The anxiety level had been rising for weeks. Thinking you might be the target of a government investigation will often increase the stress you feel.
I texted Terri and asked her if she had a moment. A minute later she stepped into the home office, chipper. And why not, it was the weekend. Good enough reason to be chipper and upbeat, unless of course you think you might be the target of a government investigation.
My afternoon observation was that face masks certainly had become cheap on Etsy. Twenty, thirty, fifty-percent off. I considered buying a few to have in the unfortunate event that another pandemic was lurking out there.
I was busy staring at nice one featuring Saturn when a call came in from a number I didn’t recognize. It presented a dilemma, stare at the face mask and continue to surf the web on company time, or take the call from an unfamiliar number.
I walked by Wilson’s office and did a double-take. I stopped, backed it up a few steps and stood looking in. Then I stepped inside and tried to make sense of what I was seeing.
“Are you…”
“Knitting,” Wilson said, with pride. A level of pride that was disturbing.
The trip to the karaoke bar was another sign the night had gone off the rails. And if any of the team had doubts about it, I was sure they were erased when Roz took the mic for her version of some long forgotten pop ballad.
“Who sings this?” I asked Wilson, next to me.
“Roz,” he said. “Don’t you see her?”
There was a lot of buzz as we filed into the conference room. Something big was afoot.
“Whatta ya hearing?” Wilson asked, coming up behind me as I squeezed into the room with the others.
“Word is we’ll get a look at the new logo. We probably paid some ad genius, slash consultant, slash design firm, a million bucks to come up with something new. Probably because our old logo is one of the most recognized in the world, year after year. No sense letting that go on too long huh?” I said.
I thrust out my hand for a good old-fashioned, pre-Covid handshake before I caught sight of the yellow wrist band Jenkins was wearing. He and his wife recoiled in horror. Terri gave me a subtle jab in the ribs and shook her head.
But it was too late. I was well into my end of the handshake, and now my arm was extended in a kind of suspended animation. The four of us stood in the bread aisle with Jenkins and his wife staring at my hand as if it were covered in cooties.