.
     The 50” tv above the bar was playing the local news.  The sound was off but that was ok.  The bar was a bit too noisy to listen.  Even though the 10 day forecast looked cheery, the scroll below the screen team kept showing more and more hard numbers of infections.
     A mask had already become part of my daily wear.  I wasn’t paranoid but I did have an 81 year old Mom that I liked to visit on the weekends.
     Chris Kilkirkland was right on time.  We had a solid discussion about open opportunities.
     “Your resume looks great,” he said digging into some tasty pulled pork nachos.  “Sadly, the Hartford location is kind of saturated.”  I felt my heart drop.  The machines were just about to kick into gear.
     “BUT route 8 could use a rep.  You’d pick a home location and then visit the other banks once a week.”  My heart jumped.
     He had a little cough.  I had barely noticed it earlier.  It hadn’t gone away in the 20 - 30 minutes we had been talking.
     “You’d work the whole corridor from Bridgeport to the Berkshires.”  He could see my smile through the mask.
     “Can’t say I’ll miss driving into Hartford every day.”  
     He coughed again.
     “I’m not sick,” he said putting his hands up.  “I promise.”
     Luckily my hands were still a little greasy from the brisket sandwich.  He offered a fist bump and I accepted.
     “I’ll be in touch next week with the paperwork,” he said picking up the bill.  “We’ll go from there.”
     “Once again, thank you.  I’ll keep my eyes open for it.”
     From the bar I watched him walk back to his car.  He had a spot right in front of the plate glass window.
     “How’d it go?” asked the bartender.
     I gave her a brisket covered thumbs up AND a wink.
     “You know what?  I will take that Jack and coke …. A real one.”
     She winked back.
     The process was simple.  I had a plan.  Walk back to work, shut the door to my little office, and nap for an hour.  Things had worked out.