November
“What the hell is that?”
I was so focused on my task, I didn’t hear E.G come up behind me. I jumped at the sound of his bark and hated the fact that I startled so easily.
“Must you do that?” I snapped. I was convinced, sometimes, he did this on purpose.
“Do what?” he asked, as he came around his desk to sit down.
“Sneak up on me.”
“I do not sneak.”
I turned around and crossed my arms over my chest. “You sneak. You’re a sneaker.”
He shrugged. “You look like a cartoon character when you jump. It’s amusing. Let me re-state my question. What the hell is that?”
I put the lid on the twelve-inch dispenser that I’d carefully placed on the edge of his desk for easy access for guests.
And me.
“It occurred to me you used to give your employees all these perks, like the food and the Starbucks and stuff, so I thought you needed to step up your game. This, my friend, is an electric M&M dispenser. Watch.”
I put my hand under the flap, heard the buzz as it opened, and voila, about seven M&Ms of varying flavors dropped into my palm.
Magic. And because they were in my hand, I immediately began eating them one at a time.
He said nothing. Just walked past me, around his desk and turned his monitors back on.
“Come on,” I said encouragingly. “This is great. It’s endless M&Ms. I’ve got peanut in there. Plus, peanut butter and pretzel. Milk chocolate. Dark chocolate. You’ll never know what you’re getting. Well, you will by the size, but still, it will be an M&M adventure.”
“Remove it from my desk,” he said inthatvoice. It was his intimidating,I don’t have time for your silly gamesvoice. There was a time that voice actually worked on me. Not anymore.
I pouted purposefully. “Why?”
“Because it’s frivolous and you know I don’t do frivolous.”
“E.G.,” I whined. “It’s M&Ms.”
“I’m not saying you can’t have it. I’m saying it can’t be on my desk. Put it on yours.”
“I can’t do that!” I shouted.
He looked up at me as he leaned back in his chair. “Why not?”
“Because if I have an M&M dispenser on my desk, I’ll spend my day eating M&Ms.”
“Control yourself,” he said. He was being serious too.
I shook my head. “I don’t have that kind of willpower.”
He sighed and looked down at his wrist.
There was something sleek and silver attached to it.
“What is that?” I asked him, pointing at his wrist.
“Smart Watch,” he said, looking down at it with a scowl. “Some new prototype a friend at Apple wanted me to try out. It tells me I didn’t sleep well the night before, which is entirely unhelpful.”
