"I left my cane here a few weeks ago," she said, approaching 106. "I called and told someone to hold it for me. Do you have it?"
"Er," I said. "Let me check in the back."
I wandered to the workroom suffused with the knowledge that I had thrown the cane out a few days ago. I had been sick of looking at it. The thing had been on top of some old boxes on a high shelf for the last month seemingly, and it was time for it to die. I had taken it and thrown it into the break room trash. Yes, it was a holiday miracle. One of many to come this season.
"Is she asking about her cane?" Jay said. "I took her call the other day and told her we'd hold it for her."
"Er, ah, uh, yeah?" I said, smoothly.
"Yes, isn't it back here?"
Karen charged into the room. She had been in her office with the door open. The relief on her face was also a holiday miracle: she was writing everyone's performance reviews and she was obviously thrilled to have a distraction.
"Cane?" Karen said. "Where's the cane? Is that lady here for her cane? WE HAVE TO FIND IT."
In a brief second, the kind of moment that everyone adult is no doubt familiar with, I almost told the truth. It was right on my tongue. I was going to tell Karen, yeah, I threw that old woman's cane in the trash. Oh well. And then we'd all have a mean-spirited laugh, right? Right??
No. Instead a certain manager would GO UTTERLY CRACKER PANTS. Nope. No, I couldn't tell the truth. It would have to stay bottled inside me like a fine urine.
"Do you know where the cane is, Greg?"
"Uh, er, I think it was on top of those old boxes. That's the last I saw of it, anyway."
"Where is it now??"
"I don't know. Er."
R. came out from the break room. "Are you looking for that cane?"
"Yes, do you know where it is?"
"No. But I remember seeing the cane in the trash the other day. And I asked you, Greg, why was that cane in the trash? Do you remember that, Greg?"
R. aimed at me her flinty Brooklyn take-no-prisoners I-will-kill-you proud black woman look.
"No. I don't remember that."
I felt a few prickles of heat in my face. R. looked at me. Looked at me real, real hard.
I met her gaze like a man. Then I looked away at a bit of fluff on my shirt. Was that fluff on my shirt?
"We have to find the cane!" Karen squalled. She had climbed on the counter and was slapping around at the tops of the cabinets. "Where's the cane? OH JESUS AND MARY AND ALL THE ANGELS IN HEAVEN WHERE IS THE CANE?!!??"
Earlier in the day, I had been in the office with Karen and made a light-hearted joke about her MS medication that makes her wacky and wild. Wouldn't it be funny, I had said, if the only way you could take your morning upper would be if you crushed it into a powder and you had to snort it off a hardcover book. And wouldn't it be additionally funny if Betsy, the manager, came into your office just as you're snorting away. Heh, heh, wouldn't it?
"Well," I said. I clapped my hands. "I guess that solves that mystery."
"How was this solved??"
I went back out to the desk.
"Sorry," I said. "It's not back there."
"It's not?"
"Nope. Some idiot must have thrown it away."
"Oh well, I have five more at home."
"Karen, you can climb down from the ceiling now!"
Todd came over to me.
"I'm bored," he said. "Can I stop reading your blog today?"
I sighed.
"Sure, Todd. Sure you can."
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