“Okay, “ Roz said, from her Zoom box on the big screen at the front of the conference room. “Everyone on the in-office team ready to go?”
I glanced around the big, oval table. There were only three of us. Hardly a team, more like a gathering of a few random people.
Wilson was a couple of seats over, buried behind a two-foot high stack of notebooks, calendars and datebooks. Across the table was Mike. He appeared to be passed out, head back and breathing heavily. I assumed the fancy silver flask on the table in front of him had something to do with his present state.
It was brazen behavior for a guy still on probation for the great Man Cave caper earlier this year.
Wilson was busy thumbing through a planner like someone going through a family photo album.
“Oh, look, this is from that first week when we came back to the office in May,” he said, as if I were interested. “Roz Zoom call at noon to discuss safety protocol of team back in office. Remember that?”
“No,” I said, glancing at the lone planner on the table in front of me. It was one of those nice, company issued hardcover ones with “2020” on it.
“I’m a little nervous about this,” I said. “I’ve never been to a book burning before.”
“I don’t think it’s technically a book burning,” Wilson said. “More of a planner, or calendar burning. I think it’s a really great way to say goodbye to the year.”
The screen at the front of the room was filled now with our colleagues in their homes. Smiles and holiday decorations filled all the little boxes.
“Okay team, we’re going to get started,” Roz said. “Welcome to our Goodbye 2020 event. What we want to do right now is shove this year out the door and kick it in the ass on the way out. That’s why I’ve brought in Dr. Jon Skimeeko. Ski, as he’s known, has been helping companies and corporations purge everything from bad practices to bad people in a distinguished six-year career. Ski is going to lead us through our purging of 2020. Take it away, Doctor.”
I scanned the Zoom boxes on the big screen, but there was no sign of the good doctor, just a bunch of colleagues I had barely seen for the better part of a year. Then the door behind me opened and a lean, white-haired man bounded into the conference room.
“Let’s geeeeeeeet ready to burn!” he yelled, stepping in front of the Zoom camera so all our coworkers could see him.
He carried a small, metal trash can, the kind you’d find in any office. He also carried a small container marked “Flammable,” the kind you’d find with any arsonist.
Ski wore a bright yellow face mask with a smiley face emoji, and plopped the wastebasket down on the table, jarring Mike from his slumber. Mike rustled and groaned and his face mask slipped below his big nose, and a little light snoring started.
“You Zoomers at home,” Ski said, “just follow along with what I do here with your distinguished colleagues.”
I looked at Wilson. He could pass for distinguished. Mike, I wasn’t so sure about.
“Okay,” Ski said, “you want to take any planner, daybook, calendar, notebook, whatever you used this year for work, or if you want, you can take some personal items, that’s okay too. You guys at home, feel free to throw any old gift wrapping in there. Just toss it all right into whatever metal container you have at your disposal.”
Ski tossed a notebook into the trash can on the table, then looked at Wilson. “Let’s go, Mr. Planning King. Start tossing all those in the can. We have a lot to burn with you.”
I looked to the ceiling to check on the sprinklers, not that I could tell what a functional one looked like. But they all at least appeared to be in good working order. I assumed they were probably checked at some point in the last year. Maybe pre-pandemic.
“And you,” Ski said to me, “put your measly notebook in the offering can.”
The offering can? A little odd, but I was all for anything to move this along and get it over with so I could get home, so I tossed it in without a second thought.
Ski glanced at Mike and said, “I think it’s best if we not wake him.”
“Good idea,” I said, realizing Ski didn’t get to have a distinguished six-year career without picking up some wisdom along the way.
Wilson was having a tough time parting with a few of his prized planners.
“Hey, July eleventh,” he blurted out. “That’s when you and I went out for lunch for the first time since we were back in the office, remember.”
“No,” I said.
“We went to that Paleo place and -“
Wilson would have continued but for the planner being yanked from his hands by Ski and tossed into the offering urn, or whatever it was.
Wilson reached for it while stammering. “I…I just want to see July fifteenth.”
“No,” the doc snapped. “Its over. Twenty-twenty is over. No more. Goodbye.”
Ski opened the container of his accelerant of choice and squirted some on the notebooks. He struck a match and tossed it into the can and there was a big poof of flame.
“Ahhh,” I yelled, jerking back in my seat. “Good lord, is this really necessary?”
The commotion jolted Mike awake and he gave a couple of quick jerks of the head to get his bearings.
“More lighter fluid,” he yelled, reaching for his flask.
He stood and shook some grain alcohol or whatever it was he was drinking on the mini inferno. There was a bigger poof of flames now and Wilson yelled.
Smoke filled the conference room and drops of water landed on my head as the sprinklers kicked on.
I could see the big Zoom screen through the smokey haze. Our colleagues were fixated on the situation in the conference room.
“Ah, in-office team, is everything okay?” Roz asked.
“No,” I yelled.
“And Dr. Skimeeko…” she asked.
“Gone,” I said. “Probably had another disaster to start.”
Wilson was thumbing through a smoldering notebook.
“August third, do you remember -”
“No,” I said.
Across the table, Mike took a swig from his flask.
“Beats the hell out of the ball drop,” he said.
He belched, raised the flask and said, “Happy New Year.”