My Grandmother Died – Episode 1, Part 2
I spend my weekend plotting ways to kill my best friend. As a murder/suspense writer it wouldn’t have been difficult. I could have purchased a burner phone, rented a car, and buried the body… Um, never mind – forget I said anything. Unfortunately, there were three foreseeable problems with my plan. First, Carmen sent out a group text to all our friends saying that if she went missing or was found dead, that I did it. Dude, where’s the trust after 20 years of friendship? Yes, my favorite TV show is Snapped, but I only watch it for research. Don’t laugh, I’m serious. Girl Scout’s honor. The fact that I was never a scout doesn’t matter – I like the cookies.
Second, if I did kill Carmen, her mother would kick me out of my apartment. If that happened, I’d be forced to live in my car because I have a complicated relationship with my family. No, I’m not going to explain why…mind your business. Who am I kidding? I’ll tell you later.
Third, if I’m a vagabond, I won’t have 24/7 access to electricity, and I need that to work on the sequel to my book. Perhaps this is my destiny though. I read somewhere that J.K. Rowling used to be homeless so maybe God has the same fate for me. If that’s true, Lord, then I need to holla at you for a second. Do you think I can just skip over the vagrancy portion of my life and fast forward to the part where I have those Harry-Potter-type coins? I swear I’ll be a productive citizen, and I’ll even lower my shade-meter from 100% to about 25%. I’m sorry, but I can’t go completely cold turkey yet. I’m still a work in progress. My tongue can be delivered, but the face ministry will take time. I can’t help it if my expressions give away what I think of other people’s BS.
Um…what’s that, God? What about my pettiness? Yeah, I promise to work on that too. But if I fail, that’s what forgiveness is for, right?
Suddenly, God’s quiet.
Okay, okay, I’ll find my bible and try to do better.
Shh…don’t tell God, but I need to get Carmen back before I commit to petty celibacy. And an epic scheme is already forming in my head. Evil laugh.
After hearing about the three reasons why I couldn’t kill Carmen, you’re probably wondering why jail wasn’t listed. Sadly, I didn’t think of it until just now because my revenge plot might land me there too. But yeah, prison would suck. Although not going to the Beyoncé concert would suck more. Yup, it always comes back to Queen Bey.
Since I don’t have any other options, I show up to the Colorado Bank of Foolishness (that’s not its real name, obviously, but it’s a true description of this financial institution) at 8am on Monday morning. That’s when the nonsense commences. I fill out all the bullshit paperwork and then my new boss, Paul, presents me to the team. He introduces me separately to Jordan, the person who’s going to be training me for the next two weeks. Jordan, the Mitch, tells me to grab a chair and sit next to him. You’ll find out later in the story why I call him a Mitch. I listen to him jabber on for hours (blah, blah, blah) about the bank’s policies and underwriting rules, and none of it matters because I hate him already. To be fair, I typically hate everyone and everything.
At noon, Jordan announces that the entire team is going out together for lunch and to grab my coat. Basically, he wants to continue the torture for another hour, but he’s invited guests along to watch me suffer. I can’t say no because my boss is going, and it’s something the company does with all new employees. The introvert in me is calling them everything but a child of God. I’m conjuring up demons in my mind that can swallow up the ground and take them all with it. Problem is, it’ll probably grab me first. So, I go to plan B and try to put a hex on them, but that’s also ineffective. Hey, don’t act like you’ve never done that to people you despise. Psst…if it’s ever worked, shoot me a private message and tell me how you did it. Purely for research for my next book, of course.
They choose a Thai restaurant, and I order a salad. I’m a picker eater so I disliked every dish on the menu. I eat in silence as I listen to my coworkers drone on about someone in the processing department who’s cheating on her husband with another coworker. These folks are messy as hell, but I do love me some good gossip. And as soon as I get back to the office, I plan to search for these employees in the directory so that I can put names with faces. I need to know who to judge and side-eye when they’re not looking.
After a few minutes, the conversation becomes a bit stifled until one of the women decide to ask a hypothetical question.
“Hey everyone, if you had a choice, what decade or century would you return to if you had a time machine? I want each person to pick one and explain why.”
The dude with the bad haircut says, “I’d go back to the 60’s during Woodstock because I think it was a freer time with the music.” Yeah with the drugs too. And that’s why you chose it.
“I’d go back to the sixteenth century because I love corsets,” the chick with the bad highlights declares. Yeah, fun times. Nothing like cutting off your circulation and not being able to breathe so that you can look cute for some sorry ass dude. Girl, you’re married now – just let yourself go. Be free!
Disclaimer: I didn’t say all dudes so stay out of my comments with your “not me” inanity. If I’m not talking about you then hush.
“I’d go back to the 50’s because it seemed like a simpler time for families,” the muscle head with the tight t-shirt announces. He clearly wants his woman to stay home and just be a wife and mother. See disclaimer above if this offends you.
And why is this idiot wearing a t-shirt when it’s 20 degrees outside?
Now it’s my turn and all eyes are on me. Don’t say anything, Robin. Be politically correct with your answer because that’s what you’re supposed to do in a corporate environment. Just pick something simple like the 80’s, and say it’s for the music, then be quiet.
