He wasn’t cruel or a bully. He just didn’t have time for it.
“I’m not attempting to be cute or clever,” I said. “I’m trying to save you from yourself.”
He winced like I’d thrown an object at his chest. “I said you were fired. I meant it.”
“I know you did,” I admitted, and checked my laptop for his schedule.
Ten minutes until his next call.
“I get it.” I hit return on my keyboard and the printer on my desk hummed to life.
E.G. liked to have a cheat sheet of facts in front of him, yes, on physical paper, before every meeting. “I overstepped a line for you and you’re making a point. But you’ve got a crazy busy day ahead of you, and if I walk out that door, you’re going to regret it. Everything will be backed up, you won’t know who you’re meeting with or when. None of my shorthand notes at the ready,” I waved the paper in his face, “and you’ll spend the entire day cursing yourself for overreacting to a bagel. It’s bread. Let it go.”
He looked annoyed. But that was something else I knew about E.G.
Logic was king and he knew I was right.
“You don’t have to say you’re sorry,” I said. “Or anything like that. I accept your reasons for doing what you did. Just un-fire me.”
“You accept my reasons,” he said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “A second ago you said I was overreacting.”
“Well, you are. But I know why you’re overreacting.”
“Do tell.”
“You don’t like the personal stuff,” I said bluntly. “We don’t exchange pleasantries about our life outside this office. We don’t engage in small talk about what show we’re currently binging on Netflix. There is a picture of a woman on your desk, but I don’t ask who that is, because it’s not my job to care. It’s my job tomake sure you’re prepared for the day. Me buying you breakfast was a step into that personal space and you didn’t like it, so you reacted instinctively.”
He stiffened at the mention of the picture on his desk and I thought he might be gearing up for another round of firing.
“If you knew all that, then why did you get me the bagel?”
I wished I had a better answer. Something more practical, but we both learned early on in our working relationship, it was better to just tell the truth.
“I was happy.”
He scowled. “You were happy?”
“Happy. Like full stop. I wasn’t hungry or anxious or planning for tomorrow. I was just focused on today, your calendar and the work I needed to get done. I smelled warm bread coming out of this shop I walked by and thought, I’m going to grab a bagel. I thoughtE.G. might like a bagel, too. I bought an extra one. That’s it.”
He wanted to ask me more questions, I could tell. But because we were us, and because he’d freaked out over a bagel, it seemed hypocritical of him to do it.
“Don’t do it again,” he said.
I didn’t ask whether or not he meant don’t be happy again.
Instead, I raised my right hand and said, “E.G., I swear to you, here and now. As God as my witness. I will never, ever buy you bread again.”
He frowned and held his hand out for the notes I’d printed out. “I don’t do cute. I also don’t do smart ass.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, as soberly as I could manage, as I handed him the single sheet. “Your first meeting of the day will be here in eight minutes.”
“I still need my schedule run through for the day. You’ll bring it to me in exactly,” he looked at his watch, “two minutes.”
The amount of time he needed to come to terms with the fact he’d lost this round.
“Yes, sir.”
He gave me one last inscrutable glare and I strove to look as innocent as Mary had when confronted with her first lamb.
