What kind of a person starts to tell a story of two men, searching to reclaim a long-lost friendship over a workday lunch, and then stops in the middle of it to go on vacation?
An Erin Rachelle Kelly, apparently.
I’m sorry to leave you in the lurch, readers. (Sometimes when I write on here, I pretend like I’m the Pope standing on a Vatican balcony and the four of you readers have multiplied like Gizmo getting baptized and now there are thousands of you listening to my bullshit stories with salivating stroke-mouths.) But the fact is, NOTHING HAPPENED. I left the invitation on Terry’s desk on my last day at work before vacation, and then waited.
Glenn came back from lunch that day and said, “So, are you dying of anticipation?”
“WHAT? WHY?!” I cried, swiveling around in my chair to look at him with my wild, manic, IN-THE-MIDDLE-OF-A-SCHEME eyes.
Glenn, looking mildly off-put by my intense reaction, said, “For your vacation…?”
“Oh. That. Yes, I’m dying of anticipation,” I sighed, sad that Glenn wasn’t referring to Terry confronting him about LUNCH.
And then more of the nothing happened. The whole day was just a giant, wasteful, disappointing heap of Nothing wrapped in a bullshit Steelers Snuggie. WHY DID I EVEN BOTHER?! Terry walked past once, en route to the bathroom, and NOTHING. Not even a sly smirk or confused shrug.
Later in the afternoon, I walked past Terry’s office and casually glanced through the doorway, and you might need to know that This Girl’s definition of “casual” is:
adj. Saucer-eyed, hair-tugging lunacy-state.
Back at my desk, I blurted out, “I JUST SAW TERRY.”
Glenn answered, “Ok. And?”
“HE WAS ON THE PHONE.”
I had to pause and wipe away the tears with the back of my hand and re-learn how to breathe without sucking back in my giggles.
“MAYBE HE WAS MAKING…..A LUNCH RESERVATION!” And then the Tourette’s-like laughter tumbled out of my mouth and fell into my hands and I had to blanket my head again.
Glenn’s response to this was some variation of “WTF.”
And then he got up to leave for the day.
“Have a good vacation,” he mumbled.
“HAVE A GOOD LUNCH WITH TERRY!” I blurted out in my signature bray, which oftentimes leaves people wondering if I’m having a true medical seizure and should we call 911 or nah?
Then I went on vacation. I checked in with Amber2 and Allison last Thursday, but they said that no lunch plans or awkward conversations or friendship bracelet swaps had gone down in my absence.
But then on Friday, Amber said that she finally broke down and asked Glenn if Terry had said anything to him about the invitation. Glenn was clueless so Amber showed him the picture of the invitation on my blog and of course he was like WTF. So then a dialogue was finally opened and Terry brought the invitation over to show Glenn. Amber texted me this picture and it made me squeal in the middle of Savannah:
I wasn’t sure if Terry would appreciate having his mug posted on the Internet; maybe he’s wanted in one of those Dakota parts for scalping Michael Buble tickets. We don’t talk very often so I’m not sure that I could rely on my go-to Bambi-like eye blinks while adorably cupping my chin with my hands. This usually gets me out of all the pickles and jams, but for all I know, Terry hates adorable things.
I sure do love pickles and jams.
Today was my first day back to work after vacation and we all got to laugh heartily about the Lunch Invitation. I like to look at it as a real team building exercise and it’s shocking that I still haven’t been promoted to Law Firm Camp Counselor.
“Didn’t you wonder why I was acting so crazy last Friday?” I asked.
“Not really,” he shrugged. “I thought you were just being simple.”