1
Felicity
“All I want for New Years, is youuuuu, bay-bee…”
I am still feeling that post-Christmas buzz.
The eggnog might be dried up from the holiday party, but my desk chair is swiveling, and I’m humming along to the same song I started playing November first. Sure, I might have to change up the words to suit the current holiday fever in the air, but as long as the radio keeps playing it, I’m going to listen.
No one can hear it anyway; last year I was promoted and with that comes a swanky private office.
I kick the volume up a notch on my wireless speaker perched in the corner of my work space and flick the gold, black, and silver streamer the office administrative staff decorated my computer monitor with, fingers and pen tapping along to the tune.
“…I just want you for my own, more than you will ever know…” I sing, voice cracking because I may be a lot of things, but a musical diva is not one of them.
I pause when the overhead light above me flashes, more suited to a Halloween fun house than an office space, and frown. I stop singing to stare, waiting and watching for it to flash again.
Flicker.
There!
There it goes!
This will not do. I cannot be distracted by the damn light flashing and flicking and doing whatever else it’s going to do while I’m busting my ass to get these Year End reconciliations done. I simply do not have the time to be distracted.
Despite my repeated calls to maintenance over the last two weeks, the guys down in that department haven’t found time to fit me in. Which means I’ve been living with the occasional blinding light for fourteen days.
This feels oddly like I’m back in college, living in a crappy house with a group of my friends, trying to get the landlord to come fix something that we wrecked. A broken smoke detector. The handle falling off the front door. Catch the bat that got in through the chimney…
Still, I shouldn’t have to wait two entire weeks for someone to come take a look at this! Bring a new lightbulb, fix a wire. I don’t know — something to make it stop!
My eyes stray to the cubicles outside my office and the hustle and bustle of everyone working for the McGinnis Agency.
Hustle, hustle, hustle.
No one is stopping to chat, everyone wanting to finish early and head home because tomorrow is New Year’s Eve.
In spite of the jacked-up lighting, I’m feeling fantastic. I’ve been in my groove, fingers moving like rapid fire over the keyboard as I work in the accounting software, reviewing those reconciliations to check and double check that all entries can be made prior to close of business tomorrow.
And as a reward for all my hard work?
My date.
It’ll be the first time I meet the man I’ve been chatting with online and on New Year’s Eve no less. I’m equally excited and nervous, but mostly stressed by how much needs to get done before then.
The clock is ticking on this deadline, but I’m the department head and know we’re going to finish in time. I keep my head bent over my keyboard, glasses perched on the bridge of my nose, working away.
Even if I have to stay all night tonight — alone — and work this late tomorrow, we are going to get these ledgers finished. No rest for the weary and all that jazz. I’m willing to do the work on my own, even though I have an entire team behind me busting their butts, too.
I roll my chair backwards to swipe a sheet of paper from the printer, and the lights flash.
Flicker.
Flicker, flicker.
I frown as there’s a soft knock at my door.
“Knock, knock.” It’s Meg McClaren, one of my work friends who’s also one of the best female sports agents in the business.
Meg walks in and perches herself on the end of my desk, poking the tip of her fingers at a glittery little disco ball that will double as my own personal ball dropping tomorrow if I’m not out of here by midnight.
“Tabitha and I are going downtown for lunch, wanna come?”
I sigh because I like them both so much, but groan because I can’t go with them. There is just no way. “Ugh, I’d love to but I can’t.” I lift a sheaf of papers off the desk then set them back down. “I have to enter all this into the system, and I don’t want to lose an hour.” I frown at her. “I’m sorry.”
Adulting is hard.
My friend stands, the black tights she has on sparkle with silver stars, catching the light. When it flickers again, she glances up. “What’s wrong with your light?”
“No idea but it’s driving me bonkers.”
“You should call maintenance,” she tells me helpfully.
“I have. Like a dozen times. I don’t know what I have to do to get someone up here. I’m going to be cross-eyed pretty soon.”
Flicker.
She wrinkles her nose and huffs. “That’s bad. How are you getting any work done?”
I shake my head. “Just powering through, that’s all we can do.”
She walks back to the door, leaning against the frame. “I’ll bring you something from your favorite taco truck so you remember to eat.”
The look I give her is a grateful one. “Oh my god, I would love you for that.”
Her hands give a little tap. “Okay — don’t work too hard and I’ll be back in a bit.”
Right.
Okay, Felicity. Focus.
Minor interruption, big task trying to regroup.
I shake my hands and stretch my fingers, blow out a puff of air and sip from the mug resting near the funky blow up letters that say HAPPY NEW YEAR!
So cute.
Grinning when I bend my head, I do my best not to let my thoughts stray, reciting numbers in my mind. Accounting things. Numbers. Adding. Debits. Credits.
Steve, Steve, Steve.
Stop it, you have work to do. Your date isn’t until tomorrow night.
For the briefest of a second, the fluorescent panel above me goes off again.
“You have got to be freaking kidding me.”
Irritated, I swipe the phone off its cradle — the old-fashioned kind where you have to poke the buttons with your fingers and not tap a screen — and dial the maintenance office for the umpteenth time this week.
I’m not even a bit surprised when Old Man Skeeter (the head of maintenance) doesn’t answer and frustrated, slam the phone back down.
“Come on, seriously?!” There has to be someone down there. This building is huge, I’m guessing there’s at least a dozen people on the custodial staff.
Leaning back in my chair, I stretch my bunny slipper clad feet out in front of me. Taking a deep breath, I dial the number again, looking up at the ceiling while I wait for the beep I know is coming.
Beep! “Hi Skeeter. It’s Felicity in accounting. Again. The florescent light above my desk is still flickering and it’s starting to give me a migraine.” It’s not, but I’m not above using dramatics at this point. “If you can please send someone my way to fix it, I’d be so grateful. There’s no better way to start off the New Year than with a new light, right?”
The fuck?
A new light? How about sending me one that works!
I frown at my own stupid use of words, seriously needing to focus my attention on these numbers so I’m not stuck here until tomorrow night. Cancelling my date would royally suck.