Page 130 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
An expression of surprise—or maybe remembering—skitters across his face before he pushes himself up from the table. “Forgot you don’t have a car. There’s a Seven-Eleven a couple blocks south, on the main road.”
He avoids my eyes as he opens the pantry next to me and takes out a box of cereal, which he shakes up and down. “You want some?”
“Lucky Charms?” I say slowly, just to make sure Archie—a grown man—is seriously offering me a leprechaun’s cereal.
“Yeah. They’re magically delicious,” he says in an Irish brogue before shaking the box again.
I swallow the laugh attempting to escape and check my watch. I’m already running late. I don’t have time for an adult breakfast, or much desire for one that doesn’t include coffee. A kid’s breakfast is better than no breakfast, especially when I don’t know what my lunch break will be like.
“Sure…thanks.”
“You want me to make it for you?”
“Please.” I brush aside the suspicion that arises with his offer. I’m too tired to say no.
While Archie pours his own cereal and milk, I pack my satchel with my laptop and the salad I made last night for today’s lunch.
In the one minute it takes me to organize everything neatly in my bag, Archie spills both cereal and milk on the counter. He hands me a bowl that’s filled to the brim with milk that’s already turning rainbow colored from the marshmallows. My eyes dart from the bowl to the counter and the mess Archie is walking away from.
“Were the bowls moving targets?” I follow him carefully to the table, resisting the urge—again—to play maid before starting my first day of work.
“Huh?” His eyebrows pull together in confusion, and I point to the aftermath of his “cooking” adventures. “Oh. Yeah. I’ll take care of it in a bit.”
I stuff a spoonful of too many marshmallows and not enough whole-grain goodness in my mouth to keep from asking how long “a bit” will be or if I can expect any alarms to go off while I’m eating.
Archie looks at his phone, and I stare out the back door toward the waves lapping the sand. Except for Archie’s slurping and loud chewing, we eat in uncomfortable silence until I might crawl out of my skin if he sucks hisbrekkieoff his spoon one more time.
I carry my bowl to the sink where I pour the unfinished half of my cereal down the drain. I spray the remnants of milk and marshmallows into the disposal before turning it on long enough for it to grind up not only my breakfast, but also anything that may be hiding in there. Archie likely doesn’t realize the garbage disposal is a thing. It falls into the water heater category of things that simply exist to make his life more comfortable, even if he’s oblivious to them.
After making a big show of putting my bowl into the dishwasher, so maybe Archie will catch on that he has both an appliance to make water hot and another one that will wash his dishes, I sling my bag over my shoulder.
“I’m off to my internship,” I say, suddenly needing some encouragement. This internship is a big deal. If Mom were here, she’d have taken me out for coffee and breakfast. I guess I’m a little lonely for her.
I move slowly, on the off-chance Archie might want to say something.Good luck… Go get ‘em… You’ve got this. Anything to settle my nerves.
His gaze stays fixed on his phone.
I’m almost to the front door when he yells, “Have fun!”
Not quite what I was looking for, but I’ll take it.
Except, the next ten hours are definitely not fun. Unless someone’s idea of fun includes riding on a too-crowded bus that breaks down three miles before her destination. In which case, she gets to debate whether it will be faster to walk those three miles in heels that werenotmade for walking more than three feet at a time, let alone three miles; wait for the replacement bus to show up; or fork out money she doesn’t have for an Uber during surge pricing.
The answer is, it would have been faster to take off the stupid shoes and walk. More dangerous, yes, since those miles include the El Segundo freeway, which—like most of LA—isnotwalkable. But I should have done it anyway instead of showing up at exactly seven-fifty-nine on the replacement bus that took forever.
Some people might believe that’s on time. Some might even think of it as early. But, the thing is…those people are slackers.
Just ask my Valente’s HR manager, Tanesha, who was quick to point out that, as an intern, if I don’t show up fifteen minutes early, I’m late. I open my mouth to tell her how right she is and that we’re probably soul sisters, but her withering look not only shuts my mouth but erases any illusions about the two of us having anything beyond a commitment to punctuality in common.
Does that sound fun?
Compared to the rest of my day, it was a trip to Disneyland.
There are two types of designers, and I’ve learned from and worked with both. The first is the kind who wants to collaborate, trading ideas and tips, while also not trying to step on people’s creative toes. They respect ownership and encourage one another’s successes.
Then there’s the second kind. Cliquey, protective, suspicious, and mean.
Guess which type I find at Valente?
