Year of the Chick: Beginnings (a prequel short story) Read online

  “Look guys, I know this comes as a shock, but I want you to know she’d had several conversations with her boss about improvements that had to be made; these things don’t come out of nowhere.” All the while HR-bun-lady was smiling like there was a murdered body behind her that she didn’t want us to see. The spawn of evil.

  No one said anything for several seconds, but a sudden clap of the devil-lady’s hands broke the silence. “Okay guys! If you have any questions, feel free to meet with me individually. I know it’s a tough time with your friend no longer here, but I’m always here to talk!”

  No one said a word, so instead we slowly rose from our chairs and went back to our desks. At least that’s where I thought I was going, when suddenly Sierra grabbed me by the elbow and brought me to her desk. Certain that HR-bun-lady from Hell was safely back in her office, Sierra called Jayla and Laura over too. This had all the makings of an office-drama moment, so naturally the boys were excluded.

  “There’s no way they gave her any warnings,” Sierra whispered.

  “How do you know?” I whispered back.

  “I’ll know for sure in a few seconds.” She dialed a number and waited as we looked on. “Hi, Tara? Yeah it’s Sierra…What happened?”

  We couldn’t hear the other line, so instead we stayed on the lookout for HR-demon.

  “No don’t cry! It’s okay, calm down! You really shouldn’t be driving.” Sierra’s eyes bulged as she listened some more. “You’re on the HIGHWAY? Oh my god, get off at the next exit and go to a coffee shop. Yes, then call me back.”

  She hung up the phone and let out a big sigh. “She didn’t know a thing! Not ONE conversation with her boss on her performance. Then poof! Gone. Just like that…” She shook her head. “I guess she wasn’t ‘outgoing’ enough for sales.”

  Jayla and Laura looked dumbfounded, but I didn’t have the same reaction. To me it was everything I’d always suspected of big corporations with big parent companies and big boards of directors: heartless dick-wads.

  ***

  After the firing, the minions including the boys met up at a nearby pub after-work. Happy hour was in full effect, with extra chairs pulled up at various tables on this crowded sun-soaked patio.

  Two pitchers of beer were being shared amongst the table, by everyone except for me. Every sip I’d ever had of beer reminded me of how pee probably tasted if I knew how pee tasted. So I avoided it. This had made keg parties in university a bit challenging. I sipped my vodka cocktail happily.

  Matt finished chugging his pint and frowned. “So when is one of US getting canned? We won’t even have any warning.”

  “Maybe you should stop screwing around on your computer all day,” I said. He glared at me.

  “Or…” Jayla started. “Maybe you should just screw your boss and get it over with!”

  Everyone laughed.

  “No but really!” she continued. “The woman’s lonely!”

  “So this is it then?” Laura asked, with a somber expression. “Our livelihood now depends on if work is going well or if it’s not?”

  “Get used to it,” said spiky-haired Derek. “This is your life, and almost all of your time spent awake…for the next forty years.”

  We all sighed as the waitress came back over.

  “We’re gonna need another pitcher,” said Matt.

  “And more vodka!” I piped in.

  And more vodka…

  ***

  A few months later as winter creeped into our lives, any semblance of happiness had creeped its way out. It was a strange paradox, that the more proficient we became at our jobs…the more mountains of work our bosses dumped onto our desks. It’s not like we could afford to be lazy either, since any deviation from agreeable slave could mean a swift and out-of-nowhere firing like with doe-eyed Tara.

  Entrapment!

  ***

  Since my fellow minions and I had given up on being happy, we had filled in the void with things.

  Free things.

  It was the one advantage of working for a satellite office owned by a US parent company. They had cash. The most recent splurge was our office Christmas party, where they’d rented out an entire floor of a restaurant fifty-five stories up, with views of the entire city. I was currently dipping everything I could find in an elaborate chocolate fountain. Years later the mere sight of a chocolate fountain would stress me out, obsessed as I’d become with the thought of germy fingers being dipped into the “chocolate fall,” then wondering how many times the same fountain was recycled. For the moment however, I was blissfully ignorant.

  Matt sidled up next to me, as I stuffed a chocolate-covered strawberry into my mouth.

  “Another martini?” he asked, carrying two drinks in his hands.

  The only thing wrong with Matt was how he was a womanizing crap-bag who boasted about his one-night stands, and the only thing wrong with my life was how it was lacking in romantic distraction. Not that I’d ever been an expert in the game of love. My illustrious past included high school as an awkward dateless memory, and university as a mixture of studying and commitment-phobic encounters. The last part was fine, since university wasn’t exactly a time for long-term lovebirds.

  But what about now?

  I nodded at Matt and he handed me the drink, so for a moment our fingers touched.

  I felt nothing.

  ***

  The last bits of ice had melted off of Lake Ontario, as I observed its glittering surface once again from our office perch. If spring meant new beginnings, it also meant people getting fired. This time around it was our unsuspecting VP---the guy who ran the whole office---getting tossed out into the street. He’d been replaced with a fifty-something VP from Boston, as well as an associate from Boston who didn’t look much older than us. I couldn’t figure out the purpose of this “associate” guy…was he a translator for our difficult Canadian accents? Maybe they were here to “Americanize” us all. Would we be forced to stop saying “eh”? Would they replace our maple syrup with Mountain Dew?

