New Year's Steve

Maybe I should dash downstairs to do a quick wellness check on accounting — it’s early enough in the day for them to have time to hit their goal, but the end of the week and the end of the line; just need to make sure they’re not buckling under the pressure. Hell, I’ve got nothing else to do other than check on them. My list is pretty short.

Haircut.

Shave.

Shower.

Date.

Yup, plenty of time to get everything done.

I got this.

I… take a deep breath and realize…

I stink.

Smelling one’s own armpits is never the classiest thing to do, especially not out in public, but it’s an action I can’t stop; not after catching a whiff of myself.

Sweat and fried food.

Ugh.

I stare at my reflection in the gold paneling of the interior of the elevator, groaning at the sight of my stubble, ripped up jeans, worn sneakers, and baseball cap with a shredded brim.

Adam was right. I should be carrying around a cardboard sign right now.

I suddenly regret leaving my jacket on the chair in my office. It sure would have been useful to cover up this mess of a concert tee shirt from the 90s.

I also could have used the sleeve of my jacket to scrub off the grease that’s on the inside of the doors when they slide open. I make a note to have Skeeter’s crew do a cleaning sweep of the four floors we occupy since the cleaning crew apparently hasn’t done it.

Not that I’ve seen him at all lately. I’ll mention it when I see him after he’s back from his vacation.

I step off the elevator and look back when it squeaks, the doors sliding slowly closed — then back open, stuck.

Hmm.

Weird.

It wasn’t doing that before when I got on; maybe the doors need to be oiled and not just cleaned. Granted, the maintenance guys aren’t elevator technicians, but if there’s something they can fix before we call in a third party, more power to us.

I push the red STOP button on the inside and the car stays put, halted.

Crouching in front of the power box, I open the small door with the Swiss Army Knife in my back pocket — the one I keep on my keychain — unscrewing it with alacrity.

Peer inside to see if a power switch has been tripped.

I may be no repair man, but I also live in a building with a cargo elevator that routinely breaks down, so I know a thing or two about the basics.

No electrical shorts. No tampering with the control panel.

No…

“Phew! There you are.” A cheerful voice is at my back as I stuff the pint-sized tool inside my jeans. “I’ve never been so relieved to see someone in my life.” The voice pauses. “Okay that’s overly dramatic — once I was relieved to see Santa Claus in my living room eating cookies, but we both know he’s not real and you are.”

I pivot on my rubber soles — which squeak the entire way, not unlike the elevator—and stare.The young woman claps her hands together in mock glee. “I’m so glad you’re finally here! When you’re done with the elevator can you replace that bulb above my desk?”

I have no idea what the hell she’s talking about, but she’s amusing and I keep my lips shut.

“If you haven’t listened to my voice messages, go ahead and delete them — I was starting to sound desperate, ha ha!”

What voice messages?

“I can honestly tell you that I have not listened to any desperate sounding voice messages.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not an admission that I have no idea who the hell she is. She, on the other hand, apparently knows me? But…

“What do you guys do down there in the custodial office all day? Drink coffee and eat donuts?”

Or maybe she doesn’t know me. What is she talking about?

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that — I’m sure you’re putting out more fires than I can only imagine. My busted light bulb situation is hardly a priority, not when elevators are breaking and windows have to be replaced.”

She looks to me for concession or agreement, and stupefied, I nod.

This girl is…

Cute.

No, scratch that. Not cute — pretty.

And oddly familiar?

Or am I losing my mind because I just had a pint of beer in the middle of the work day?

I find my voice. “I’m sorry, what did you say the problem was?” Sounds like a lightbulb in her office needs to be replaced, and that I can surely do.

After all, this is my office and my responsibility, and how better to lead by example than physically completing a task someone on my team needs help with.

I can lend a hand. I don’t have anything to do until four o’clock anyway.

“The light above my desk is flickering and it’s driving me insane — I have reports to get done by this afternoon and cannot afford the distractions. You have zero idea how awful it’s been! I had to buy a visor to wear to block out the flashing — I feel like a race horse wearing blinders.”