“Gem-me!” Susan said, striding uninvited in to Gemmy’s cubicle and using the pronunciation of her name that sounded kind of like a baby, happy to have learned how to make sounds. “You busy? I’m dropping by — part of my ‘managing by walking around’ technique — just to have a friendly chat with you about this request that you sort-of submitted.”
Gemmy grounded, Goddess help her, she did. Thankfully, it had become almost second-nature by now. And she drew in a deep breath before responding to Susan, who, within a period of 48 hours, had managed to alienate nearly everyone at Interior.
“What do you mean, ‘sort-of submitted’?” Gemmy asked. “I did submit a request to use a fraction of my accrued leave. Is that what you mean?”
“Well, Gem,” Susan chirped, “of course I want people to take their legitimate leave. It’s good for morale and that’s good for my departments. Of course, you seem to have failed to really explain the purpose of your leave. You just wrote, ‘Personal Time,’ which doesn’t really tell me what you’re doing. And now that I’m in charge of productivity here, I have to know WHY people want leave before I can sign off on it. So I’m not approving this request. You’ll need to work these days,” Susan said, giving Gemmy a long, slow, direct look.
“Look, Susan,” Gemmy said, “You and I both know that ‘Personal Time’ is what everyone writes to explain their use of accrued leave. You don’t get to decide what is, or isn’t, appropriate. But since you seem to want to know, I’ll tell you. I am going to take those days off to go to Virginia Beach with Paris. He’s going to a conference and he asked me to go with him. We’re looking forward to spending more time together and telling each other our stories. I understand that’s rough for you. I get that you’d hoped that you two could rekindle your high-school flame. But Paris and I are together, we’re going to Virginia Beach, and you’re not going to stop it. Am I clear?”
Susan stood for a long, long time, glaring at Gemmy. “Oh, well, in that case, go ahead,” she finally chirped. “You could have just said so. No one here cares.”
A few days later, Gemmy slid into the front seat of Paris’ truck. He threw her suitcase into the back seat and handed her a steaming latte, bowing and laughing, “Your beverage de travel, Mademoiselle.”
“Merci,” Gemmy laughed, inhaling the scent of roasted coffee beans and grabbing Paris’ hand. “I can’t wait to get to the beach. My neighbors are feeding Peschecat. I have a new bathing suit. My work e-mail is turned off for the next few days and you, my love, are going to tell me all about your childhood in the French city of lights. Go ahead, I’m all ears and we have a long drive ahead of us.”
Paris laughed. “You’re going to be bored. My childhood was boringly, pedestrianly, normal. You see, my hippy parents moved to Paris in the 60’s . . . .”
Picture found here.