Whatchamacallit

“It is possible to be perfect!”

He looked at me like I knew what I was talking about, or was he just humoring me? “Look at it this way. When was the last time you had to return…oh, name something you like, electronics, computer, whatever?”

“Everything usually works?” he replied helpfully. “Even in the smallest details? Like a computer keyboard. If even one key doesn’t work, is the whole thing useless? So, you are saying that people can be like that?”

“Sure. Why not?”

He shuffled around, opening a kitchen cabinet. He puts my favorite mug in the wrong place. Again.

“Take us washing these dishes,” I said. “Soon, there will be robots that not only fill the dishwasher but also wash the things that can’t be put into the dishwasher. And a hundred other things we haven’t thought of.”

“AI will rule us all!” he joked. “I can hardly wait!”

#

The friends we didn’t want to see. We would meet them under a giant coffee pot tipping into a tiny pulsating cup. A twenty-minute table occupancy rule was in force. Or not enforced. I never saw anyone kicked out for staying too long in a coffee shop!

“Late. Might as well drink up!” I said.

“You know when your friends are usually late, that tells you that they think that their time is more important than your time.”

“Or they want to see us as much as we do them!” I joked.

“Why are we here?” he sighed.

“Exactly. I’ll text them and see what’s up.”

“Or not! Why do we have to be the ones who take responsibility all the time? We aren’t the ones who are late.”

I gulped my coffee and stared at my dutchie, which was oozing cinnamon and sticky stuff, so much so that I had to lick my fingers constantly.

“Take this doughnut…”

“I’d rather not!” he joked.

“Whatever! It’s a gooey mess! But I’m still eating it? That is what relationships are like! You know it?”

He had a chocolate frost, boring as usual. He was studying it, it seemed.

“Is it not so?” I asked again.

#

I was going to be perfect. My job required it. Just one late case file and I’m in the corner office I wish I had for myself, with my boss. Who is always very unhappy at the best of times.

Perfection. It was practical and more to the point necessary. The solution to every problem. Now, about that floor office manager.

“I needed the redaction of the Smithfield files yesterday, Eleanor!” I huffed as I came near her desk. Eleanor's desk was so out in the open. In the middle of everything. I would hate to have Eleanor’s job. She must answer for every errant case file, which didn't make sense, seeing as she only kept track of things and communicated deadlines.

“Rob is off sick. I sent a memo out yesterday about it," she said.

“Oh, right!’ I gushed. “Sorry about that!”

Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m going to lunch in a few secs. Wanna go with me?” she asked. Pleaded even.

I touched her hand. "Eleanor, everything is fine. I haven't heard anything about any shakeup. And if I do, you'll be the first to know. Promise."

Were those tiny tears in her eyes? What was going on that was making her so upset?

#

You're always the superhero in your life. What could I have done better? This was my most asked question at work. Rob owes me now. And I’m going to collect.

As for Eleanor, I should have remembered that memo! But it is better to stick to what you want regardless. Never apologize! That is part of being perfect, isn't it? And consoling her and trying to reassure her when there was so much pressure in this office to perform, perform, and do more constantly...what was the use of that? Do machines behave this way? Compassion is a vice. It is only helpful if it can be used to get something!

“Gina? You ordered pizza?” asked my husband, who arrived after I got home. He was tipping the pizza box lid up and forcing it down, making that sound a pizza box makes when it is closed suddenly, like a fast food distress call. Annoying as hell. Especially when done repeatedly.

“Yeah? What of it?” I call back.

I was staring at my laptop at the kitchen table, trying to mentally mark where I was in a dense document with so little blank space that it gave me a headache. Finally, I gave up and slammed the damn thing shut. Then, of course, he leaves the kitchen.

“What? It’s your cooking night anyway?" I shouted. "Aren’t I doing you a favor?”

He didn’t answer. Figures. Bad day again, likely. Having left the kitchen, he’s in the living room, out of sight. He wants me to go to him and listen for the next half hour or more. I have too much work! I reach for the painkillers I said I would stop using. And open my laptop again.

#

Smithfield is in on time! Perfect! Did the boss know that I was up all hours? He hardly said a word after I sent the document to him. He didn’t even acknowledge the email! That’s gratitude for you! But who cares? I'm a perfect machine, and I'll refuse to complain. If Rob keeps being sick, I’ll just pick up the slack like nothing happened! Perfection. Everything must run smoothly, no matter what.

I run into Rob on the way to the washroom. He makes a point of coughing a few times, covering his mouth. But instead of ducking into the men’s washroom, he stops.

“Smithfield went in, ok?” he asks. “If not, I can make time for it today…”

I give him my best all-knowing smile. “Don't worry!" I interrupt. "It's all taken care of!”

He looks surprised. But quickly hides it. “Great. Well, my offer still stands. Catch you later.”

Not if I can help it.

#

It’s a big meeting. The boss calls us all in. There are doughnuts and tepid coffee for everyone. I don’t bother. This room is seldom used. Face-to-face meetings are so over these days, especially involving more than five people. No one is sitting down, everyone milling around like lost sheep. With a quick hand motion, the boss enters the room and asks everyone to find a seat. He looks at me.

“Gina, have a seat next to me.”

I look surprised, but it's for show. At first, I didn’t know which side to sit on, but he pointed to his right-hand side. Everyone has a seat. A few seem to know what is coming next. As do I.

“The company is going through a..” the boss began. Then he leaned closer to me and joked, “Whatchamacallit, Gina?”

“A streamlining process!” I reply enthusiastically.

The boss clears his throat momentarily and continues looking down at his notes. “Due to technological advances, all our associates will now be completely responsible for their documents. Let’s wish Eleanor and Rob well in their future endeavors, shall we?”