I ignore my own warnings and blurt, “You do realize that I’m black, right? But hmmm…let me think. Should I go back to slavery when my ancestors toiled in the fields for free, but they weren’t free? Or perhaps go back to Jim Crow when segregation was legal, and my people couldn’t even drink from the same water fountain as white folks. Or maybe I should go back to the civil rights movement, so I can watch racists kill Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Or perhaps I should stay in the present where people are calling the cops on us every day, and we’re being killed because of the color of our skin. I can’t drive, eat, shop, walk in my own neighborhood, go to school, or do anything else while black. So, no Becky, no decade or century has ever been good for me or my people.” Her name isn’t really Becky, but I don’t care. I have the impulse to raise my fist, but I resist.
Strike one against me.
The awkwardness that follows is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before, and with my personality, I’ve faced moments like these a lot. No one says a word, and everyone refuses to look at me. Even the guy, who’s also a person of color, avoids eye contact. He’s played the corporate game for so long that he’s allowed himself to believe that the world doesn’t see him any differently. Most of us know people like Tom, and unfortunately, we know that’s not true.
We all breathe a sigh of relief when the waiter comes and asks if we want dessert. Paul answers no and asks for the check. While he’s taking care of the bill, my phone vibrates. I see that it’s Julius and quickly jump up from the table. Normally, I’d let it go straight to voicemail, but I need an escape. I politely excuse myself and head towards the restrooms.
“Hello. This is Robin.”
“Hi. This is Julius. Carmen said I should call you to see if you’re free for dinner tonight.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t. I just found out this morning that my grandmother died.” In my peripheral vision, I see Jordan going into the bathroom, but I ignore him and finish speaking to Julius. “I have to head back east for the funeral so perhaps we can do it when I return to Colorado.”
“Carmen told me that you might lie and use your grandmother’s death as an excuse to not accept the date, and that I shouldn’t believe you.”
Shit. Carmen is completely ruining my life. “Fine then. But not tonight. A new job plus a new dude all in the same day. No thanks. My head would probably explode from having to be nice for additional two to four hours. I’m free on Wednesday.”
“Okay, I’ll call you on Tuesday night to confirm the time and place.”
“Don’t call me. Just text the information, and I’ll show up.”
I disconnect the call and head back to the table. Everyone is standing and ready to leave, which is perfect because I can’t take another minute of that uncomfortable silence. Becky gives me the side-eye as we’re walking out the door, and I smile. I appreciate the effort, but no one is better at scorn on varying levels than me. I get that she’s mad that I ruined her perfect little game, but I’m unbothered. Her tears are not my concern. Next time, she needs to be more considerate. And please spare me the “it was only a game” discourse. Years of persecution is not amusing nor is it a game to the people who were oppressed.
Once we get back to the CBF (Colorado Bank of Foolishness), Paul asks to see me alone. Usually, when someone is called into the boss’ office, they’re nervous, but not me. I’m certain I’m going to get fired, and I’m ecstatic. I want to dance like Beyoncé did to Everybody Mad at Coachella.
However, I know that I need to be professional for Carmen’s sake, so I quietly take a seat.
“Is there something wrong, Paul? Am I being fired?”
Paul chuckles, “No. Absolutely not, Robin.”
Hell, I can’t even get fired right. “Then why am I here?”
“Jordan told me that your grandmother died. First, let me offer you my condolences.”
So he was listening in on my conversation. He’s probably the reason why everyone knows about the office affair. Such a man bitch – Mitch. “Well, actually sir…” I hesitate as I search for the appropriate words.
“The company’s policy is to not allot bereavement days until an employee has been here for six months, but I’m going to make an exception for you.”
“But Paul, my grandmother didn’t…”
He keeps talking like he didn’t hear me. “We’ll give you three days, and you’ll get paid your regular salary. So why don’t you make today your last day, and we’ll see you back here on Friday, unless you need more time to fly to New Jersey. I know you’re not from Colorado.”
“Uh, no. I wouldn’t need more time. The funeral is on Wednesday night, so I can be back by Friday.” I fell right into the lie the minute he told me that I’d have three paid days off. I mean, I’m not really hurting anyone, am I? And my absence will give the team some time to get back to normal after that spectacle at lunch. See…it’s incidences like today that solidifies my belief that I shouldn’t be allowed outside with regular people.
I get up to leave before I change my mind and decide to tell the truth. I can’t wait for my paid three-day weekend to begin. All I have to do is get through the next few hours.
“Thank you, Paul. I appreciate your generosity and kindness. You have no idea how happy you’ve made me. I’m grateful that I’ll get the opportunity to say my final goodbyes to my grandmother. I’d already told my family that I couldn’t come because I’d started a new job, but I can call my sister and tell her that I’m coming now.” I know I’m laying it on thick, but I suck at lying to strangers.
“No need to thank me. I just wish you were going home under better circumstances. Just make sure you stop by HR to finalize everything before you leave today.”
“I will. Thanks again.” I rush out the door beaming with happiness. I’m definitely going to hell, but at least I’ll have three free paid days and a Beyoncé concert to enjoy before it happens.
Stay tuned for part 3 when you get to meet the one person who truly scares me…
