Team Meeting

As you may or may not know, we had a team meeting at work the other night. It was compulsory but only about 10 people actually showed up (hilarious and also sad because they bought 10-12 pizzas, garlic bread, soft drink... If someone is reading this whom I mentioned my consumption of five slices of pizza to, this is not the pizza to which I am referring. My dad, in fact, ordered in pizza for dinner at home. We buy our pizza from a halfway gourmet (it's not really) place nearby and it is so much better than Dominos. I therefore ditched work pizza in favour of home pizza. And that, my friends, is how I came to eat five slices of pizza on Saturday night. Riveting stuff).

I, obviously, showed up. Because I am both an exemplary employee and an outstanding citizen but also because my shift was from 12-5pm so it's not like I could ditch anyway. Among the other attendees was R, who also worked 12-5pm that day. We had a union lady come in and try to get us to pay $3+ union fee per week. I had North & South flashbacks and suddenly found myself on my feet, screaming about the injustices of the union. I've a family to feed! Wife and kids!

HE WAS A GOOD MAN.

Only a very small handful of people in this world (or at least in this portion of the internet) will know to what I refer. And, even then, they may not as the above is not an exact quote but a paraphrasing of sorts because I can't remember the exact quote.

All of the above regarding jumping to my feet is a lie. I did not. I sat in my seat (the display office chairs from the furniture department. Har har) and fondled my new free pen lovingly. The free pen (from the union lady. The only good thing the union has ever done for me) was exactly my favourite kind of pen. It's a Bic round stick (that's the name from memory...) and it is exquisite.

Anyway, Union Lady talked for a while. I resolutely refused to pay $3 per week because do you know how many soft serves I could buy with that? I don't even want to think about it. Union Lady left then we ate pizza. I, in fact, have lied again as I did have a slice of pizza at work (I thought it would be rude not to) in addition to four slices at home. When eating in public, I tend to dawdle to appear civilized and what have you. I will not go up to the refreshments table until everyone else has. I will choose a single item, sit back down and eat very, very, very slowly.

There I sat, with my slice of pizza, slowly picking off bits of olives and onions and popping them into my mouth as sensually as I could muster (R was within a 3m radius. Must appear as sensual as possible whenever he is in viewing distance). I napkined routinely to avoid any despicable tomato sauce stains on my mouth or general person. Later, as I threw my napkin into the bin, my napkin fatefully did not land in said bin. It bounced off the edge and landed on the ground.

R, being a gentleman, picked it up for me even though it was covered in despicable tomato sauce stains, and placed it in the bin for me. I came.

The team meeting was boring as fuck. Except the end when we were encouraged to voice any grievances or gripes. R was one of the main ones who spoke out. And not in an annoying, just-shut-the-fuck-up-so-we-can-go-home way but in a thoughtful, intelligent way. I came a lot that night (this is obvious an exaggeration for comedic effect. I only came a little).

The meeting soon ended and I went to sign out. R was in the office, also signing out. We were alone. I sidled up to him.
"You didn't have any gripes to say?" he asked.
"No," I said, my buttocks resting on the desk. "I'm only here five hours a week. It doesn't really make a difference to me."
"True," he said.
"But I agreed with what you said!" I quickly added so as to appear like a team player when I am really in it for the money and the now very occasional interactions with R.

He signed off and went to get his stuff from his locker. As I was signing out, he popped his head back in the office and said bye to me. I said bye back. It was very nonchalant.

Out in the car park, I glanced around. It was well dark by then and there were a couple of pockets of my coworkers, mingling before they left for the night. At the far end of the car park, I saw R opening his car door. He happened to glance back at that moment and flashed me his signature hang-ten hand gesture. I waved back and we went on our merry way.

What has this whole very mundane experience taught me? That, no matter what I tell myself or insist upon, I will always like R. As I sat in the team meeting, watching him while he aired his grievances to our manager, I noted his many imperfections. Crooked, horse-like teeth. Acne-scarred skin. Slightly greasy hair (couldn't tell if it was product or not. Probably not a good sign regardless). Despite all of these imperfections, many of which I may have considered a dealbreaker (to be said in a Tina Fey voice or a Big Michelle voice, attempting to imitate Tina Fey) a few years ago, his good humour, intelligence, strength of character and openness to others makes him so unforgettable and a very special person.

When he leaves for Japan, I will undoubtedly have to move on. I will always wonder how he is and what he's doing now. Without Facebook to tie us together for lyf, he will persist as a shard of glass in my memory. To catch the light on sunny days or on rainy, wet ones when you can't quite tell where the light is coming from. I won't be so dramatic as to say my heart is breaking from his imminent departure but I will say that I truly feel sad about this and wish him nothing but good things in life.

J