Page 20 of Debugging Love

I wish I could call her and tell her about my horrendous date. We’d giggle together, talk about my first and last date with Gerald Garner who threw up on my shirt as he leaned in to kiss me. That was my worst date ever, but last night’s takes a close second.

I grab a can of Sprite, exit my apartment through the sliding glass door, and settle onto the hanging egg chair that I found at Big Lots. With my heels anchored on the deck, I push myselfgently to rock away the ball of sadness in my chest. This will pass. It always does.

I pop open my can, take a swing. When my eyes meet the horizon again, I see him.

Without a shirt on.

My stomach lurches and my muscles become liquidy and warm. I watch him hang his wet clothing along his balcony railing, something I know he often does, but I didn’t know he did it half-naked.

I. Don’t. Even. Blink. I just cringe inwardly as the Sprite fizzes, pops, and bubbles loudly in my can.

After laying out his clothes, he turns to go inside.

He sees me.

We lock eyes.

We both sneer.

My heart races like Seabiscuit’s hooves on a race track. This does not affect my sneer in the slightest. I successfully maintain my expression until he re-enters his apartment. And then I flop back, my arms noodle-y and weak.

I will not tell Morgan and Kayla that I swooned, for the second time, over Chance. What I will tell them is that my haven has been compromised. And I amnotamused.

Chapter 6

Danni

I grab my Tylenol travel bottle out of my purse and deposit two extra strength caplets into my mouth. With a generous swig of ice water, I send them down my throat to quell the pain. I brought an old throw pillow, one that’s lost some of its poof but is still squishy enough to provide relief. My office chair is relatively new, a streamlined ergonomic model made of gray plastic with a stiff layer of lime green upholstery. Ergonomic does not mean comfortable.

I peek around my dual flatscreen monitors, feeling a little smug that I have a relatively private spot over here by the breakroom. My teammates sit across the aisle in desks with low dividers that allow everyone to see everyone else’s business. It causes problems.

For instance, Gopal stares when he’s waiting for database patches to load, which can take a while depending on network speed. Violet, who sits next to him, gets mouthy if she feels his eyeballs anywhere near her person. “Get out your phone and scroll through Facebook. You can stare at my profile picture asmuch as you want, just get those eyes off me when I’m try’na code.”

Life in an open-concept office is fun.

Kayla sits at the end of the farthest row next to the ample windows. Morgan sits on the other side of Violet. She gets Gopal’s eyeball treatment whenever Violet gets fed up and stomps off to the breakroom.

The JetAero Systems Support offices are in the fourth and fifth floors of the Citizen’s Tower and are fully remodeled with polished wood floors and open ceilings that offer a full view of the ductwork and piping. Both floors accommodate over one hundred employees and are divided into multiple office spaces, each equipped with glass offices, one or more conference rooms, and a kitchen with an attached breakroom.

Somehow I lucked into the best seat in the house. I’m a generous distance from the rest of the team, next to the breakroom in a bank of desks that are separated by low walls for the illusion of privacy, but it doesn’t matter because I’m over here by myself. I don’t have a cubicle, but I have peace and quiet.

I arrived at eight thirty, and I haven’t accomplished much. A typical Monday morning. My coffee needs to set in. The weekend fog needs to wear off. Becoming lost in code and losing track of the world takes energy, and I don’t have the voltage yet.

An email notification with the subject “IMMEDIATE TASKER” grabs my attention. I click on Outlook, read the email, open the attachment, and laugh out loud.

Hey. Did you see the email?I type into Teams.

Morgan:what a clown show.

Kayla:j3rkwad

According to the email, management decided our employee IDs should remain private so they created IDs for our IDs. The algorithm that generated the new IDs created offensive words,some so raunchy I can’t repeat. Others more benign, but still giggle-worthy.

Kayla:P00P

Morgan:What nincomP00P decided creating IDs for our IDs was a good idea?

Me:Someone with BA11z.

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