The Sneak

The sneak in was far from subtle; it reeked of obvious consumption that was about to occur in the tiny office just feet from my desk.
One by one they filed into the supposedly Zen-oriented office space; they walked right past my desk and didn’t even glance back; there was muffled conversation – it was as if they were mice being herded into a tight space; scurrying before they got caught.

Within moments, laughter began to occur and there was an acknowledgment of hard work.  It was a toast so long to another contractor of the Company.  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing just 20 feet away.  I felt my skin begin to boil, my eyes begin to water, my mind raced.  I began to doubt; I couldn’t grasp the reasoning behind my being left out.  Why did I suddenly feel this was grade school being revisited?  

No matter who leaves our Company, no matter whose birthday it is, we are all invited to partake – even if we are unwilling or confused as to why we might be there.  That is what makes my absence in such an event, confusing and quite frankly it upsets me.  My desk is within eye contact of her office, it is next to impossible to miss me.  And yet, somehow, I have been missed.  

After the speech was concluded, the late 20-something receptionist quietly stepped out of the room, she appeared to be on a direct path.  I looked up, hoping, just ever slightly to lock eyes – it was of no use.  That’s when I elected to make a move.  I picked up my tea mug and headed back to the kitchen, where I heard her taking out glasses – the resounding clink made it all the more obvious about what was to occur.  

I reached the kitchen sink and I politely said hello and was greeted with a lukewarm response – which was extremely surprising given the last few weeks of interaction between us.  Whether it was the career advice I was giving her or our holiday party shenanigans – we appeared to be on very friendly terms – always saying good morning and having conversation the moment I walk into the office.  This hesitancy, reeked of suspicion to me.  It made my skin boil even further.  I managed a meek, “Oh so it’s that time again huh?”  I could hear myself shouting inside, “Come on Lindsay, stand up!”  And I was met with an even weaker reply, “Yep.” Her voice was barely louder than the clinking of the glasses.  What was happening?  Was it something that I had done only nights earlier? 

Only nights earlier, we were all having a great time at the holiday party – singing songs, laughing in enjoyment that we had wrapped on a show that had taken us all on a ride – literally.  I will admit to getting sufficiently drunk, but so did many others – or at least it seemed.  Perhaps that is where I went wrong – but I sincerely doubt it.  After all, my boss seems to drive the train on consuming scotch before 5 in the evening most every night.

I allowed the receptionist to return to the office with the glasses and I made sure to be seen as I sat back down at my desk; but it was with no success – glances that appeared to come my direction, were not met.  I began to think, that at least my supervisor or the honoree of the toast would say something, based on my relationship with them – given the fact my being the only member of our office not in the room, would cause some confusion.  I guess when you are in the moment, it may cross your mind, but you don’t press it. 

Minutes ticked by and I could feel the confusion turning into sadness.  I was scared – it just felt obvious that something was occurring and I was being left out.  I began to have flashbacks, in spot form, nothing prolonged; but long enough that I could see young Lindsay being left behind.  Like flashes of a television screen trying to gain full reception back.  Adjust those rabbit ears, maybe some tin foil and you’ll get the whole image.  

I reached out to some friends, feeling somewhat pathetic at 34 years of age that such an event was hurting me so much and so deeply.  The common ground was that the actions were rude and unprofessional.  I tried to not let it hurt me as I was advised so wisely; yet I was also told, that it was understandable that it could hurt me.  

The door opens, the odor comes out all at once, as opposed to one by one of the guests in the Zen-oriented office that I have been a guest in numerous times for similar toasts.  My head raises slightly, mostly out of curiosity – will I be acknowledged?  Will there be an apology?  I can feel myself longing for acceptance the way I did as a child on the playground where I was bullied ferociously.  The adult in me, manages to settle my mind, though my heart aches and my eyes are watering.  The athlete in me speaks to myself, “Buck up Lindsay.  Don’t ever let them see you sweat.  EVER.”

Perhaps I look too deeply into it, but not one person comes by my desk – as opposed to their entry into the Zen-oriented office; those that come close to me, walk with their heads down and immediately turn in the opposite direction of making eye contact with me.  I fully acknowledge this may be interpreted by some as looking too deeply into it, but when you are with a Company that is small and you are the only one that is sitting outside of a send-off, it sets off alarms.  If I had not been hurt so much, perhaps I wouldn’t care nearly as much, if at all.

The aftermath has been even more hurtful – though it has been salvaged somewhat by the person who the send-off was for.  “Hey, so there’s a ton of scotch at my desk, if you’d like some.”  He put his hand on my back and smiled at me.  There’s a connection between us – whether it’s the love of being an Aunt / Uncle; our love of the Red Sox; the fact we sang Sweet Caroline in comedic, dramatic action at the holiday party, or just the simple smiles we share throughout each day – Steve and I had something growing between us.  

