The Official Office Games

Failure! Failure! That’s all my life was, one big, blaring failure after another rearing their ugly heads into existence.

I’m actually shivering when I recount what happened mere minutes ago. Shivering! It’s that bad.

This morning was a doozy.

First, the interventions were small. I discovered that the silk blouse I was planning to wear this morning was still at the drycleaner’s, which wouldn’t open for another hour. Every other special office attire I could find was nowhere to be seen. Crap! My morning was delayed as I searched for something else to wear. Then came the confrontation with the empty pantry. Nothing left on the shelves would be quick to prepare, and time was running out. After combing through the rest of the kitchen, I found an orange and a slightly bruised banana left in the chill storage bin at the bottom of the fridge. I sighed as I peeled back the banana and went about the apartment to finish getting dressed for work.

What a glorious way to start my commuter morning.

Today of all days was special. My heart was in a fluttering tremor as I thought of the day’s circumstances, and I felt as if I were in junior high all over again. Cole and I had been temporarily paired by the Boss for an advertisement project that required twice the paperwork, twice the effort, and in result, twice the person to complete successfully; which, when concerning Cole, of course, meant one-and-a-half the effort and persons. Neither of us had any idea what product we would be advertising, and would be briefed at a conference, promptly 7:20 this morning.

I had to look my absolute best today. Not only was this one of the largest projects I’ve worked on in months, but now that Cole was involved, I wanted to show him that I was in control. I wanted to show him that buddying up with Claire was a fatal mistake on his part. I also didn’t want him to suspect any falter or cracks of any sort in my self-esteem. I wanted it to seem that his sudden departure from my life was meaningless to me.

I was definitely going to have to step up my acting skills to pull that off.

I left the apartment in a flurried panic when I realized the time. God, where did the minutes go? While I was trying to find my left T-strap sandal? While I was trying to yield my hair to curl and flounce and look presentable? For who? Cole? I rushed into the car with a multitude of objects at hand- keys, purse, juggling the odd fruit or two, phone, briefcase, and fumbling the long sought-after sandal on my foot as I jammed the key into the ignition.

Then the incidents became more intrusive.

On the way to highway 48, my oldie was finally dying on me, so I forced it to crawl over to the curb on Harper Road and kept the blinker on to alert other drivers that I was in need of assistance. Time passed. First I grew unsettled, and then I was a bit antsy. I was going to be late for work- and that couldn’t happen! No! I willed it not to happen! I thought of my flawless attendance record. Soiled, ruined, if things didn’t begin to move.

Finally, I decided to stop sitting around on my ass. If I remembered correctly, the city bus would be toiling its way through here in about fifteen minutes.

The time ticked by slowly, leisurely, mocking me with each twitch of the seconds’ arm of the clock on my dashboard. I tried to concentrate on other things; the advertisement; getting to work right on the dot with a careless and cheerful skip into the lobby; greeting my colleagues with a graceful wave. “Oh? This? I was just trying something new with my hair? Do you like it?” I would ask with a casual air to the awed faces that surrounded me. Among them would be Cole, hesitantly stepping forward. “Victoria, darling? I know I’ve been such an unforgivable jerk- and-and it would be too much to ask for if I asked you to come back to me, but I’ve missed you terribly.”

His striking slate grey eyes would sparkle with sincerity and I would be filled to the brim with endearment and rush into his open arms and-

No! No! I could not continue to go about like this. Humph. As if I were one of those middle-aged, single, horny women that wrote plot-twisting libido-teeming romance novels like their life depended on it.

Actually, come to think of it, all I needed was the pen. And some writing skills.

My eyes wander to the dashboard clock as I reluctantly withdraw from my reverie. Nearly eighteen minutes have passed, and the bus was yet to arrive.

Aw, crap!

Now I was just plain furious. Chewed-short nails tapped the steering wheel with agitation. If that bus wouldn’t come, I swear I’d go crazy- right in this car! Right now, if I haven’t already!

I began to have a fit. I’m gonna be late! I’m gonna be late! I could already see myself sprawling past the main entrance only to run into one of Claire’s Barbie friends at the reception desk, filing her nails and arching her eyebrows at me (My God, they’re everywhere!) I’d sputter to my superior some lame excuse to why I was late. “I-I would have been on time, sir, would it not have been for the fact that… My hair wouldn’t curl right?” I’d have run the entire way from Harper, red in the face and chest heaving.

Oh, the horror! Suddenly, there wasn’t enough air in the interior of my deceased automobile. Yeah, it’s official. I’ve gone mad.

