Operation Retrieval

I’m known to forget things. On a vacation from Houston to New York I once forgot my purse in a gas station in South Carolina. This weekend I left my purse in my drawer at work. I would have left it there for the weekend, hoping not to get pulled over, which has only happened to me once in a “bad” part of town where a gang patrol until stopped me thinking that I might be a gangster on her way to a drive by or something. But once they stopped me and found out that I was actually a nerdy college student in sweatpants on her way to the laundry mat, they talked about how I should think about not having such dark tint on my windows, then left me and almost took my drivers license with them because, like I said, I tend to forget things.

I realized that I might not need my driver’s license but that I needed my prescriptions in case of some kind of mountain cedar attack. Half way to work I realized that today was the day that the fired vice president of recruitment and retention would be packing up and moving things out of the office, to avoid the embarrassment of doing it during regular business hours. I sent a text message to a co-worker, explaining my predicament, expressing my desire not to see this fired VP and avoid all embarrassment and awkwardness. He only told me that maybe he would give me his signed confession, declaring his loss in humanity and begging for forgiveness. My coworker was obviously no help and this made me incredibly nervous.

When I first tried to get into the building, I realized that I would need my employee id to open the main doorways, which was kept, of course, inside my purse. Luckily, the students at this university work all weekend, and a Chinese international student was working in one of the labs, and he opened the door for me and walked away without looking at me, possibly hoping not to interrupt his train of thought. I was so grateful to get in and to show that I wasn’t stalking him or some kind of weirdo, that I was an employee there on serious business. I told him thank you and he was turned around and walking away when he said “you’re welcome,” his fuzzy, shaggy hair moving away from me.

To make sure he knew, although I’m sure he didn’t care and wasn’t listening, that I was in fact, an employee on serious business, I jingled my keys to show that I really did have access, and I made it a point to make a great deal of noise going into the employee entrance door, which led to our office. I opened all three doors with my key that led me to the main office, where my small front office desk was located. We recently had to change the key to this main door, in fear that the VP, who still hadn’t given up his key would come in and do something radical, our Executive Director always afraid of retaliation, always saying, “I’ll be sued” when having a discussion with anyone about the fired VP, or any number of disgruntled employees.

I opened the door, picked up the purse, and looked around to make sure that I didn’t leave anything else behind. I was only ten steps from the outside of the door, to the hallway, and then outside of the building in a door I couldn’t access from the outside. I started thinking about going to visiting my grandmother, who I always took to lunch, and who in return always requested a run to the Mexican bakery where she would buy my favorite pink cookies, when in I closed the door behind me, and looked up to see the VP, wearing a long coat and leather gloves, desperately clasping onto empty boxes stacked on top and inside of one another. It seemed like he was completely frozen, looking at me, angled in an attempt to drag the boxes and open the door toward the hallway that led to his office. I didn’t know what to say, do I say that I’m sorry? Do I act like it was just another ordinary day? Do I sympathize or ignore? What would he appreciate more? What would be best? I thought that maybe I should wait to hear what he would say first. I pretended to be busy, which is what I thought to be the best solution in any situation (at least when it came to running into the cute boys I liked, to avoid being nervous, which makes me babble and panic, usually), I looked at my keys, fumbled with my purse.

He looked down at his boxes, said a very non-enthusiastic, and rehearsed “Hi.” I was relived. I simple retaliatory and rehearsed hi and I would be gone, busy, on my way out, hello goodbye, it would all be over. “Hi!” I shouted, probably because I was nervous, and started to walk confidently down the hall and toward the door, but at the same time he overlapped my shouting to say, “What are you doing here?”
“Oh I forgot my purse,” I said, pointing to it, carrying a huge smile on my face, again, due to some kind of absurd nervousness. I started to walk out, to say goodbye, when he said, “Are you here to spy on me?” I was completely surprised. Spy? Me. Haha! I suppose he considered that I was sent to check up on him to make sure that he wasn’t destroying anything and that he was leaving quickly, and quietly, no problems, no issues, and that he was even leaving as promised, instead of delaying moving and causing more problems for us. I was disgusted now, a little angry even, it was a weekend, I wanted to go see my grandmother, I was hungry, and I’m a spy?

I sounded disgusted (it was actually the same tone I used when the police pulled me over), “Um, no, I said, I’m getting my purse.” I lifted it up at the straps, as if to demonstrate the evidence in a court case, exhibit A, I suppose. It was clear enough to me, simple enough. “I know you’re here to spy on me, don’t worry I’m leaving, tell your boss I said that.” I was even more angry now, and although I normally withhold my real feelings at work in moments like this, when met with angry bosses or students, I considered that I won’t have any consequences on a Saturday afternoon, with no other employees around, speaking to a FIRED employee. I was really shouting now, my voice echoing in the empty, cold hallway that was only different than a hospital hallway in that its colors were yellow beige and off white. “If you think that I would spend MY weekend, my valuable weekend doing something for work, or even doing something for work like spying on someone, you’re absolutely crazy!!” I felt blushed and feverish, my jaw tensed, and I also found that I couldn’t stop. I forgot that in moments of anger like this, I was prone to long and winded monologues. “I have better ways to spend my weekend, sir!” I was getting louder. “If you’d think that I’d rather spend it here, instead of having lunch with my grandmother, you’re completely crazy! You’re paranoid, do you think that the CIA is coming here to get you too?!” I stopped and caught my breath, I was breathing heavily as though I had been running. I got ready to turn around and walk away, making sure to calm myself down so that I could display that I can recover quickly, not let this bother me and be on my way, when I exhaled and saw the newest, youngest, and most handsome employee to our department, a grant writer, walk in behind the former VP of recruitment and retention. He looked at me like I was completely disgusting, as if I had just thrown up on his shoes. Shit. Oops. Behind him, two custodians were staring at me in confusion but curiosity. I still thought that I was right, that he had no right to accuse me of spying on him. I thought that if I continued to stand my ground, the new grant writer would see my side of it. What the fuck was he doing here on a Saturday anyway? “Don’t ever accuse me of anything like that again!” I yelled and waved my finger in the air accusatory, although it was pointing straight up as though I were about to do some kind of 1920’s dance, as I turned around and walked out of the door, which slammed behind me on its own due to its heavy construction. I was flushed, but now relief was overcoming me. I walked toward the parking lot with a head full of questions, I sent a text to my coworker which said, “I just yelled my lungs off at the fired VP, I’m going to get sued!” It made me feel a little bit better.