This is the laugh she has developed to fill dead air when she doesn't know the answer to a question. Which is often.
******
"It's that . . . that . . . sound . . ." Judy puts the cigarette poised between he pointer and middle finger to her lips and inhales shakily. Her sickly pale skin sucks into her gaunt cheeks and inflates with smoke. She exhales slowly and eyes me with an eyebrow lifted. "It's constant. The idiot. She just laughs instead of providing any information. 'Megan, do you know when we did this job?' AHAHAHAHAHAHA!'" Judy mimics the awful, repetitive noise.
She takes another drag of the cigarette and turns her gaze out to the street next to our parking lot.
"I can't deal. I work so much harder than her and I get none of the coddling or the . . . the . . . fucking . . . appreciation!" Her voice raises to a dull roar before she takes one last drag and tosses her cigarette to the ground.
"I don't need this." She snubs it with the toe of her sandal then looks at me steadily for one moment.
"I'm going to bomb this place someday." She says, her voice steeled with conviction. Then she turns and walks back into the building leaving me alone in the parking lot.
I believe her, is the thing. I can only hope that when that fateful day comes I will have had the common sense or dumb luck to have called in sick. For a moment I wonder idly if she would even warn me.
Upon walking back through the front door to our office I immediately hear the laugh. It resonates throughout the building and I can almost make out the simultaneous groan of everyone hearing it. I walk down the hall towards her office in the back corner. Although I've been putting it off all day I actually need to interact with Megan. I feel like I'm on death row.
When I arrive at her doorway I am met with stacks of manila envelopes and papers cluttered around her desk. I can barely see her for the mess. "Uh, Megan . . ." I start, darting my head to see past her clutter. "Do you . . . have a second?" Her head pops up from behind some papers and her glazed over, wild eyes survey me momentarily.
Don't move. . . It can't see you if you don't move"Yeah . . ." there is a pause then she bursts into giggles. I narrow my eyes and clear my throat.
"Do you have the correct billing information for this project?" I hand her a paper with the project details. She looks at it briefly. So briefly, in fact, that I wonder if she even registers what is on the page.
"I think I remember somethiiiiing . . ." she drags the word out while she spins around to her computer. "Let's see. There was this guy yesterday . . . and he called for . . . something . . ." her fingers tap at the keys as the computer screen brings up the project tracking program. "I think his name was . . . Bryan?" She asks herself, "or maybe Chad. I don't remember."
I roll my eyes from behind her. This is the interaction I was dreading.
"He said . . ." she stops typing and starts rifling through the piles of paper on her desk, " . . .that he was going to send me something and I thought maybe I wrote it down . . ."
I already know she won't remember. In fact, I think I might have known that before I entered her office. She knows nothing. Her continued employment here baffles me.
Picking up one of maybe a thousand post-it notes littered across her desk she sighs.
"Did you say you needed contact information?" Then . . . the giggle. It is uproarious and jolting. I lock my eyes to hers.
"Billing. Info." I reply steadily.
Another giggle. "For who?"
My jaw locks. I take in a deep breath through my nose. I close my eyes. Meditation is what works for Tibetan Monks, it can work for this.
You are a being of pure light and energy. And anger . . . we cannot forget anger.
"Do you have the correct billing information for this project?" I hand her a paper with the project details. She looks at it briefly. So briefly, in fact, that I wonder if she even registers what is on the page.
"I think I remember somethiiiiing . . ." she drags the word out while she spins around to her computer. "Let's see. There was this guy yesterday . . . and he called for . . . something . . ." her fingers tap at the keys as the computer screen brings up the project tracking program. "I think his name was . . . Bryan?" She asks herself, "or maybe Chad. I don't remember."
I roll my eyes from behind her. This is the interaction I was dreading.
"He said . . ." she stops typing and starts rifling through the piles of paper on her desk, " . . .that he was going to send me something and I thought maybe I wrote it down . . ."
I already know she won't remember. In fact, I think I might have known that before I entered her office. She knows nothing. Her continued employment here baffles me.
Picking up one of maybe a thousand post-it notes littered across her desk she sighs.
"Did you say you needed contact information?" Then . . . the giggle. It is uproarious and jolting. I lock my eyes to hers.
"Billing. Info." I reply steadily.
Another giggle. "For who?"
My jaw locks. I take in a deep breath through my nose. I close my eyes. Meditation is what works for Tibetan Monks, it can work for this.
You are a being of pure light and energy. And anger . . . we cannot forget anger."You have the paper, Megan." She casts her unfocused eyes downward to her desk where the information I gave her is now lost amidst the sea of other documents scattered in front of her.
The giggle bursts forth again. I am very close to my boiling point so I tell her I'll come back later for the information then practically run from her office.
Once I am at my desk again I try to steady myself. My nerves are shot. I feel strung out and too tense. My eyes wander to the bottom corner of my computer screen at the time.
It is only 8:30.
The giggle bursts forth again. I am very close to my boiling point so I tell her I'll come back later for the information then practically run from her office.
Once I am at my desk again I try to steady myself. My nerves are shot. I feel strung out and too tense. My eyes wander to the bottom corner of my computer screen at the time.
It is only 8:30.
