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Sarah
“Sarah? Are you listening? Did you hear what I said?” Rebecca squeaks.
God, that voice. I wince, giving her the only reply she wants. “I’m listening.”
That’s a lie. I’m currently spying on my new neighbor. It’s early, so he must be headed to work. He moved in last week and so far, I’ve only seen the back of his head and if the front matches it, my neighbor is one sexy man. Too bad for me the rest of his face is hidden by the shadows of the white, pink, and red balloons floating above the walkway. The owners of my apartment complex go crazy with decoration, putting something up for every holiday. Since it’s nearing Valentine’s that means hearts, streamers, and balloons. All five stories have covered walkways, so their efforts are safe from the weather.
If I wasn’t me, I’d march right over with a plate of cookies, store-bought because I can’t bake, and introduce myself. But I am me and talking to people, especially strangers, is not my strong suit. So, I’ll continue to lurk behind the blinds, monitoring his comings and goings as I do with everyone else on this floor. People-watching is how I feel connected to an outside world I otherwise avoid, only leaving my bubble of peace when necessary or when my best friend Amber forces me out.
Firmly believing that I am indeed listening, my boss continues abusing my ear with her high-pitched voice. Rebecca Delacroix is the bane of my existence. A stuck-up, pompous, wannabe, she has the nerve to flounce about like she’s an expat from France, when, in fact, she was born and raised right here in Lockton. I went to school with her younger sister, Stacey… whose family is Johnston, not Delacroix like Rebecca claims.
The only reason why Ms. High ‘n’ Mighty changed it was to give her matchmaking business, Forever Love, an air of authenticity. Because whom better to help you find your true love than a French person? Everyone knows France is the capital of love. All her words… not mine. She prides herself on being able to find a match for anyone, with the help of her two assistants, Tiffany the witch and Bethany the whiner.
I call BS on this whole matchmaking scam she’s running. It’s all fake. Starting from the owner’s phony name, right down to the way the matches are made. And I oughta know. I’m the one that’s making them… well, the program I wrote is. That’s right. There’s no pouring through files or taking personal care to ensure that each match is made with one hundred percent accuracy, like Rebecca claims in her ads. Sure, clients come for a one-on-one, sitting there answering invasive question after invasive question while Rebecca and her cohorts claim to be taking notes when what they’re really doing is feeding the information to the system.
After the client leaves, they hit a button and presto, my handy dandy program does the rest, declaring a match when two people share three or more interests. Forever Love isn’t looking to live up to its name. It’s looking to make money. Judging from the fancy clothes and car, Rebecca’s sports, and the stupid amount of money she pays me for doing practically nothing, this love-finding scam is raking in the dough.
It’s a cushy job even if I can’t stand the owner or the people who work there. The program I’ve written is basic as heck, requiring next to little maintenance other than the occasional update. For the most part, I divide my time between setting up the automatic emails from a template, things like ‘hey you owe us money’, or ‘hey haven’t heard from you in a while… how’s your love life going’ and serving as tech support, helping the technically challenged trio.
They struggle to navigate basic things like spreadsheets and online survey forms. I once spent half a day showing them how to recover deleted files, and neither one of them is the brightest bulb in the pack. I actually had to go into the office for that one, something I don’t often have to do. The high pay plus the fact I get to work from home are the only reasons why I stay, but here lately my patience, and sanity, have been running thin.
In her infinite wisdom, Rebecca has planned a Valentine’s Day dinner extravaganza, to take place the Saturday before the actual big day. Take all the hopeless duds, who, despite striking out a gazillion times, still believe in ‘the system,’ sprinkle in some fresh meat, andBam!you got a fancy dinner party for fifteen or so couples. She even rented out a restaurant for this nonsense, charging people two hundred a pop for, I quote, “a unique Valentine’s experience.”
The local steakhouse and the Dollar Store. The love guru from France rented out the local steakhouse, bought some tacky, cheap ass decorations from the Dollar Store, and voilà—you have a unique experience. I haven’t seen it yet, but I’m sure Rebecca will send out pictures after the event. I’m visualizing rustic Texas-style decor with a bottle of Pepto dumped all over it.
Thank God I don’t have to do any real work for this shit show. I only had to send out a questionnaire to all active clients. Those that checked yes and sent in their two hundred big ones got an invite, and those that didn’t, well—didn’t.
“Sarah!” I’m pretty sure Rebecca just hit a note only dogs can hear.
Looks like it’s time to put a pin in my people-watching for the moment and focus on the person who signs my paychecks. “Yes, Rebecca?”
To remove all temptation, I leave my desk, conveniently located by the window, and flop down on the couch.
“So you’ll be there?”
“Be where?” I ask, beyond confused. Man, I hope I didn’t miss anything important.
“Oh my God, Sarah! I knew you weren’t listening. I knew it!” The distraught shriek Rebecca let out let me know that I definitely missed something important. “Get here now!” Yep, super important.
Occasionally I have to go into the office for one thing or another but Rebecca or Tiffany usually send me an email requesting my presence, only calling me if it’s a true emergency. Judging by Rebecca’s panicked tone, she feels this is.
“Calm down, Rebecca. It may not be as bad as you think. I can probably fix it from here. Can you calmly run me through what happened?” I settle back down at my desk and prepare to remotely take over her computer, sure I can troubleshoot it from here.
“Damn, Sarah, focus. It’s not my computer—it’s Valentine’s dinner. One of the clients went and fell in love. On. Her. Own.” She pauses and mumbles what I think is “selfish bitch.” “Now we’re one short and the dinner is tomorrow. I need you to slap on some make-up, stuff yourself into whatever semi-decent outfit you can find in that sweatpants-filled closet of yours, and pretend like you’re a client. Your date will be Chad Cooper.” Rebecca delivers all of this like it’s a done deal. This woman has lost her damn mind. Not only is it dishonesty, but I also don’t want to do it.
Ignoring the dig about my weight, compared to her size zero, I’m sure my size twelve-wearing self is huge. I instead cringe at the name she said. Oh, I know Brad Cooper well. They bitch about him every week, calling me to up his points of compatibility. This man is a marathon dater, dismissing potential matches for something as simple as wearing the wrong color of nail polish. Mr. Cooper prefers neutral colors. No way he’ll go for my mousey demeanor. Besides, I’m a recluse in training. Pretty sure going to a mass dating event is against the rules.
“Brad Cooper! Are you serious? I mean, I’d say no to anyone you picked… but Brad Cooper? That’s a huge hell no.” You have to be firm with people like Rebecca. They spend a lifetime browbeating others into doing what they want. Well, this is one time her insistent nagging and whining won’t work. “And he’ll hate me. I’ll be his worst so-called match yet. You’ll never hear the end of it.”
Rebecca waits so long to reply I start to think that she might’ve hung up, but no such luck. She was gearing up to hit me with the big guns—my job.
“Sarah, what do you do all day?” Does she expect an answer? “I’ll tell you what you do…” No… no, she doesn’t.
I spread my fingers across my forehead, moving my thumb and middle finger in a circle on my temple, attempting to rub away the tension headache I feel coming. This is going to end badly.
“You do nothing, Sarah. You do nothing all day. That little program thingy you made does all the work. You hardly ever come into the office because everything you do can be done from home. And remind me—how much time does all your ‘tasking’ take? Hmm?”
