Page 17 of Joy to Noel
Beau is eventually called away to fix an oven that isn’t heating to the correct temperature. I divert him back by my office to grab my tablet and tag along to watch their problem-solving process. After about twenty minutes, Beau has the oven working again.
“How many pounds of food did we just lose during the time this oven was offline?” I ask. Beau and the other two men look back and forth at each other, making varying noises of ignorance. I square my stance and pin them with a look. “None of you know how far behind you just fell in these sixty-three minutes?” More embarrassed looks. “Every single employee should know exactly how many pounds per hour this factory should be producing. So you know exactly how much money you’re wasting every time there’s a delay.”
After a few more darted glances between them, Beau clears his throat and speaks up. “Breakdowns in machinery are unavoidable. These types of temporary delays are expected.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes by pinching the bridge of my nose instead. “I’m not saying that machine breakdowns are unexpected. I’m saying that you all areexpectedto know your facility’s targetedproduction capacity, so you have a sense of urgency to get back on track when breakdowns happen.”
Beau squares his shoulders. “Just because we don’t know the exact number of pounds lost doesn’t mean we don’t work to fix issues as quickly as possible. We have integrity to do our best work regardless of the precise amount of loss.”
While mentally giving Beau good marks for standing up for himself and his coworkers, verbally I reiterate, “I expect everyone in this facility to know the answer tomorrow—how many pounds of food are lost each hour when there are processing delays?”
Pivoting on my heel, I head back to my office without further comment.
After another late night in my office taking a preliminary look at the comp information Pure Fur All sent, I pull onto the gravel “road” between the rows of cabins. As I park beside mine, I notice that Madison’s car is gone, and her unit is dark. I’m surprised by the disappointment that sinks like a rock in my stomach.
I dismiss the sensation—it was just a pleasant surprise having someone around to process my day with yesterday. A stimulating conversation with someone who constantly rose to the challenge. It was an abnormal outlier, not a routine I should expect.
As I unlock the door, I can hear Hamlet’s yowling through the walls. He must have had quite the exciting day if he can’t even wait for me to come inside before he starts telling me all about it. Opening the door carefully, I find him waiting right inside. “Hi, my friend,” I say as I reach down to scratch his chin. He rubs against my ankles, continuing his constant meowing.
When I bend down to remove my shoes, Hamlet leaps onto my back and settles on my shoulders as I stand up. “Missed me, huh?” I ask as I walk to the kitchenette. This blazer will definitely need a trip to the dry cleaner now.
“Why don’t you tell me about your day while I make dinner?” I tell Hamlet as I reach a hand up to scratch his chest, which is positioned right next to my ear. He meows the entire time I heat up a bowl of spicy ramen noodles.I really need to figure out some better meals if I’m going to be here for a while. Take-out options are sorely lacking. Especially healthy ones.
As much as I’d hoped to be in and out of this town as quickly as possible, it’s looking less and less like a quick fix.At least I have Madison’s feisty presence keeping me company so I don’t completely lose my mind here.Hamlet meows extra loudly in my ear as if he could read my thoughts. “Sorry, buddy. You’re right—I always have you to keep me company. I'm sorry I haven’t been around much. I’d hoped that putting in a few long days would magically fix the problem here and we could get back to Houston. But that’s not looking very promising. I swear I’ll try to be around more.”
Hamlet meows loudly once more before jumping off of my shoulders and padding over to his food dish.Meow. I smile at his demanding demeanor and scoop dinner into his dish. “Trust me, Hamlet—you don’t want to know what that food looks like before it makes its way to you.”
Meow.
As we eat our respective meals, I send a text to Hana to see if she’s awake to chat, even though I hope she’s asleep. Ten minutes later, my phone rings with her video call.
“Hey, Night Owl,” I say.
She forgoes a greeting altogether. “Where are you?” she asks, narrowing her eyes and leaning closer to the screen.
“In my temporary residence for my latest assignment,” I reply, withholding as much information as possible.
“Is this like some sort of studio condo or something?” she asks, and I realize the bed is visible behind me based on the angle of my phone screen.
“Something like that. How are classes going?” I inquire, hoping to change the subject from my current location.
“Butwhereare you? Where’s the latest assignment located?” she presses.
I roll my eyes and deflect by accusingherof deflecting. “Are you saying classes aren’t going well? Are you getting too distracted by all the men with British accents to focus on school?”
“You’re making things up!” she huffs indignantly. “I’ll have you know that I received high marks on my first big research paper aboutThe Canterbury Tales. And you know they’re grading more harshly than a university in America, so I essentially got the equivalent of an A.”
“Oh, I know this, huh?” I tease. “I think you’re just making excuses, and the accents are distracting you from A-quality work.”
“Ha ha,” she says. “What would you know about distractions? You never get distracted by the women around you, even though I try to convince you to pay attention.”
I shrug. “There’s no point in paying attention when I’m constantly moving around. And I’m never home in Houston long enough to go on more than a few dates with someone. It wouldn’t exactly be chivalrous to start a relationship and then ask her to wait around until the next time I’m home for a few weeks.”
“You don’thaveto keep gallivanting around all the time, constantly saving the business world from self-destruction. Surely you could find some catastrophes to avert from the same home base,” Hana says, shaking her head in disapproval.
I don’t know what possesses me—possibly that disapproving head shake—but the words “I have met an interesting girl here” are out of my mouth before I think to stop myself.
Hana immediately sits up straight and leans forward. “What?! You’re interested in a girl?”
