12: Am I or Am I Not?
Originally emailed on Mar. 29, 1998
Hi. Have you felt neglected the past few weeks? You should. Not only have I been too busy to write you, I can't even claim to have thought of you often. I have been frenzied. I had been cruising pleasantly, going to my classes, doing a little homework, being secretarial twenty hours a week--and suddenly I hit mid-term. I had a test every time I turned around, due dates that had seemed so safely far away in January were suddenly looming, my brilliant idea to pick up some extra money working at home by updating a bunch of databases for my boss--a job that seemed simplicity itself when I proposed it--turned into a huge nightmare because whoever set up the databases included data in single fields that should have been separated so I had to either re-type it or figure out a trick to get the computer to separate the info, and just when I was getting on top of things, my computer crashed. I ended up having to buy a new CPU because my old hard drive was fried. Fortunately I had a two-week old back-up, but I'd done quite a bit in that two weeks that had to be redone.
I wore calluses on my knees begging profs for extensions, and my boss wanted to "negotiate a rate" for the extra hours it was going to take me to re-do the databases. He thought I should only get, say, half my hourly rate for entering data the second time, while I, who know first-hand the tedium of data-entry, thought I should be paid double <g>. I was so angry at him for trying to stiff me that I thought I might have to quit over it, but one of the other managers pointed out to him that we have minor crashes at work all the time and we don't expect people to correct the problems off the clock. He argued back that employees don't usually bring "their own defective equipment" to the office, and that since this was "entirely my fault" I should have to bear the financial consequences. She argued back that it was hardly my fault my drive crashed. He said I should have had a better computer. She said, "Think of the cost in lost productivity alone if she quits over this and we have to train someone to take over." He said, "Well, that makes sense, but this will affect her annual performance review." All of this in my little workspace where I'm acting busy at the computer and pretending I don't hear them talking about me. Ah, the life of a wage-slave! Suffering humiliation while hoping and praying to be allowed to keep coming to work for the jerk who's humiliating you.
My boss disappeared into his office, and the other manager came over to me. Their rank is supposedly the same, but she has her own full-time secretary, which is part of why my boss gets so cranky. He only has me half-time, and the rest of the time he has to share the general clerical staff (one lonely woman who "shares" my desk--which means she has to go work in the copy room whenever I'm there) with a couple of dozen engineers and analysts. The distinction is not lost on him. Anyway, she leans over to me and says, "He's a prick. I won't let him stiff you on your next raise," which was nice to hear, but entirely inappropriate, I thought, so I just gave her a weak half-smile and kept typing.
But I didn't mean to bore you with a lot of bitching about work. It's just that in the rest of my life, not much is happening. The boys aren't doing anything cute enough to be worth reporting, the dog isn't doing anything cute enough to be worth reporting, and my boyfriend Ed isn't doing anything cute enough to be worth reporting.
I did have a conversation with Harriet and Nona about Ed the other night. They had picked me up to go to a movie, and the minute my butt hit the back seat of Harriet's car, she said to me, "So, what kind of birth control are you and Ed using?"
Nona said, "Harriet, that's none of your business."
I said, "And what makes you think we even need birth control?"
Harriet said, "Well, that's what I really want to know. Do you and Ed need birth control? Are you finally, you know, doing it?"
Nona said, "Harriet, I know you're younger than me, but I had imagined you were older than twelve. Keep your mind out of the gutter and on your driving."
I said, "My relationship with Ed is a private matter, Harriet."
Harriet said, "You're doing it! Nona, they're doing it! Cause if they weren't, Louella would tell us. I mean, before they weren't, and she was telling us. You remember. 'Oh, Harriet, I don't understand why I'm not sleeping with this sweet sexy guy. Is it ambivalence about dating a man? Is it that I don't like him as much as I think I do? Am I suffering from an obsessive fear of pregnancy? Oh, woe is me!' And then all of a sudden she shut up about it, and I said to you, you remember, Nona, I said, 'Louella hasn't mentioned not having sex with Ed for a couple of weeks, so I bet they're doing it.' Am I right?"
Nona said, "You are right, I remember you saying that. And do you remember what I said to you? I said, 'Harriet, what Louella is doing or not doing with Ed is none of our business unless she makes it our business, so I think you should shut up about it.' Which is my advice to you now."
"You're right, Nona," Harriet said. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Lou." But then she mouthed at me in the rearview mirror, "You're doing it," and made an O with her left hand and popped her right index finger in and out of it a couple of times. Nona slapped her hands and said, "Get those back on the wheel!" I arranged my face in what I hoped was an enigmatic expression, but I couldn't keep from laughing eventually because all the way to the multiplex Harriet kept raising her eyebrows at me in the mirror, and Nona would say, "Harriet, stop that!" and Harriet would say, "What? My hands are on the wheel!" and then wink at me lasciviously. I was trying to act huffy and offended, but I wasn't really, and Nona was trying to act like it was all a joke but I think she truly wished Harriet would quit teasing me.
At the multiplex, Harriet excused herself from her seat during the previews to go to the bathroom, but she came back with popcorn and a whole box of jujubes just for me. I said, "Are you trying to make up for teasing me?" and she said, "No, we're celebrating."
I said, "What are we celebrating?"
She said, "That you're finally sleeping with Ed."
I said, "I didn't say I was, and if I were, don't you think the sex would be its own reward? Who needs jujubes when you're being multiply orgasmic four nights a week?"
Harriet said, " Are you? How multiply? Two? Three? Dozens and dozens coming in infinite uncountable waves? Have you seen God?"
I said, "This popcorn needs more salt."
Harriet opened her mouth, but Nona put a restraining hand on her arm and said, "Louella, Harriet has some very exciting news to tell you but she's a little shy about it, and that's why she's being so adolescent tonight."
Harriet said, "I'm not telling my news until Louella fesses up about Ed."
Nona said, "Harriet! Drop it! Louella is being a good sport but if she wanted to tell you the details of her physical relationship with Ed, she would have by now."
Harriet and I both made as if to say something, but the movie was beginning so we both shut up. I sat and ate my jujubes--holding them all up to the screen first so I wouldn't eat an icky black one by mistake--and watched the movie, which was Titanic for the second time. I let my mind wander during the insipid dialogue, but I love the part where the boat sinks, and I love the elegance. There's a poem called Titanic by David Slavitt, that begins:
Who does not love the Titanic? If they sold passage tomorrow for that same crossing, who would not buy?
But my point was that I had to sit through a very long movie before I found out that Harriet's exciting news is that Nona convinced her to apply for the fall semester at Michigan State, and she's been accepted. She's going to take twelve credits and cut back to part-time at work. I hugged her when she told me, and said, "That's just great. I'm so happy to hear it. And as your reward, I'll tell you whether I'm sleeping with Ed."
Harriet said, "And are you?"
I said, "Maybe."
© Copyright 1997-2001 Su Penn. Design by David Dierauer.