Only a few weeks ago, Steve made fun of me for being the “rudest person in the office and that everyone talked about it”.  I didn’t fall for it, I laughed it off.  He seemed impressed that I could handle his chastising.  As the days went by, we quietly continued to poke fun at each other.  

I felt comfortable enough to say to Steve quietly, “I’d like to not be that girl right now, but I’m going to be.  Why wasn’t I in there?”  He looked at me and simply said, “I don’t know, but that’s rude – let me get you a glass.”  He then proceeded to pour me a glass of his goodbye and thank you bottle of scotch, into my favorite mug and repeated, “I’m sorry, that was rude of them.  I hope that this makes it a little better that it’s in your favorite mug.”

There was a farewell by the boss outside of her office, who barely even made the effort to turn and look in my direction.  “Have a nice weekend everyone.”  I didn’t even make her radar.  Neither girl that’s left with the Company has engaged me in conversation for an hour or so before this send-off; neither girl has looked in my direction since walking out of the scotch fueled, Zen-oriented office.  My supervisor, whom I consider my greatest ally in the office – has gone in the opposite direction – to do what, it appears absolutely nothing.  I am far from relaxed now; I am hurt.  The silence is deafening.  I am left to think the worst, but I refuse.  

I make the mistake of going back to the Assistant Editor first.  The one who has made me want to scream in fury, the one who at times made me want to pound my fists against the wall, all the while shouting, “JUST FUCKING DO IT!!”  He told me it was nothing; and I go further, when I shouldn’t.  “Then why can’t Antoinette and Cristina even acknowledge me when they were talking to me just hours earlier?”  He didn’t break eye contact with his computer screen, “Aww shit, looks like someone’s got some hate wrapped up in her.  You got to relax.”  Yep, wrong person to talk to about this, without a doubt.

I went into my supervisor’s office next.  The man who has opened up to me about his own frustrations and annoyances about the women who run this Company – words I have never repeated to anyone but my parents.  The man, I have grown to trust with all my frustrations about the Company during my most trying times.  I prefaced my words with the fact I did not want to seem like a girl, that I didn’t want to be overly emotional about this, but that I was rather upset that I wasn’t a part of Steve’s farewell and asked if there was a reasoning behind it.

Aaron laughed as I laughed, but said, “Well maybe she felt you didn’t know Steve all that well?”  That felt like a stretch, even for Aaron.  “Aaron, come on.  I sang Sweet Caroline with him three days ago – we’re friends.”  Aaron turned into a bumbling mess.  It was several “I don’t knows”, mixed with “don’t worry about it” throw in a few, “Betsy just told me to come down to her office and that’s why I went in”.  

I elected to drop the conversation there.  I walked out, extremely dissatisfied.  I found my way back to my desk and began to wrap up for the evening, when suddenly someone wanted to talk to me.  I was taken aback.  Antoinette spun around in her big black chair, “Linds,” (I quietly cringed at the use of my nickname – for she hadn’t earned it yet), “Do you want my scotch?  I’m leaving and I can’t finish this.”  I began to fume in frustration again.  Who the hell did she think she was, to pull this shit with me?  You clearly and deliberately ignore me and now you offer me your hand me downs of scotch?  These thoughts race through my head; but the kind Lindsay only speaks.

“Oh no thanks, I have what Steve poured me.”  Somewhat of a dagger.

She goes for the deeper wound, “Oh come on, you know you want it.  I can’t finish this.”

“No, I’m good.  I’ve got enough here.”

“It’s practically all water.”  She places it casually in line of my left side of vision.

I don’t say anything more.  I keep my mouth shut; as I have often done in so many situations such as this – and once I again I am met with regret for not speaking my mind at the heart of the moment.  But then again, I am grateful for not flying off the handle when it comes to situations such as this.

No one anticipates the sneak.  We certainly didn’t in 1941.  It’s how we respond to the sneak that can define us – I would like to think.  I am a hard worker, I have been praised for my work ethic by so many people with the Company and they assigned me to another project – something that all the other people that came on board for our previous show, cannot say.  I am building another level of my ability and growing upwards.  It may run into delays, it may run into naysayers, but I must rely on my strength, my mindset.  

This could be seen as all too cliché.  I completely accept that – but it’s simply, particularly painful when you go from praised, encouraged, and thanked – to suddenly shunned, where the light is immediately flushed out, that it is unnerving.   Your flame has been pinched out with the flick of fingertips.  It does not mean this has to be the end, there’s always a spark to get the fire going again.