  This is bullshit.

  ***

  Dark shaggy hair, hazel eyes, sturdy jaw, and fit but not muscular in that bloated “steroids” way. This was Aaron, the twenty-eight-year-old “associate” transplanted from Boston, or in my opinion, a spy from the American office. We were sitting across from each other at a modern dining table in our spacious office kitchen, with wall-to-wall windows making for an always distracting back-drop. For me however, the distraction was a guy named Aaron.

  I watched his jaw move up and down as he chewed on a bite of his sandwich. Well the boy knew how to chew, I’d give him that.

  He looked up at me just as I was about to drool and caught me staring. I immediately darted my eyes around the room, as if searching for someone who had called out my name. When someone turned out to be no one, I blushed and started stirring my vegetable medley soup.

  “Where are all your friends today?”

  I was so startled by his question that I dropped my spoon into the bowl, which produced an after-shock of little red splashes on my side of the table. He’s actually talking to me? Without ever looking at him, I wiped the table and frowned. “They’re not ALL my friends.”

  He smirked. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re like a wolf pack of twenty-three-year-olds.”

  “Do wolves even live that long?”

  We both smiled but I quickly reverted to a stony expression. “Anyway, I’ll be twenty-four next week, and you know what they say about co-workers, you can’t choose them. Just like your family.”

  “Why do you hate your co-workers and your family?”

  “I never said that!” I was shocked at the accusation while he sat there chuckling to himself. “I actually really like a couple of them.” I smiled at the thought of Laura and Jayla, and our twice-a-week gossip sessions at the café down the street.

  “What’s wrong with the rest of them?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Listen, the rest of ‘em are mostly fine, but I
’ve got limits okay? And wouldn’t you? When Amanda is hyper-competitive and Sierra’s a possible exhibitionist?”

  He laughed. Amanda was Tara’s replacement, and for the last seven months she’d reminded me of a Roman emperor’s right-hand-man, overly eager on the surface, but waiting to stab you in the back. As for Sierra, well…

  “Yeah, I kinda picked up on the exhibitionist vibe. It’s…different.”

  “Different and disturbing. I mean A: who has ‘naked Sundays,’ and B: who actually talks about it? Like put on your damn jogging pants and read a book, that’s what normal people do!”

  He laughed. “What kind of books do you like to read?”

  I didn’t really hear his question, because I suddenly realized that in true professional espionage form, he’d casually become my friend and gotten me to gossip about the others. He was obviously gathering intel for the HR demon, and to top it all off now he knew how much I hated naked Sundays. Would that be enough to ruin my career? Did hating being naked around the house mean I wasn’t confident enough to be in sales? Screw this guy. I ignored him and started to slurp up my soup in a hurry.

  “I SAID…what kind of books do you like to read?”

  Nuh-uh, I am NOT getting screwed by this American spy.

  I finished up my soup and cleared the table. “I just remembered I have a report to finish. See ya.”

  ***

  A week later on a rainy April evening, everyone from the office was lounging in the basement of our favourite English pub. It was my birthday, and even though only my “wolf pack” had planned on going out for drinks, our bosses and even our new VP from Boston had come along. I sipped my drink cautiously, as I eyed the HR demon’s movements around the room. The work day may have been over, but HR was still HR. To my relief, she reached for her coat and waved goodbye, shouting out a final “Happy Birthday!” to me before she left.

  Almost instantly the heaviness in the air was gone, and everyone became a bit more cheery.

  And drunken.

  Bill, the fifty-something VP from Boston handed me a replacement drink. “This round’s on me, birthday girl!” He laughed heartily, which caused his generous belly to vibrate. I had no idea what was funny, but who didn’t like a free drink? I laughed along. “Thank you!”

  After Bill made a few uncomfortable grunting noises, he excused himself and headed to the restroom. This left an open chair at our table, but only for ten or fifteen seconds, as Aaron helped himself and sat down.

  “How’s it going guys?” Matt and Derek simply nodded dismissively, as they had yet to warm up to having Aaron around the office. Maybe they were jealous because he talked in full sentences and had good hair. Not that I cared.

  “We’re good thanks!” said Laura. Leave it to Laura, to be the friendliest person in the room. Laura was the kind of person you wanted to spend every relaxing Sunday afternoon with. Her kindness was the perfect answer to my unchecked sarcasm, and based on our conversations, I was the perfect laugh when she needed one. “But what about you?” she continued. “How are you enjoying Toronto so far?”

  Aaron smiled. “It’s been good. It’ll get better when it stops raining, so I can actually do some exploring.”

  “Yeah…well it’s Spring,” I said. “Rain happens.” I suddenly realized I was being a bit rude, so I decided to change the topic. “Why did they send you to Toronto? I mean you’re not a Sales Director, so what do you even do all day?” The plan to be less rude had obviously failed miserably. “Sorry,” I quickly said.

  “No, it’s okay. I know I don’t have a job title like everyone else. It probably makes you think I’m a spy or something.”

