Logan Chapter 31

-Emory-

I catch myself thinking I should have gotten a dog way before now for probably the millionth time as I wake up refreshed for the first time since my and Logan’s date. I’m surprised about it, because I got to bed later than usual due to a lengthy battle of wills with Logan-dog over whether or not he would be allowed in the bed with me. After we established he outweighed me both physically and in patience, I resigned myself to snuggling with someone whose claws threatened to ruin my sheets every time he had a dream about chasing something. If this is the result, though, there won’t be another fight about it. I even feel good enough to actually go into work today. I won’t be taking the stairs, for sure, but I at least don’t have to immediately quit and try to draw disability for ‘rare unknown disease.’

My first test of patience for the day comes with making sure the huge red mark on my neck is covered. Luckily, it’s not at all uncommon to wear a turtleneck in New York at the end of January. I only have the one turtleneck sweater because I hate how they feel and look on me, but I resign myself to it for today until I have time to dig up a bunch of more fashionable scarves.

I walk my new buddy all the way to work with me, and tell him to do whatever he does until I get done. I hope he’s there when I get out. I hate letting him run around where he could get hurt or taken to the pound, but I just couldn’t leave him in my apartment in good conscience. For one, the space is just barely big enough to hold him. For two, there’s no way for me to put a doggie door or whatever in for him and I haven’t had time to arrange for a dog walker. Plus, he was on the streets on his own every time I saw him before I brought him in last night.

I’m trying to figure out how to find a dog walker that I trust enough to know where I live by tomorrow when one of my coworkers pops her head out of her cube as I walk by. It’s apparently time for my second test of patience. Three strikes and I fully give myself permission to eat another tub of rocky road. I’m almost eager for it. “Wow, Emory, that must have been a nasty flu. You look like you’ve lost weight. You’re not contagious are you?” She crinkles her nose in mock concern.

I guess that’s a fair question. “No, I’m out of the woods with it. Thanks for the concern, though, Sara. I really appreciate it.” I mimic her insincere simper back at her as I pass her by. The job is great, but I’m oh for three of my coworkers I can stand. Nobody else has really warmed up to me enough to talk yet, but from what I’ve seen of how everyone else interacts that’s not unusual. We’re all competing to get our names on the most projects and there’s no room for soft hearts in that kind of environment. I try to put the interaction out of my mind as I enter my own cube and resolve to walk outside a bit with Logan-dog and look up dog walkers around us on my phone over my lunch.

As if she heard that thought, my boss comes stomping up behind me with my third test of the morning. Rocky road, here I come. She has a habitual power play where she just looms over you at the ‘doorway’ to the cube until you either ask her what she needs or have to try and get around her to leave. I choose to bite the bullet and swivel around in my chair. “Hello, Brittany. What can I do for you? I’m so glad to be feeling better and back to work.” She grunts like she thought I was just taking an unscheduled vacation and crosses her arms.

"I need a doctor’s note for the week off. And don’t think you’re off the hook for the work you should have gotten done over that week, either. Your laziness overburdened Sara and she had to work overtime last week. Make sure to ask her how you can help her catch up or I’ll hear about it.” She turned and left without giving me a chance to reply either way, but I relax in my chair anyway. That wasn’t as bad as it could have been, and I’m sure if I just call and ask, my doctor will supply a note saying I came in feeling like steaming garbage. I’m surprised she didn’t notice the apparently obvious weight loss and understand it to be evidence to the contrary of pure laziness. Whatever. I can deal with Sara’s dirty work for a week. I have to claw my way back up to the top here.

I set up my laptop and log into my work email. After spending a solid hour clearing out the useless messages and sorting the remaining ones by priority, I can finally see what needs to be done for the next couple of days and fit Sara’s work around it. I get up to grab it before I get any actual planning for the week done. Just because we’re the creatives in the company doesn’t mean we’re not expected to stick to schedules.

“Hey Sara, I was told to help you catch up from last week. What has you behind?” I see the malicious glint in her eye and sigh inwardly. She’s going to make this annoying for me.

“Oh hello again, Emory. I need these copied,” she hands me a huge pile of different specs and contracts to go with each “make sure you don’t get them mixed up. I need the first three in triplicate and the last one I need twelve copies of. Come back to me when you get that done.” Making copies sucks so much. She must have been saving every contract from the whole week in anticipation of making me do it. I usually make the necessary copies of design ideas and what each would cost for the clients after every contract just to avoid babysitting the copy machine for hours. This bullshit will probably be the rest of my day and I’ll get yelled at again by Brittany for looking unproductive. Contracts can’t be left on their own, though, for security reasons. Just hold on for the rocky road. You can make it. After a day like this I deserve to just eat it with a spoon straight from the gallon instead of getting a bowl. It’s not even lunch yet.