wanted to extend and torture the metaphor.
Chapter 2
After yet another idyllic weekend filled with permit negotiation, sanding, dust, refinishing fluid and an ever growing parade of sub contractors who routinely forg o t their own tools but helpfully pos ted drink requests on the refrigerator door, I was ready for work, but apparently, not that ready.
I was barely in the door of New Century Realty Monday morning when I was accosted by the two most powerful and profitable agents in our office, even the county , if you ask them.
“ T hey took the toilet and the water heater.” Rosemary flung down a stack of flyers with disgust. “Can you believe that?”
“ That’s nothing, ” Katherine billowed in shaking her head. “ the holier than thou Christophe r s are on the war path again.”
“For what?”
“Do you still have a sign in front of your house?” Katherine raised one thin eyebrow.
“I drove by it this morning.” I remembered I needed to replenish the flyer box as well. Lord, were we tangling with the Sign Nazis again? I didn’t think I had the strength. I reached over the high reception counter and grabbed a yellow sticky note. I scribbled “more flyers” and stuck it onto my phone.
“M y sign is gone. When I called to find out where it was they said it was too close to the road! The road!” Katherine’s voice rose, and we both hushed her. We didn’t want our manager Inez to march in and lecture us, not this early in the morning. I glanced at my watch, I had twenty minutes before the staff meeting, it was like recess before math class.
“Wow, another body.” Patricia popped off . A body would be welcome after missing toilets and missing sales signs.
“Another body?” I r eached around her and rescued a small fan of flyers and notices from my IN box . I sort ed through the paucity of mail . I liked the ha r d copy flyers and notices that came into our IN boxes , it showed a distinct perseverance for the old art of direct mail, for printing , for glossy paper stock , for full bleeds . I considered ordering hard copy flyers for my house.
“You know, sometimes they use new people during crush, some don’t know their ass from their elbow. Remember the guy last year? Dead in the stainless steel tank?”
I nodded, I did remember.
“Once the tank was drained, who looked again?” She squinted at her monitor and scrolled down for more information. Inez , our manager, never comments on Patricia’s hobbies. Patricia is not only our administrative assistant, she also serves as our ad hoc escrow coordinator and she is really good. You do not interfere with genius like hers. She can get blood from rocks and paperwork from banks. Based on just that talent alone, we both love and fear her. That she wears black nail polish and matching lipstick is just a bonus.
Who indeed? I didn’t know what happened to the tanks after the wine was drained and bottled. Stored, ignored , cleaned, wasn’t there something about the fumes from the cleaning agent?
“How could a worker be missed?” Rosemary demanded, as if Patricia knew.
“He could have been illegal, they wouldn’t write anything down in that case , no record .” I offered.
“It was an accident.” Patricia scanned her generously sized monitor. “It happened once before last year, and now this new guy.”
“Crush shouldn’t be taken literary.” I put in.
“Lord , who dies in a winery?” Rosemary commented idly. “I would think all those safety requirements would make it impossible to so much as slip on a grape skin.”
Patricia frowned at the tank photo. She rubbed her eye careful ly to not disturb the thick black eyeliner, then sighed. She switched to the company email screen. She was enigmatic. I admit that I sometimes take her for granted. Patricia works tirelessly and efficiently. Her manner with our walk-in, potential clients, was abrupt, but