Jan Has Six Greyhounds

I wake to the sound of my alarm obnoxiously screeching from the tiny speakers on my phone. Lazily, I roll over feeling my way around my nightstand for the hand-held nuisance that just ruined my morning. The phone reads, “good morning” with a small blushing smiley face emoji, a grave juxtaposition to the violently loud siren currently blaring throughout my bedroom. I resist the urge to throw the little devil out of my window instead choosing to turn it off and slamming it back on the nightstand. Then, I crawl back into the bed, letting the soft warm duvet embrace me with the seductive temptation of falling back to sleep.

“Waking up this early should be a human rights violation,” I mutter half-yawning into the black void of my dark bedroom. Laying there, eyes closed, I start imagining different scenarios that might buy me a few extra minutes of sleep, “I won’t straighten my hair today or maybe I just won’t eat breakfast… coffee at work… order lunch.” As my thoughts are bubbling, I will myself to sit up and reach over to turn on my lamp, momentarily blinding myself from its glaring light. With swollen eyes squinting, I creep out of my bed and meander to the bathroom. “Resistance is futile.” I tell my tired reflection staring woefully back at me in the mirror.

*                                 *                                 *

The morning improved vastly after my second of five cups of coffee, but no amount of stimulants (legal or illegal) could be enough to handle Jan at 7:00 am. Arriving at the office, I sifted through my purse for my ID when out of the corner of my eye I saw a white blur pop out of seemingly nowhere.

 “Hiya!” Called Jan briefly bending down trying to make eye contact with me. Startled, I threw my ID card jumping back in response to her assault. “How are you doing this fine morning, Amy?” She beamed with the gall of someone who actually thinks the morning is fine.

“Not much, Jan, just trying to start the day.” I reply feigning a smile reaching down to retrieve my ID.

Jan then, all too excitedly says, “You’re never going to guess this! On my jog this morning I saw a baby rabbit hop out of the bush by my garage!” I nod mouthing “wow”, eyes open wide in sarcastic reciprocity. Swiftly, I unlocked the door, and slipped past her in effort to avoid further conversation. Jan is the kind of person who claps whenever a plane lands—suspended in a constant state of gleeful excessive oblivion. For the past 30 years, Jan’s lived in Breachwood Green in a two-bedroom flat with her husband who is newly retired with their not one, not two, but six greyhounds. About three months ago, Jan shared photos of the scrawny grey thing on her phone, and then proceeded to send out the same photos to everyone via the corporate email group.

“How in the hell,” I said under my breath bewildered.

“Yes, I know it’s a lot, but we just adopted our sixth greyhound!” Jan exclaimed arms waiving excitedly.

“You running an underground dog racing club or somethin’, Jan?” John asked jokingly from the desk across from mine. His eyes peered over his monitor to see me near strangle myself from trying not to laugh. John can’t stand Jan either.

“Very funny, John.” Jan replies looking less than amused.

Two days I spent digging through reply-to-all emails of, “how cute!”, “Awe, how adorable!”, and “welcome to the family” as if they had some claim on its life by working for the same company as Jan. I nearly missed a team meeting because I couldn’t find the invite. That week, I taught myself to program my computer to automatically sort emails.

           “You ever wonder why Jan has so many greyhounds?” John asked later that day leaning against the wall of the lunch room waiting for me to finish making my coffee. He scrolled aimlessly through his phone waiting for my response.

           “No.” I said half-laughing. “I guess I just thought it was weird.”

           “I mean three or four verges on weird, but six?!”

           “Yeah, that doesn’t quite make sense. Maybe she just likes them?”

           “I love dogs, but I would never get six of them. I don’t think I own six of anything.”

           “John, you really mean to tell me you don’t own at least six pairs of socks?” I asked incredulously. John just stared back at me. “You do own more than six pairs of socks, don’t you?” I inquire again eyes glued to his guilty expression as I reached for the instant coffee.

           “I mean, almost six. I think I have about five.” He replied eyes squinting upward as if trying to peer into his memory to see how many socks were left in his sock drawer when he left his bedroom this morning. 

           “John!” I scolded in disbelief, setting down the kettle to stare at him to judge whether or not he was serious.

           “What? I’m a minimalist!” He exclaimed defensively.

           “That’s not minimalism, that’s bad hygiene.”

