Page 30 of Debugging Love

When I was breaking out in a flame-ball on the dance floor, Danni’s bowels were churning with disgust over my putrid ego? “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Which part?”

“An ego can’t be putrid. That’s reserved for rotten food and sewer water.”

“Tells you how much I enjoyed our dance.”

Words aren’t things. They aren’t made of matter. But somehow her last sentence was made of flesh and blood, a fist that rammed into my stomach. Maybe her no-lookie, no-talkie idea isn’t so bad.

I look down at my phone to avoid the smug look on her face. It’s not smart to trade punches, especially with women. Instead, I rewind to our slow dance on the Carolina Excursion and imagine myself stepping on her feet a few times.

There. That feels better.

I don’t have a computer. Handbooks aren’t printed on paper these days. There’s nothing to do, nothing to look at but my phone. I settle for four hours of Jelle’s Marble Runs and DaksDominoes on YouTube broken up by a bathroom break to stretch my legs and a visit to the breakroom to poke around and buy a can of Coke Zero from the vending machine.

After sticking my fingers in my ears a few times to make sure they aren’t stuffed with cotton, I ask Danni, “What’s that noise?”

She looks at me blankly. “What noise?”

“The ‘shhhhhhhh.’”

“Oh. It’s white noise.”

I glance around the office.

Danni points up.

I look at the ceiling and notice a few mounted speakers. “Explain,” I say after refocusing on Danni.

“The white noise is to cover the noise so people can concentrate.”

“How does noise cover noise?”

Danni shrugs.

“I didn’t notice it this morning.”

“It comes on at one o’clock. Some people like it. Some people hate it. The people who hate it complained, so our old boss came up with a compromise. From eight to one, it’s just noise. From one to five, it’s noise on top of noise.”

I lean over and rub my face while I try to parse Danni’s logic. Notherlogic. Some old boss’s logic. After a good effort, I determine the riddle is unsolvable.

“I don’t like it,” I say.

“Chance is on Team White No!” Danni hollers.

I hear a few “Woo’s” from the rows of cubicles to my right.

“What team are you on?” I ask.

“Team I Don’t Give a Flying Squirrel.”

I sink back into a palpable state of boredom as the noise over the noise turns a screw in my jaw ever tighter. Noise-canceling headphones go into my Amazon cart. I hit Buy Now. They’ll be at my door by Friday. Until then, some cheap earplugs might work.

Around three thirty, I have to break out. I head downstairs and take a walk, pop into the ice cream shop and buy a scoop of chocolate in a waffle cone, eat it in five minutes, and then head back up. When I enter the office, people are standing, grabbing purses, looking determined to leave.

One of my new coworkers—the young one with blonde hair and a pretty face—is standing next to Danni.

“We can leave now,” she says to Danni with a hint of authority. “Christopher is giving us a free hour for Jeb’s party.”

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