  My eyes widened. Could he read my mind?

  “Well I’m not!” he quickly said.

  I smiled, and for the first time I wasn’t worrying about whether he was wearing a wire. “Think of it as fifteen American offices, and one lone Canadian one,” he said. “Canadian customers are definitely unique, but we’ve learned some tricks that Canada can also benefit from. So I guess I’m…consulting.”

  “Hmm…” I looked at him suspiciously.

  “What?” he said.

  “I may be new to the corporate world, but usually consultants roll in, recommend a bunch of people who should get fired, then roll the hell out.”

  He shook his head. “Trust me; your office has the biggest potential of any territory right now. We just want you to make the most of it.” He whispered the next part: “And if we DO fire someone, it’ll be ‘little miss naked Sunday’ over there.”

  I burst into laughter.

  “So why don’t those doofuses like me?” He signaled towards Matt and Derek.

  I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know…little brain syndrome, little dick syndrome…whatever makes guys act like idiots, they’ve got it.”

  He smirked. “I see. Well it’s fine. I don’t need coworker friends THAT badly.”

  “Or maybe you don’t need coworker friends who are guys.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Are you offering to be my friend?”

  “COWORKER friend. There’s a big difference. Now buy me another drink, buddy.”

  He laughed.

  “Do you think I’m joking? It’s my birthday. Hop to it.”

  He smirked but eventually obeyed, rising from his chair and making his way to the bar. Wow, it actually worked.

  And just like that, an unexpected birthday present fell into my lap: my first American friend…

  ***

  The rainy days and chilly evenings were finally on their way out, with late May and half-sleeve weather upon us. This was a big deal in Canada, since almost six months of winter left our arms hideously pale and our hearts a bit somber. And so, as soon as half-sleeve weather hit, Canadians would stretch out their arms and begin a brand new season of “farmer-tan.” At least the guys would, anyway. Girls, on the other hand, would roll up their sleeves as far behind their shoulder blades as possible, since a female “farmer tan” was as far from “Hollywood hot” as you could get.

  Every inch of my arms was currently shielded from the sun, as I was safe inside the office at my cubicle. I was finishing up a presentation for my boss, and starting to get annoyed that I created all the presentations, while he actually got to “present” them. Being a minion was proving to be a thankless job.

  I rose for a bathroom break but sat back down when I spotted Aaron, who was coming straight towards me and already smiling. For the last month or so, Aaron would often visit my cubicle, write me funny emails, or joke around with me on the phone. I’d never visit his desk in return, since it was right between the VP and HR offices, and I didn’t want to seem like I was sleeping my way to the top. Not that we were sleeping together, or doing anything together in fact. But people liked to talk. Which is precisely why Aaron would only visit when my cubicle neighbor Matt wasn’t around.

  “What’s up?” I said.

  “I need your advice on something.” He was holding a piece a paper and wearing a confused expression.

  “If that’s some weird mathematical equation…I might actually be able to help. I’m not Indian for nothing, you know.”

  He laughed. “No, it’s a bunch of places in Toronto. I’ve narrowed it down to this list, but what should I do first?”

  “Let me see that.” I grabbed the paper and scanned the list. Everything looked like fun, so fun in fact that my weekend of visiting my parents was starting to look pretty dull. “Well it’s gonna be warm this weekend, so you should A: check out the Harbourfont, B: catch a nice breeze, C: make fun of people who are sunbathing by dirty Lake Ontario, and D: eat some ice cream.”

  He laughed. “Sounds interesting.”

  “Well that’ll only get you to three p.m.” I suddenly had a thought. “But guess what? It’s your lucky day. Or weekend, actually.” I paused as he eyed me curiously. “Let me show you.” I typed something quick into Google and clicked the first link. The screen filled up with colourful works of art right out on the stre
et. “It’s an outdoor art exhibit. They do it every year, and it’s usually local artists.”

  “I like art,” he said.

  “And you’ll cross through a pretty cool neighbourhood on the way. You just have to know where to go.”

  “But that’s the problem. I have no idea where to go.”

  All this while I’d been creating the perfect set-up and I didn’t even realize it. “Well…”

  “Will you go with me?” he said.

  He’d blurted it out before I’d even had time to overanalyze it. Even without a lot of thought it seemed like a bad idea. I frowned.

  “Look I know what you’re thinking,” he said.

  “You do?”

  “Yes, and my opinion on it goes like this: what’s wrong with a coworker friend being a tour guide? I mean, if you don’t mind…”

  When he said it like that it didn’t seem so bad. “Okay, but I charge a fee, payable in scoops of ice cream.”

  “Alright, see you Saturday.”

  “It’s a date! I mean…it’s not. At all.”

  We both laughed awkwardly, just as evil HR lady curiously strolled by. Coworker friends. THAT’S IT.

  ***

  “Uh-huh. Yeah, I know!” I cradled the phone between my ear and my shoulder, as my mother scolded me like usual for reasons I’d never understand.

  “I told your dad not to send you to live in Toronto. Now look, you don’t even visit!”

  “It’s ONE weekend! And I told you, I have a work event.”

  That wasn’t a total lie. Aaron was a coworker after all.