Thursday, September 13, 2018

Short Story Week 2018: Day Four -For the Dental Plan

"What's this?"

"Open it."

Caris has place a small gift about the size of a shoebox in front of me, covered in polka dotted wrapping paper and a purple bow. I know I should be grateful, and I am, but I'm more stuck on the fact that she and I just had one of the most clichéd four word conversations in literary history -'what's this, open it'.

"What would you rather I have said?" she patiently endures my personality quirks. "How about, it's a present. Open it."

"I guess I'm just confused as to why that exchange ever takes place at all, much less why so frequently. When someone hands someone else a present, it's obviously a present. To be opened, contents thusly revealed-"

"Sweetie," she chides me, "Don't sit here and pretend that you have ever used the word 'thusly' in casual conversation."

"What is the point of those four words?" I ask.

"The same as 'knock knock, who's there'. It's ritual. Come on, open it."

"Can you tell me what it's for?"

"It's just a little something." She's beginning to squirm, she's so excited. It's clearly more than just a little thing to her. "It's day four and you woke up this morning with literally no idea what to write. So I got you an idea. Just open it or you're going to hurt my feelings."

Okay, I can't have that.


For the Dental Plan

This is the part of my job I don’t like.

“Come in Thompson,” I say, gesturing to the chair across from my desk. He sits.

I feign one more skim of my handwritten notes that I’m not looking forward to typing up. I know what they say, but I’m giving myself a moment to breath before this conversation. “Do you know why I called you in here?”

“Yes sir,” he says. “I want to apologize-“

I interrupt him. “Let’s just take one thing at a time. I’m supposed to remind you of our company’s policy regarding lunch breaks. You get thirty minutes, as I’m sure you know.”

Thompson nods quietly.

“Now according to your co-workers, you left at 10:15 this morning and were gone almost four hours. Is that right?”

“It is.”

“And it’s not the first time this month?”

“No sir.”

“Third, I believe.”

“Yes sir.”

I pretend to glance over my notes again before flipping to a blank page and clicking my pen. “I’m required to provide an explanation for the extra time spent away from your desk. Can you help me out?”

“Waffles.”

“Waffles?” I stare at him. He doesn’t blink. “That’s really what you’re going with”.

“Yes sir, frozen waffles.”

“Frozen waffles,” I repeat as I write it down. “And do they just take the extra time to thaw?”

“Oh, no sir, they’re not for me. They’re for my wife.”

“I don’t think corporate is all that interested in who they’re for, so much as why they’re preventing you from getting back to your desk in a reasonable manner.”

Thompson shifts uncomfortably. “My wife is very particular about waffles. This specific brand is very difficult to find.”

“So am I to understand that you’re spending your lunch break shopping for this very specific brand of waffles?”

He nods. “Frozen waffles, yes.”

“Right,” I sigh. “Now is there a reason why these frozen waffles have to be shopped for during work hours?”

“Yes sir. These waffles are incredibly popular. They essentially fly off the shelves as soon as they’re stocked.”

“Taste pretty good then?”

“I assume. I wouldn’t know.”

I lean back in my chair. “So to be clear: you’re at work, your wife contacts you via…text or whatever saying that the waffles are going up, you hop in the car, drive to the store, and make your best effort to acquire a couple of boxes?”

“Just one box,” says Thompson, “And I drive a mini-van, but yes. That’s the process.”

“Can these waffles not be ordered online?”

“No sir.”

“Because they’re frozen?”

“No sir. Because we won’t receive our ShopStop credits if we purchase online. I do apologize-”

“We’re still not there yet”. I take the time to jot down ‘ShopStop credits’ with a question mark before continuing. “All right Thompson, this is where it gets uncomfortable, for me anyway. The security cameras have confirmed that all three times this has happened you’ve returned to the office but haven’t gone straight to your desk. They show you’ve consistently visited Sheryl’s office in accounting. Is that correct?”

“Yes sir.” Thompson’s eyes turn downward. “Have you spoken with her?”

“I would just as soon not, if at all possible. But unfortunately I have to ask if you and Sheryl are involved in a romantic relationship.”

He doesn't flinch. “No sir, we’re not.”

“And if I were to approach her about this, you’re telling me she’d confirm this?”

“That’s correct.”

“Follow-up question, which I don’t have to ask but I’m going to. Does she also ask you to bring her waffles?”

“No sir. She’s not involved with the waffles in any way.”

“I’m sure I’ll remember to make a note of that later.” I know my displeasure is more than evident on my face, but I'm not keen on caring right now. “Why are you going to see Sheryl from accounting?”

“Concealer.”

“Concealer?”

“Yes.”

“As in makeup?”

“Yes.”

“Is this a common interest between the two of you?”