           “Ok, then how many do you own?” He asked arms folded across his chest indignantly.

           “Way more than six.” I reply bemusedly. Then, again repeating quietly to myself, “Way more than six.” I raised my mug to my lips to taste my coffee still in shock from the current conversation.

           John had been working for Aero Seal for about as long as I had—six years. John was a very sweet guy, but also kind of a loser. Both John and I are the same age, however, only one of us still lives with their parents and publicly admits to not knowing how to do laundry. Hence, the reason why he owns less than six pairs of socks. His first day in HR, John didn’t want to embarrass me so he let me show him around the office like a new hire. I was slightly mortified, but he was incredibly nice about it.

           “After about a month they moved me.” John said tossing his stress ball up and down whilst spinning in his swivel chair.

           “Huh, that’s different. So that means you’ve been here as long as I have. Did they tell you why they moved you?” I asked.

           “Yeah, it was because I talked too much.” He replied. “They realized that my phone calls were nearly 3x as long as the average specialist’s, I was costing them an extra $500 in fees per month because of it. Essentially, my people skills were just too good, so they moved me to HR.” I stared at him unconvinced. “That’s what they told me I swear.” He countered, hands raised in defense.

Despite his shortcomings, John is still extremely clever. He knows the capitals of every country in the world, and knows how to do forms of maths I didn’t even know existed; which is why it’s so puzzling he still chooses to live with his family

*                                 *                                 *

           Apart from Jan, the morning was like any other at work. I sat slumped in my office chair still mourning the lost comfort of my bed. Sipping my coffee, I start to parse through my emails from the evening and day prior. Pretty basic stuff for the most part: name change requests, termination notices, the usual. Come 8:00 am the phones switch on and I begin helping Aero Seal employees with different programs and leave options. Once I reach a short reprieve, I glance down at my phone to see if anyone had texted me. The phone is blank. Disappointed, I return to my emails and assist someone with their tuition reimbursement plan. I start to imagine things I could possibly do in the evening. Nearly an hour later, I check my phone to see if I’d received any messages—blank again.

           Come lunch time, I walk to the lunchroom to retrieve my lunchbox so I can eat at my desk. When I get there, I find Marsha standing in front of the microwave with a container of food. While, I don’t know Marsha very well, I remember from her onboarding paperwork that she works in accounting. Seeing her, I give her a closed-mouth smile, she responds doing the same. I then began to gather my lunch and stood waiting for the microwave to be free. 

           “Jan saves greyhounds.” Marsha said into her lunch, stirring it slowly before placing it back in the microwave.

           “What?” I asked her, taken aback by the sudden conversation.

“I heard you and John talking about Jan’s greyhound problem earlier last month.” She laughed. “She and her husband have been rescuing them since dog racing was made legal. It’s a bit of cruel practice. You see, she gets them from these serial breeders who keep them locked up in these tiny cages all close together. It’s quite cruel.” I was instantly taken aback, I figured Marsha would have gotten the corporate-wide email, but I never expected her to actually know Jan.

“Wow, I never knew.” I replied earnestly. “How did you find out?”

“I thought it was a bit strange too, so I just asked her one day.” She affirmed.

“I guess I never thought to ask her about it.” I replied. “She’s always too…”

“Cheer-y?”

“Yes!” I exclaim. “Anytime I see her it’s like she was escorted to work on unicorn back or something!”

“Yeah, it can be annoying, but she’s actually quite genuine.” Marsha agreed. The microwave softly beeped causing Marsha to open the microwave. She grabbed her food with a paper napkin and said walking back to her department, “Ask her about it, she’d love to tell you more.” 

           After Marsha left, I heated up my food and returned to my desk. My newly heated masala emanated from my seat filling the office with the spicey scent of cumin, cinnamon, and coriander. I looked down to check my phone for the third time today, still hoping one of my friends may have texted me while I was away. The screen shows nothing.

           “Whatcha got there?” John asks suddenly emerging over my meal.

           “Chicken masala.” I reply not looking at him.

           John makes a quiet “ooooooh” and plops down into his seat causing the wheels to shift slightly under his weight.

           “I found out why Jan has six greyhounds.” I replied eyeing him over my computer monitor.

           “Oh?” He sounds, eyebrows raised interested.

           “You’re going to have to ask her.” I reply with a smile.