It wasn’t long after I was spazzing out behind the wheel when, blessedly, the old Greyhound finally shuffled to the allocated bus stop just down the street. Immediately, I shot out of the driver’s seat, keys in hand, and secured the locks before racing to the stop. I prayed to the God that must be laughing in my face right now that my baby wasn’t vandalized…Or stripped…Or stolen.

I exhaled gratefully, as if I’d been holding my breath, as I crammed the money into the driver’s hand and seated myself in a vacant row of seats facing parallel to the isle.
During the bus ride, I kept to myself, aware of how clumsily slapped on my makeup was, how my hair never failed to look like crap, and I occupied my time trying to organize all of the bits and ends of my apparel. My eyes averted everyone else’s, and I breathed a quiet sigh of relief as the bus slowed and stopped as close as it would to the office building. Quickly, I brushed my skirt and smoothed out my high collar shirt and hurried down the steps with all of my things in possession.

It wasn’t until the Greyhound was well on its way, did I realize that not everything was at hand…

My imitation Prada was still riding.

I swore as I realized its absence among the other items. My brain raced as it ran through all of the things I would be without.

Money; ID; credit cards; house keys- which, regrettably, I haven’t been able to string it onto the metal ring with the car keys. They made those little key rings too hard to work, I swear! Makeup; my comb and it entourage of other grooming supplies (which I honestly didn’t know if I’d be better with or without); any spare change I could’ve used; phone, which I’d packed into the purse on the way there to lighten the load. Stupid, stupid! And other bits and pieces in my purse. Man, was I royally screwed. or what?

Things just kept falling to shambles, like a track of triggered dominoes.

It gets worse.

A wave of relief washed over me as I realized that though I was late for work, I’d still made it to the meeting on time. I rode the elevator to the third floor and walked down to the end of the silent corridor. I slipped behind the inconspicuous black double doors just as Cole was being seated. George McCaughey, my boss, hailed me as I seated myself in one of the leather swiveling armchairs surrounding the long stretch of the rectangular oak table. The two rows of track lighting above us were dimmed, so the room was fairly dark. The meeting was taking place in the Projector Room, where the product in question was displayed by the projector onto the wall at the end of the room. I had no idea what the heck it was.

“Victoria! I’m glad you could make it. We missed you this morning.”

‘We’?

“Uh-well, sir, I was belated by some… complications… on my way here.” Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Cole looking at me oddly. He was probably wondering what in the hell could ever keep me from getting to my office on time.

“You’re just in time.” McCaughey smiled kindly. “The meeting starts in just a few moments.” As he spoke, a number of men in dark suits entered through the doors and seated around Cole and I. One, whom I recognized as Hayley’s former boss, stood before me and coughed gently.

“Excuse me… You’re in my seat.”

I blushed and jumped up with a start. “Your seat is to the left of Cole.” McCaughey offered. Peachy, I thought cynically and rigidly sat at the appointed chair. Neither Cole nor I acknowledged each other. George waited patiently for the movement to settle.

Finally, he said, “Good morning. You have all been recruited this morning for the viewing of Chaplin And Company’s newest advertisement product. Please turn your attention to the image projected onto the screen.” Heads shifted. “Ladies- err, lady- and gentlemen, I present to you, Zappos ^TM.”

Err… still no idea what the heck it is.

“Zappos is an online commerce service that specializes in footwear. Its headquarters are in Henderson, Nevada. I have assigned two of my employees- Ms. Wylie and Mr. Conman- to create an ingenuous advertisement to be broadcasted to the public via television as a commercial.”

I straightened up with a start. I felt Cole to my right stir. Holy crap! Why didn’t this come up yesterday?

With an amused glance in our direction, McCaughey said, “Said employees have not been informed of the format of advertisement, but I trust that nevertheless, they will do a bang-up job.”

You’re kidding, right? This is Cole we’re talking about.

Boss then addressed the men seated around us. “Gentlemen, I’m guessing you’re all wondering why you are here.” There were murmurs of concur. “Well, I have gathered you here for the briefing of the Zappos project because…”

I didn’t hear the rest of his sentence because at that point someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned. Cole tilted his clipboard that he would use to take notes with in my direction.

What is wrong with you? The words were scribbled in his slanted handwriting.

What was this, high school?

Quickly, I took my ballpoint pen and wrote curtly, why do you think something’s wrong?

Because you’re PMSing all over the damn place.

Oh, I thought in contempt. He noticed. Then I replied, so how’s Claire?

Cole looked up at me strangely. “Is that what this is all about? Listen, Victoria-.”

“Can Ms. Wylie and Mr. Conman please stop mooning around and focus on the business matter at hand?” I felt my face heat up as eyes landed on Cole and me. “Now,” George continued in a clipped tone, “As I was saying…”

The rest of the conference became a distant blur as I slumped in my chair and feverously wished that I could crawl underneath the table.