Coffee and Confusion

My day sucked less than usual today.

These days all my days suck because I started a job I absolutely hate. Who really is passionate about being shouted at because the end-user doesn’t know how to operate a coffee machine properly? Yup, I answer telephones in a call centre, helping people figure out why their coffee machine isn’t making coffee. Usually, the answer is as simple as putting coffee grounds in the hopper.

Pointing out the obvious doesn’t really ease the tension between yourself and the caller. They usually then just start shouting because the company didn’t think to ship the product with coffee already in the machine and often request that I put that down in the “suggestion box” on the system. What is most unbelievable about my job is that people who call the call centre have procreated and operate heavy machinery on a daily basis. But I digress.

My day. 

It started out ok. I woke up, had an existential crisis, ate cereal, and brushed my teeth. The bus I take to work contained the regulars that I am on nodding terms with these days. A newcomer on the bus was a young mum with a baby buggy and the regulars were having none of it. They scowled at her and I think she could feel the tension as a busload of strangers looked daggers in her direction. They’re a tough crowd, my fellow commuters, but I’m sure they’re not actually too awful as people. I haven’t really made the effort to get to know any of them beyond the polite hello nod.

The elevator ride at the office was jolty and nerve-wracking as per usual. Taking the elevator was always a gamble. It hasn’t been serviced since the 1970s when the building was still brand-spanking new, so you never really knew whether your ride was the ride he decided he was quitting life. 

I like getting to the soul-destroying box called the office nice and early to sit and cry at my desk before everyone else. Oh, and browse the internet while I drink low quality, reheated coffee from the day before. The greatest irony is that while I am telling customers how to make the best cup of Joe of their lives, I was sucking down tepid brown dishwater. Probably as penance for doing something terrible in a previous life.

This morning, however, I was not the first one in the office. A gaudy, brightly coloured crepe monstrosity reading “Happy Birthday, Janet” assaulted my eyeballs as I walked through the office door. The homemade banner was surrounded by balloons and gifts. My eyes widened in horror and I remembered that Janet had asked me to bring a “plate of nibbles” for her office party the previous day. I had immediately pushed it from my mind.

Janet is our office’s Karen. Technically she is the “office manager” but just manages to work on everyone’s nerves. She would stand over call centre operatives, ensuring that an artificial smile remains pasted firmly on our lips as we speak to our very dear customers. Because all a telephonic interaction really needs for peaceful resolution is a happy facial gesture. 

Janet is such a Karen that she planned her own office party.

“Ah, Rosalie, good morning,” Janet said, rounding the corner. I closed my eyes surreptitiously, sighed, and plastered on a fake smile she so loved.

“Good morning, Janet,” I said.

“I will relieve you of the nibbles,” she said. She frowned at the empty handedness.

I had to think quickly.

“Well, actually, Janet, I ordered some nibbles to be delivered.” Lies.

“Oh, that does sound very generous of you. I hope it’s savoury nibbles. Only Les and Paul each said that they’d be doing sweet nibbles. And of course, Mittens and I baked a cake last night. My famous chocolate cake,” she said with a knowing wink.

I gave an involuntary shudder at the thought of Mittens, the geriatric cat, assisting in any part of baking a cake. She was right about her cakes being famous around the office. Famous for being dense enough to be used as a weapon. 

“Yup,” I said non-committally. 

“Also, Rosalie, pet, remember that Donna is GF. So I hope your nibbles have taken that into account.”

I retreated into my cubicle. I didn’t much care that Donna was gluten-free, or GF, as Janet called it. Donna can bring her own GF snacks.

I banged my head against my desk a couple of times. It was standard operating procedure at this point, but today warranted an extra bang. 

I ripped open my desk drawer, looking for something that could count towards the nibble pool but I could only find a fluffy mint that I don’t think was meant to be fluffy and half a pack of hard-boiled sweets. 

Right, time to think outside of the box. I ripped my phone out of my pocket and dialed. After a few rings, a sleepy voice mumbled a mmgfh that I took to be hello.

“Devon, it’s me,” I hissed into the phone. “I need help.”

“I’d say. Anyone awake before 10:30 needs serious help,” he said.

“No, you idiot, I need your help. I forgot its Joyless Janet’s birthday do today. Please can you bring something edible and savoury to the office that I can feed to my colleagues?” 

“Mmm,” he hummed. It sounded very much like he had fallen asleep.

“Devon!” I shouted.

“Yeah, fine. What time?”

“I think she said the party is at ten.”

“Ok, see you then.”

“Before ten, Devon. Be here before ten!” I shouted but it was futile. Devon had already hung up.

It was up to the gods now.

Janet peeked her nosy nose around the corner.

“Everything ok, love?” she asked. 

“Yup, just confirming the order.”

At 9:30, Patricia, the receptionist phoned my cubicle. I had just started worrying the cuticles around my thumb, thinking Devon wouldn’t show up.

“Devon is here to see you. I’m sending him right up” Patricia giggled. Devon was working his flirty magic, obviously.

“Hiya Rosie,” greeted Devon.

“Took you long enough!” I spewed. He handed me a foil package.

“A thank you would be nice.”

“Thank you.” He had really saved my butt today. 

I kissed him on the cheek. He left. The party started. I cursed a bit under my breath as I saw Devon had missed the “savoury” aspect of our conversation and brought brownies. No matter. The ire of Janet who got sweet instead of savoury was considerably less than the ire of Janet who was disapproving of me not contributing at all. Although I don’t think anyone even noticed as I put my offering down.

I wasn’t really interested in sampling any flavours from my colleagues’ exotic homes so forewent food and stuck to the weak coffee. 

I had to hand it to Janet, she really pulled a great party together. Everyone seemed really mellow. Bob The Boss (a moniker chosen for him by him) even allowed Paul, a self-styled DJ to play his “young person music.” My uptight colleagues had started dancing along, bobbing to the beat.

Kurt Cobain sang about teen spirit and Rob, getting into the mood of the party, took out his lighter and held it aloft. Rock on, I suppose.

Donna, really feeling herself today, had started making out with Fred, the mailman. Huh, I always thought that Donna and Rob had a thing going, but I might have been wrong. 

All of a sudden there was a commotion. Rob, upon seeing Donna and Fred’s intimate moment, ran over to break them apart, lighter still lit. The crepe banner went up in flames as Rob ran past. The flames quickly spread to the balloons, whose very conductive jute strings spread the fire to the gifts. 

Janet was crying, Rob and Fred were fighting and everything was literally going up in smoke. Best thirty minutes of my life. 

On my way out of the boardroom, I grabbed one of Devon’s brownies, which seemed to be very popular at the party. It tasted a bit off.

My eyes stretched wide with realisation. I dug my phone out of my pocket and for the second time, phoned Devon.

“Devon, what did you put in the brownies?” I said, not bothering with niceties.

“Duh, Rosie. You asked for edibles.” There was a pause of silence. “Didn’t you?”