“No sir. She has a type of concealer that works very well on my skin issues.”

“Skin, Issues,” I repeat out loud as I write. “These skin issues that only happen to flare up when you go shopping for waffles?”

“Frozen waffles, yes sir.”

“Thompson, do you have a waffle allergy that you know of?”

“Um, no sir. I don’t believe so.”

“Any ideas why your skin might be having this coincidental reaction when you go frozen waffle shopping?”

“It may be a variable in the store.”

“Right.” I fish around in my desk drawer for the still image of Thompson I had printed out. “See, corporate is undoubtedly going to want something a bit more specific of an explanation for your skin than ‘variable’.”

“It’s probably some specific variable in this store that causes my skin to-“

I cut him off by setting the photograph in front of him. “look like you’ve had the turkey stuffing beaten out of you with a metal pipe?”

“Yes sir.”

“Coolant leak from the refrigeration unit perhaps?”

“That’s a possibility. Again I want to apol-“

“Still not there Thompson.” I rub my forehead. “I was hoping this one would answer itself without my having to ask, but what is that around your ankle?”

“My ankle sir?”

“Yes Thompson. The hinge that connects your foot to your lower shin.”

His eyes dart around the floor. “Sir? I don’t-“

“Other leg Thompson.”

“Oh.”

“That’s the one.”

“I didn’t even notice that was there.”

“Yes.” I’m not even going to bother writing this one down. “Now I’m no expert, but wouldn’t you say that looks a bit like a beaver trap?”

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar-“

“Do you know what a bear trap is, Thompson? You’ve seen Road-Runner cartoons. Big metal thing with teeth that snaps shut? Doesn’t it look like a smaller version of that around your ankle?”

“Yes sir, I believe it does.”

“Great.” I force a smile. “Now is it possible you may have put your foot in one of those at this waffle store as well?”

“Yes sir. Do you know the game Free the Bunny?”

I hear my own voice crack, unclear if it’s a laugh or a sob. “No, Thompson. What is the relevance of the game Free the Bunny?”

“I have it on my phone. I might have wandered into the sporting goods section of the store while I was playing it.”

“And would this have been to or from your frantic scramble for these frozen waffles?”

“I can’t really say sir.”

“That’s fine. You’re actually doing me a favor.”

“May I apologize now?”

“I don’t really see the need, but I do regrettably have one more question. And I need to stress that you are not legally obligated to answer.” He nods, and I have a pleasant flashback to what my life was like a few decades ago when I was nothing more than a mail clerk. “By any chance have you recently been out of the country? Like, say, within the past few hours?”

“Sir, I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“Nor do I Thompson, but that ferry has disembarked. I only mention it because Mrs. Dresden called me from outside an airport in Greece this morning. She swears she saw you getting out of an unmarked shuttle with a blonde model and two men in trench coats.”

“Well sir, Mrs. Dresden is on vacation. She’s probably had more than a few.”

“That’s a valid argument, Thompson.” I reach for the blank form that I’m dreading having to fill out. “Well, I think we’re done here. Hypothetically speaking, if my department inadvertently hired an undercover spy, my bosses are inevitably going to want me to look into it.”

“I understand sir. That’s why they give you the big paycheck.”

“If you wouldn’t mind stopping by here before the end of the day to sign this?”

He rises to leave.

“Oh Thompson. Just for my own sense of morbid curiosity, were you able to acquire the waffles?”

“Frozen waffles sir. And no. They got away in Luxembourg.”

I shake my head. “A pity. Your wife is going to be so disappointed.”

“Yes sir. And I may need to take a few weeks off.”






"Thank you Caris," I say. "That was quite fun."

She smiles. "I think that's what you've been missing."

"You know that writing can't always be fun."

"Of course I know that. But if you stop liking it, is there really a point anymore?"

We sit quietly with each other for a while. Not thinking, not writing, not doing much of anything. I begin to wonder if maybe I like the idea of writing more than actually doing it. And I realize, by itself, that isn't a good enough reason to keep writing.

"Caris, what am I when I'm not writing?"

"Honestly?" she says. "The same thing you are when you are. You know something I found intriguing, and I can't remember if I had you type it into the blog a few days ago? You can't prove creativity. Look at somebody like M.C Escher. His work is fascinating, and people connect with it and get inspired by it and most of us believe it to be creative. But if someone were to demand that you deliver proof of its creativity, what argument could you make? Identifying creativity really is based on intuition."

"Do you think what I'm doing is worthwhile?"

She stands to leave. "'Worthwhile' is a word describing an ambiguity. Something can be worthwhile and not at the same time, as well as any number of points in between the two. It's certainly worthwhile to me; it's my whole life. How worthwhile is it to you?"

And then she's gone.

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