one
WatchingGarrett Davis talk on the phone is more entertaining than TikTok. Since his office is directly across from mine, I’m privy to a show at least once per hour, and the guessing game to determine what phone call he’s on still hasn't gotten old. Especially since I let slip the existence of said game to Sam—my coworker, best friend, and sole reason I wake up every morning to brave the hellscape that is Denver traffic—the other night at the pub.
“Wait. You have a rubric? For judging his phone conversations?” Her eyes narrow like a hawk that’s locked in on a mouse scurrying through a corn field. After two years of daily interaction, she knows me better than my own parents.
“I mean, it's not that official.”
“You said ‘grading sheet,’ Alecia. That sounds fairly official.”
Ok, so that part is true. I had a coupon for a free customizable paper product from All Star Print, the company we use for all of our mailers. Our company didn’t have a use for it, so after briefly considering a bulk order of Tinder business cards for Sam, I figured I’d make my little hobby more convenient.
“It’s just a notepad.” Skepticism writes itself all over her face, and I know what she’s thinking. Since my last breakup, Sam hashad me on a strict regimen of rewiring my brain. I’m excellent at understanding what other people want. Also quite adept at molding myself into that woman at the expense of my actual beliefs and opinions.
But that isn’t what I’m doing here. I’m not changing anything for him. It’s good to learn more about the man you’re interested in. This was simply a matter of curiosity and thoughtfulness.
“A normal notepad?” Sam asks.
I tuck my hair behind my ears. The pub always gets loud past eight, and I can barely hear myself think. “It’s a little bit custom.”
Sam laughs with a shake of her head, her chestnut curls bouncing. Somehow, even after a full day at the office, she looks like she just got a blowout. “That is . . .”
“Unhinged? Yes. I'm aware.”
“No. I was going to say exactly like you. To make a game in the first place, but then to arbitrate with rules?—”
“I’m not arbitrating. It's just a way to keep track.”
“Of what?”
We’re in it at this point. There’s no use trying to hide anything. I scroll to the recent files on my phone until I find the template I submitted for printing, then I turn the screen toward her. "So the first section details body languagebeforethe phone is ever answered."
Sam purses her lips, attempting sobriety. “Okay.”
“Sometimes he leans back in his chair before he answers. I think he's trying to do that whole, ‘Things are going perfectly. Why wouldn't you want to choose us as your partner?’ thing that he always pulls out at vendor fairs.”
Sam nods. We recently witnessed his showboating at FanX. “So it’s someone from work.”
“I'm getting to that. That's in the next section. There have to be multiple check boxes from the same category for it to be a slam dunk.”
Sam sips on her margarita as I move on to the next section. The options there are: perfect posture in his chair, hunched over his desk, jumping up to stand, or chair swiveled around with his back to the glass.
"Oh, what's that one?” Sam points to the chair swivel.
“I've only seen him do it three times. I'm still trying to figure it out. Sometimes hunched over the desk can be combined with laughter or heavy sighs?—”
“Never his sales voice?” Sam moves her finger up the screen.
“Never his sales voice. Sales voice only comes into play when the chair is leaned back or he's standing. So, if I have ‘leaning back in the chair’ plus ‘sales voice,’ I'm seventy-five percent sure it's a work call, but there have been a few times when category three tipped the scales."
Sam reads through the options. "Hand touches face, hand runs through hair, fingers pressed to bridge of nose."
"It's the hands through his hair. I swear there's something different about those calls."
"What do you think it is?"
I lean in, but don’t lower my voice, since a handful of babies, likely CU Denver students, are belting out the chorus to a Sabrina Carpenter song. "The other day, his door was open. Mine was cracked.”
Sam nods. “As always.”
