Judy Baer - Million Dollar Dilemma

Cricket is about my age, and while I’m tall and slender, she’s short and round and always has a glorious smile that can light up a room. Cricket told me immediately how she came to have her unusual name. Her much-in-love parents—Jim and Mimi—tried to give her a name that was a combination of their own two names. Unfortunately, all they could come up with was Jimini. It wasn’t long till everyone was calling the baby Jimini Cricket, and before long, Jimini had gone by the wayside and now she’s just Cricket. She’s forever fighting her weight, loves food, abhors exercise and thinks television reality shows are ridiculous. She also feels the need to watch every one of those shows just to make sure that someone doesn’t slip something relevant or enlightening into one of them. Cricket has been a real blessing in the office, not to mention a huge dose of comic relief.

That’s not to say my office mates aren’t all wonderful people—they are, and I like them all very much. But each does have a quirk or two that stand out above all others—Ed, for example.

Ed’s a nice guy. He’s friendly, cheerful and generous. He’s also got a mirror taped to the inside drawer of his desk so he can check his hair for a strand out of place and his teeth for an errant speck of spinach. If Ed lost his hair, he would run right out and buy a wardrobe of hairpieces—a rug for every room, so to speak. Paula and Betty (it figures) think Ed had something “done” around his eyes over his last vacation. Thelma says he just looked “rested,” but apparently Paula counts crow’s-feet and keeps a tally. Now they’re trying to work up the nerve to ask who his plastic surgeon was. I’ve warned them against it. If Ed hasn’t had a touch-up, he’ll be as upset as a woman who is asked when her baby is due six months after she’s delivered.

I hope they aren’t counting my wrinkles. I didn’t have many when I came to Parker Bennett, but they could be adding up quickly now. I’m not much for looking in the mirror. Just seeing myself full-length in a department-store window surprises me. Since all the mirrors in Simms are attached to dressers, I’d even forgotten how long my legs are. Now when I see them in a full-length mirror, I’m reminded of walking on stilts. Ken did tell me once, however, that his buddies thought I had great legs. It was one of the first and only times I’d wished that they’d stick to talking about trucks, power washers, construction materials and the like.

I’d had the most trouble finding an adjective for Thelma. I went back and forth between Thoughtful and Thrifty for a few days before I settled on Thoughtful. She’s the dearest, kindest person in the office, always remembering to ask how Winslow is settling in, to compliment Stella on her new shoes or Jan on a different haircut. She also carries her lunch to work in the same paper bag all week, washes out Baggies so she can reuse them and insists that a teabag can be reused at least four or five times before it loses its punch.

I passed the office of my boss, Ned Lakestone, the man who’s in charge of the many smaller offices that make up the customer service department. His door is rarely open and I don’t think he likes people very much. Customer service is an odd place for a recluse to work, but Stella assures me that Ned’s the best kind of boss to have—one who never interrupts his employees’ workday with instructions or directives. According to Stella, that type is a real nuisance. Besides, if Mr. Lakestone got involved with us, she probably wouldn’t have time to change her nail polish every day.

For some strange reason, as I neared the office, the fine hairs on the back of my neck began to tingle. It reminded me of Boosters, Ken’s dog, when he senses some change in the air or nearly imperceptible hint that something’s not quite as it should be. Then the fur on Boosters’s neck stands up and he puts his nose to the ground because something is very suspicious. Looking back, I realized that if I’d known what was coming, every hair on my head would have stood up and taken notice.

I pushed my way through the throng of people who’d crowded the hallway in front of the customer service department and wondered what on earth was going on in my office. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have suspected they were having a rummage and bake sale inside and everyone was gathering for a first look at the merchandise. Now, that tells me I’ve spent far too much time in Simms.

So for the second time in not so very many days, I forged ahead. “Excuse me, sorry, I didn’t mean to step on your foot, excuse me…” The door was shut, so, not knowing what I’d find on the other side, I opened it, slid in sideways through the crack and shut it again.

“What’s going on here…?” My voice drifted away as I stared in wonderment at the sight before me. Ego Ed was standing on, of all places, the top of his desk. Everything on the desk had been swept to one side and he was poised there, foam coffee cup in one hand, holding his arms in the air in a victor’s triumphant V. When I came in, he glanced at me and yelled, “Yee-haw!”

And he was the sanest one in the pack.

Petty Betty was going in circles—literally, as if one foot had been nailed to the floor and she kept circling around it, getting nowhere fast. Her hands were flapping like pathetic little bird wings and her eyes were wild.

Stella was dumping nail polish bottles into her purse and ignoring her telephone which rang incessantly.

Betting Bob was on the phone in loud conversation with what sounded like his bookie. “Flytail in the second! Flytail in the second!” I’d been at work only three weeks, so I’m not fluent in what Stella calls Bob’s “gamble speak,” but I was pretty sure that was the language he was talking.

Cricket and Thelma were in intense conversation, and Paranoid Paula was blatantly eavesdropping. Paula had her purse clutched to her chest and kept muttering over and over to the other two, who were ignoring her, “Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched. You might be sorry. Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched!”

The filing cabinets appeared to have ruptured and hemorrhaged all over the floor, and the rest of the room was in equal disarray. It was as if someone had gleefully run through the place overturning garbage cans and pushing things off desks.

Stella, despite the fact that she was carrying on a private conversation with herself punctuated by words like “shoes,” “diamonds” and “I’ll show them,” seemed to be one of the calmer of the lot.

I neared her desk cautiously, wary of flying emery boards and cuticle clippers. “Stella, what’s going on in here?”

Her head shot up and she stared at me. “You don’t know?”

“I realize that I didn’t get in as early today as I usually do, but I’m still on time. What’s everyone else doing here so early?”

“I called Thelma,” she explained mysteriously. “And she called Paula and Jan. They were supposed to tell Bob, Ed, Betty, Cricket and you. Maybe they didn’t have your home phone number.”

“Call me for what?” Alice, when she fell through the looking glass, had nothing on me.

“To tell you that we won!”

‘“Wee one’? Who had a baby? I didn’t realize anyone was due. It didn’t say who was expecting on your collection envelope.”

“No, we w-o-n. Us. These people here.” Ed made a gesture around the room. “We. Us. You!”

Cricket tossed a pile of papers into the air like confetti and let them fall to the floor.

What was she, nuts?

“Won? Won what?” I couldn’t think of any contests other than Parker Bennett’s employee of the month award, and that wasn’t all that big a deal. Most of the employee photos they hung on the lobby wall looked like mug shots anyway.