Page 20 of Caught A Vibe

“Will you be apologizing and reinstating the award?” I try one more time.

He turns back to the podium and scans the audience as if to pinpoint the voice that is calling him out. “I cannot comment on that situation as it is ongoing. But I can assure you this organization is committed to equal representation for all sexes, races, orientations, and religions. I have no further statement at this time.”

A quick scan of the stage reveals the lie inherent in that statement. Not a single woman stands on the panel of judges. I am not the only one who notices, and cameras begin flashing. I don’t even think he realizes the optics have betrayed him.

But I have enough for a follow-up article, and I’ve sparked others to think about it as well. My work is done here.

Through some miracle, I manage to get through the Las Vegas airport with plenty of time. Security is practically empty, and my flight is only half full. Old reruns ofThe Officeon my tablet entertain me for most of the flight, and I almost manage not to think of her constantly. Why did this amazing woman have to live four hundred miles away? I flip ahead through my scheduled events in my calendar, and nothing will bring me to LA in the next few months. San Francisco is home, because it’s a tech hub and that’s where the job action is. I don’t generally travel a ton. Maybe she’ll have events near me that I can pitch to cover.

I get off the plane with my carry-on, happy to bypass the rush to baggage claim and sit down to a meal before leaving. The seared salmon over greens and the white wine flight I pair with it hit the spot before I hop on the BART and head for home.

I drop my bag by the door of my room, too tired to unpack. I prep myself to converse with my roommates, and try not to wish too hard for things that cannot be.

Chapter6

Penny

Istay in New York for three more days, changing hotels based on who is comping my stay. I do talk shows, late-night Jimmy shows, and even a national news spot, not to mention countless phone and email interviews for print publications. I’m not sure what day it is, but I am sure that I owe Dash more than a kiss for breaking the story wide-open.

Preorders are through the roof. We broke one million in revenue within two hours of my spot with Irina Mendez airing. In between interviews, I’ve been on the phone with our manufacturer trying to ramp up supply, and formulating a cost-benefit analysis of shipping via boats versus planes. I haven’t slept more than four hours a night. There is just too much to do. I have big problems, but they are the best ones to have.

Half dead with fatigue, I methodically pack my bags for what feels like the eighteenth time this week. Thank goodness for packing cubes! It isn’t until I get to LaGuardia and on a plane for LA that I let myself start to fall apart. I am so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open. Most of the flight passes in a blur. I don’t even think they served me a drink. I probably slept through it. I am jostled from my travel fog when I am stopped exiting the terminal to have my temperature checked.

What the hell is going on?

True, I’ve been in my own little bubble for nearly a week, but what the hell did I miss?

On my way home from the airport on the oddly empty shuttle, I open my news app and read with a rock in my gut. All travelers are being advised to self-quarantine for fourteen days after contact with foreign passengers.

Between the conference and the airports, that’s me.

Wash your hands. Don’t touch your face. Don’t leave your house. Don’t get within six feet of others. Watch for fever and respiratory distress.

After this week on the professional roller coaster, I had been looking forward to things getting back to normal. I promised everyone we’d celebrate our nomination with a champagne happy hour at the office. Even if we got kicked out, this week has been a net win. I need to decompress from the conference at my desk, so I can log all of the contacts I made, and make notes before ruthlessly organizing the literature I brought home. All of the boxes from the trade show need to be inventoried and prepped for the next trip. I need to send thank-you notes to the people who hosted me this week. And I was really looking forward to a group hug with my team to celebrate our success before the work of actually managing the preorder begins. The next six months are going to be nonstop and I need to recover from this wild week so that I can handle it all.

Instead, I have to completely remove myself from the physical running of my company? Sure, I can call into meetings, but God, I want to be there. Instead I’m going to have to watch it all go down from my couch? I’m going to get people on the phone for every little update or answer I need? All of my work stuff will invade my home space?Gah! Torture.

Damn it. No. This can’t be happening.

Eager to find any loopholes, I research every known detail on this virus that’s sending people indoors. The few details we have are terrifying. No loopholes. No easy fixes. Just lots of people getting sick and trying not to die. And all signs point to the U.S. as the next hot spot.

This is happening.

I can’t in good conscience ignore the order and risk getting everyone at my company sick. That would be an even worse disaster.

I’m screwed.

The shuttle drops me off at the front of my building and I duck into the grocery store on the corner, pushing a cart and pulling my suitcase behind me, to grab enough coffee and easy meals for the next fourteen days. On the bright side, at least I’ll get to sleep in and rest after my insane week, right?

Wrong. I end up working even harder at home, trying to keep up with everything happening in real time at the office. Communication is ten times harder because I can’t just walk over to a desk to ask. Scheduling a call for every question gets real old, real quick. And if I wanted to be my own IT department, I’d have gone to school for that. My engineering brain is working overtime to try and figure out the most elegant and efficient solutions for a situation that continues to spiral. I’m exhausted.

At least my cat sitter took pity on me and brought Callie home, since I couldn’t go out to get her. So I’m not completely alone. I have my asshole feline roommate who howls her displeasure at being left for a week in between demands for food and tummy rubs. She has decided that her new favorite lounging spot is draped over my laptop keyboard.

Yeah, work-from-home is great…

One might think my massively busy days would help me sleep at night, but one would be wrong. Three days in and no such luck. My brain has designated the hours between one and four a.m. for general anxiety and panicked musings. So I do what any red-blooded American would do in that situation, surf the internet. XPTech ran two updates to the original article, fully credited to Dash Hall. Yes, okay, I googled him. I can’t get him out of my head. My brain keeps asking questions that I cannot answer, and it is maddening.

Had he crowed when his editor changed his mind? I wish I could ask him. Was he thinking of our night together when he was writing those follow-ups? Does he crave another night together like I do? I hope so. Is he home from Vegas yet? Is he awake? Surely not.

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