Eleven
It was a stupid plan, but nevertheless Eugenio felt unaccountably confident the next morning as he arrived at the office. He'd been rehearsing the script in his mind all the drive in, and realized he had the whole thing down. It had taken less than a week, but he felt capable of answering any question, handling any situation, managing any customer's needs, and the timing could not have been better. It was Friday, the last day of stage one, and promised to be a hectic and crazy day. One by one he ticked off every carbon offset offering the company presented, from the usual basic tree planting to the various emission storage techniques, to the alternative energy enhancements and appliance-conversion and trade-in upsells. He knew all the rates and all the penalty tables. He was ready, and it couldn't hurt, he thought, that he was carrying the magic snail in his pocket along with that stupid rubber chicken leg.
The preparation served him well. The phone beeped continually when he wasn't already on it, and the hold lines must have been backed up for virtual miles because there was no end. It seemed that everyone in the state had been waiting until the last day to rush to get their personal footprints accounted for. There were some who only wanted to get their application timestamped without actually making any purchases, and some who needed their hands held and their fortunes told, who knew nothing about anything, not even their own income or net worth or annual tax liability. Eugenio could have benefited from a degree in finance or accounting, but somehow he managed to work through every issue, one way or another.
He helped the proverbial “little old lady” and the clueless man in his twenties, assisted the go-getter who turned out to be the CEO of an interesting startup, and everyone else in between. He was working it, and the morning flew by in what seemed like mere minutes. At one point he stopped to catch his breath and found an old man by his side.
“Nice work there, son,” the man said. His name tag said 'Daniel'.
“Thank you, sir,” Eugenio replied, his finger on the pause button as he readied to release it and plunge back into the stream.
“I understand you're new, but from my count you're doing quite well.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said again.
“Your regular supervisor is out sick today,” Daniel explained. “I'm filling in here if you need anything.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said for the third time, then let go of the button, and at the first beep he glanced at Daniel, then answered the phone. Daniel wandered off to praise some other worker bee.
Eugenio didn't pause again until lunch, when he grabbed his peanut butter sandwich and apple and headed out to the bush behind the parking lot. His plan was to eat quickly and get right back to work. He was feeling those commissions piling up and daydreaming about the extra money, not so much the things he could buy with it as the look on Janelle's face when she saw the paycheck. He often fantasized about bringing home more than she did, but it had rarely ever occurred. Now he was even thinking about how they did promotions at this place, and whether maybe someday he might become a supervisor, or rise even higher than that.
“Hi,” his daydream was interrupted by a young woman who was striding next to him. She was very pretty, and smiling at him.
“Hello,” he said as politely as he could.
“I don't have any plans for lunch. I mean, I brought it,” she said, holding up her own brown paper bag, “but there's nowhere to go.”
“I know,” he said, “I usually just sit on the ground over there,” indicating the bush, which suddenly seemed unaccountably scraggly and insufficient.
“That looks nice,” she said. “Can I join you?”
“Sure,” he said. “My name's Alex,” and he wondered why he said that, but it on the name tag, and it was his name at this place, and he'd been saying it all morning.
“I mean Eugenio,” he corrected himself.
“My name is not-Carla,”she laughed, tapping her own name tag. “It's Diane.”
“Pleased to meet you, Diane,” he said.
“Pleased to meet you, Eugenio.”
They laughed and settled down on the patch of weeds and dandelions behind the bush. Diane had brought a bologna sandwich, which Eugenio of his daughter and her fondness for just the same thing, which he could never understand. Nothing seemed more repulsive to him than bologna. But he didn't say any of those things out loud. It was clear, from his wedding ring, that he was married, and it was clear, from her wedding ring that she was too, and even though they'd only just met, randomly, in the middle of a busy day, they both had to admit to themselves that they had made a note of those plain facts on their fingers.
His plan for a short break fell through as they got to chatting about the job and the place. Diane had been there for only two weeks, but she too was getting the hang of it and especially enjoying the last minute rush, which reminded her of when she worked at Macy's one Christmas season. It was the adrenaline more than anything. You couldn't really give a shit about whether these strangers got the right present for the right person, any more than she gave a shit about the carbon footprints of these fucking buffoons on the phones. She talked that way, and Eugenio blushed at her language, even though the words and phrases running through his own mind were the same or even more so. They just seemed ugly coming out of her face. He told himself he ought to clean up his own act first, and he meant it.
He was changing. There was something inside him that was growing for the first time, and he wondered if it was self-respect. I'm such a pushover, he thought. All it takes is a little tiny bit of positive feedback and I'm the king of the whole fucking world. Then the slightest setback and I'm the biggest moron who ever lived. I don't know how I go on like this. But he didn't want to spoil the mood, so he smiled and laughed and kept up the small talk even when he was more than ready to shed Diane for good and get back to the phones. He felt he had already seen all that she was, but she was not as eager to move on, so it took a while longer, and eventually Eugenio had to stand up and make noises about commissions waiting upstairs for them both. She hoped to see him again soon. He wished her a good weekend, then sighed with relief when he got back to his station and his phone. This kind of thing was exactly what he wasn't looking for.