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There is also one from George thrown into the mix, with information about next week’s schedule, one from a coworker inviting me to happy hour next Friday, and one from the Revelers’ front office letting me know I can pick up my parking permit any time today or tomorrow.
I’ve been taking an Uber to the stadium, but that’s only because parking around the stadium is awful and it saves me time. However, having my own permit will be convenient and keep me from having to head back to the station to pick up my car after night games.
When I make it through all of the junk that the filters didn’t catch, there is still one unread email. The subject line reads:Greer, long time no see.
At first, I think it’s something from a viewer, possibly someone who moved out of state or something… maybe they’re back in New Orleans and missed our station. But then, I open the email and read the contents:A sense of entitlement is a cancerous thought process that is void of gratitude and can bedeadlyto our relationships.” ? Steve Maraboli
It’s the boldeddeadlythat makes my stomach knot. Glancing around, I’m not sure what I’m looking for, maybe just to remind myself I’m in a public place and have nothing to worry about. Or maybe, I want to make sure no one is reading over my shoulder, because after reading it a few times, my knee-jerk reaction is to delete the email and pretend like I never saw it.
I mean, it’s just an email, right?
Maybe it’sblackdiamond259’s favorite quote?
This isn’t the first email I’ve received from this sender, but it’s been over a month since I’ve seen this username in my inbox. And the earlier emails weren’t this creepy. They were more observational, usually mentioning my latest public interest story. Sure, they weren’t my typical viewer email, but they didn’t have this tone.
Something is different about this one. I guess they might’ve meant to add an explanation for the quote and accidentally hit send instead… I’ve done that before—started an email and forgot to finish it. That’s plausible.
But if that’s the case, why isn’t there a follow-up email? Because it was sent over nine hours ago, at three-thirty in the morning to be exact, so the sender had plenty of time to write and send an additional email.
Beyond that, the words make my skin prickle.
The more I read it, the more I agree with the sentiment. Entitlementiscancerous. I almost hit the reply button and tell the sender just that, but my gut won’t let me.
Chewing on my thumb nail, I decide it’s better to not engage, but I don’t delete it like I have the others. For some reason, I pull it over into a new file and then close my laptop. As I finish off my coffee, I notice a slight tremble in my hand, and I breathe in and out slowly to get my heart rate back to normal. The adrenaline spike was unexpected. It usually takes a lot to rattle me, so why is this email getting to me?
When I glance down at my watch, I see it’s already after three and I have a game to cover tonight, so I stand and smooth down my skirt.
“Are you headed out?” CeCe asks from behind the counter.
“Yeah, I need to get back to the station,” I tell her, as I shoulder my bag and grab my empty glass from the table, walking it over and placing it in the bin provided for dirty dishes. “I’ll probably see you tomorrow.”
“See you then,” she calls out. “And good luck to you and those superstitious baseball boys.”
Her wink makes me laugh and helps ease some of the anxiousness coursing through my body, but I can’t shake the feeling I have when I walk out of the shop, like I’m being watched.
My eyes take in each person who passes me, and I find myself glancing around at storefronts as I go by, looking for anything or anyone out of the ordinary—a reason for my paranoia—but nothing sticks out.
The ring of my phone actually makes me jump and I laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.
Get a grip, Greer.
When I look at the screen, I see it’s Sophie and immediately answer.
“Hey,” I say, still trying to sound normal.
“Hey, sorry it took me so long to call you back,” she says. “It’s been a crazy day, but sounds like things have been even crazier for you.”
I texted her yesterday, letting her know Whitney is moving out and asking if she knows anyone who might need a place to stay. I don’t have to have a roommate, but I like having one. It makes my life a little more comfortable and keeps me from dipping into my savings, which hopefully will be what I use to buy a house one of these days.
When I meet the person I’m supposed to live my life with.
Whenever that is, if ever.
“I can’t believe Whit finally found her future Mr. Rothberg!” Sophie exclaims, making us both laugh. “I mean, I can, but I thought her and Conrad would have one of those really long, drawn out engagements, but it sounds like they’re taking the fast track instead. At this rate, they might be married before me and Owen.”
Appreciating the distraction, I let out a deep sigh. “I know. I thought I had a little more time to find a replacement.”
“You’ll be fine, right?” Sophie asks, the concern evident in her tone.
