worried

2

"Do you have anything orchids stock right now?"

"No."

"Well, okay," I say. "Thanks."

I hang up and cross out ROYAL COURT FLORISTS on my ever-growing list of flower shops in the city. A similar conversation has played out with the thirteen places I've called before Royal Court (it's November, for God's sake, no one has a bunch of Hawaiian leis on hand!) and yet I cannot relent until I've tried every single place.

Why am I looking for leis? Some vague, undisclosed event my boss will be attending tonight. Apparently, his job is to bring the fucking florals. So now, the job is mine.

SONNY'S FLOWERS is the next victim on the list. As I dial the number, I think about the thirty-seven invoices in my inbox that are at least two weeks overdue. I should be working on those getting out for payment. That is, after all, my real job.

Alas...

"Hi there! I was wondering if you had any leis in stock?"

I can only presume Sonny himself is on the phone with me. He scoffs. "It's not graduation season."

"So is that a no?" I ask.

"That's a no, ma'am."

I hate how all these people are calling me ma'am. It's like staring down the barrel of my youth and... I don't know, realizing I've already been shot of out the gun. I mean, I've become somebody who calls florists. Kids don't do that. Ma'ams do.

As I'm crossing out Sonny's name and prepping to dial the number for BIG APPLE FLORALS (mind you, we don't even live in New York...), my boss's head suddenly pokes up at front of my cube –– a maneuver that's quite the jump scare when you're slacking off and playing Tetris.

"How's it going?" he asks. "Any leis?"

"It's the off-season for those types of orchids, so most florists in town needed a day or two's notice."

"That's not what I asked."

"Right." I refer to my notes. "There's...There's a place on the east side that has enough orchids to make a lei."

"A lei?"

"Yes."

"Well, I can't bring one."

"I know that," I say. "But I have that lei on hold and I'm looking for more. I might be able to find "

He wipes his forehead, perturbed. Since we are approaching the final quarter close of the year, I'm choosing to believe his stress is angled at that and not me. "I'm not sure I'm going to be able to visit a bunch of flower shops to pick all these up," he says. "I need to be on the road at four."

"I'll do my best to find one place," I assure him. I gesture to the list, and all the ones I have left to call. "One of these places is bound to have your leis."

"Okay," he says. "Is lunch coming soon?"

"Should be getting here in about five minutes."

"Okay."

His head drops down, out of my cube's sight.

As always, no thank you. It's been long enough that I know shouldn't expect one, but still. It would be nice.

You know, I heard it in a college seminar once that your first job out of college should be a one-year thing. Just a steppingstone to help you grow your confidence in the corporate world. By the time you've reached the annual mark, the speaker said, you ought to have made enough connections in your office that one of them could either point you in the direction towards a new company, or help you secure a promotion.